This is subtitled “A Love Story (With Recipes)” and that’s basically the gist of the book. But it’s actually not just a love story in the traditional sense. It’s the love she has for family and friends, the love she has for cooking (and for books!) and the love she has for her two hometowns—Berlin and Boston.
Obviously I connected to her love of books but I also connected to the way that she felt torn between her two selves, the European self and the American one. The only real problem with her life is the fact that no matter where she is, she’s missing people and places. There’s no way to have everything and everyone she loves at the same time.
I’m not sure why I love memoirs about food so much because I hate cooking. In the case of this book, though, it’s obvious: it’s about food but it’s also not really about food. It’s about life, and we can all relate to that, right? Regardless of our prowess (or complete lack thereof) in the kitchen.
It’s funny; I’ve always wanted to go to Europe but for whatever reason, Germany was never one of the places I really wanted to visit (even though right now, two of my favorite people are living in Munich). It’s not that I think that it’s creepy or still full of Nazis, because that’s not it. I just always preferred the thought of visiting London or Paris or Rome or Dublin. But after reading this, I really want to see Berlin.
Highly recommended. (And I am also pressuring my aunt to read this book—both because she’ll love it and, selfishly, because I hope she’ll make me some of the recipes.)