Gabrielle Hamilton’s memoir, Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef, is just what a chef’s story should be–delectable, dripping with flavor, tinged with adrenaline and years of too-little sleep.
What sets Hamilton apart, though, is her ability to write with as much grace as vitriol, a distinct tenderness marbling her meaty story. Hamilton spent her idyllic childhood on a wild farm in rural Pennsylvania with an exhilarant father–an artist and set builder–and French mother, both “incredibly special and outrageously handsome.” As she entered her teens, however, her family unexpectedly dissolved. She moved to New York City at 16, living off loose change and eating ketchup packets from McDonald’s; worked 20-hour days at a soulless catering company; traveled, often half-starved, through Europe; and cooked for allergy-riddled children at a summer camp. The constant thread running through this patchwork tale, which culminates with the opening of her New York City restaurant, Prune, is Hamilton’s slow simmering passion for cooking and the comfort it can bring. “To be picked up and fed, often by strangers, when you are in that state of fear and hunger, became the single most important food experience I came back to over and over,” Hamilton writes, and it’s this poignant understanding of the link between food and kindness that makes Blood, Bones & Butter so satisfying to read.
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Blood, Bones & Butter
Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef