They say that trauma functions like a merciful eraser, wiping away into dust what the body most needs to forget.That's not how it worked for me. I remember all of it: the shifting hum of the treadmill as I cranked up the speed; feeling strong and fast until, in an instant, I wasn't.
Description:
Hard to imagine that a lover of thrillers and sports writing like me would be at all interested in Jessica Fechtor's memoir of recipes, love, and medical trauma. But what first-time author Fector offers in Stir: My Broken Brain and the Meals That Brought Me Home are my personal big three of worthwhile books: great plot, interesting characters, and quality writing. With that trio, I will read and love anything. And Stir definitely proved well worth it for me to move outside my usual box of acceptable topics to pursue.
Fechtor offers a memoir that contains three intertwined plots: her medical trauma and recovery; her love story with friend/fiance/husband Eli; and her discovery of the healing power of food and its preparation. Can these disparate themes co-exist? Oh, yes, if in the able hands of Jessica Fechtor.
But this is also a love story. Eli, her husband, is the man any woman would want beside her in joy and in crises. From courtship to marriage to fatherhood, he is always at Fechtor's side, providing words of encouragement, dealing with doctors and families with firmness and sensitivity alike, and providing Fechtor a worthy partner in the healthy life they create. In stories of helping Fechtor learn to ride a bike to designing their engagement ring, Eli is the perfect companion in all conditions (unless he has poured milk onto his cereal and cannot be disturbed for anything). It is always a pleasure to read a great love story between two smart, interesting, caring people.
Then, there are the recipes and cooking memories so vital to Fechtor's recovery and relationships. Four months after the aneurysm, Fechtor starts a food blog (Sweet Amandine). In the blog, she shares favorite dishes along with photos she takes of the dishes,all delivered with her splendid writing. Fechtor shares past memories of the kitchen and the influential people who guided her interest in food and cooking, from her mother and step-mother, to friends, fellow chefs, and other family members. Her blog followers grew and grew, in numbers as well as probably in girth with all the lusciously photographed and described recipes presented.
To expand the blog into a book, Fechtor expanded the focus to more of her personal journey in her relationship with Eli and how these helped her deal with the aneurysm. A small incident remembered from her hospital bed triggers a warm description of the preparation of a particularly delicious item. The recipes for these special dishes are included, but I cannot comment on their complexity or deliciousness as I am not a foodie. But I trust Fechtor to provide food-loving readers with accurate road maps to creating the same goodies that so influenced her life and recovery. It is enough for me, an indifferent eater, to read Fechtor's descriptions of ingredients and the adventure of combining them to convince me about the power of food.
Fechtor offers a memoir that contains three intertwined plots: her medical trauma and recovery; her love story with friend/fiance/husband Eli; and her discovery of the healing power of food and its preparation. Can these disparate themes co-exist? Oh, yes, if in the able hands of Jessica Fechtor.
When I tell people that I am writing the story of a bloodied and broken brain -- and, oh, by the way, there will be recipes, too -- I get some strange looks.A healthy twenty-something, athletic, married Harvard grad student, Fechtor suffered a brain aneurysm one morning while running on a treadmill. The incident nearly killed her. During her long months of recovery, she dreamed of returning to her "everyday" life of the kitchen and cooking.
Food has powers. It picks us up from our lonely corners and sits us back down, together. It pulls us out of ourselves, to the kitchen, to the table, to the diner down the block. At the same time, it draws us inward. Food is the keeper of our memories, connecting us with our pasts and with our people....Food -- like art, like music -- brings people together, it's true.Fechtor transports readers into her world of illness and recovery with MRI's, angiograms, ultrasounds, medicines, doctors, and tests. The feelings she records are so honest and heartfelt that they brought back memories of my own illness and hospitals. For those wondering what it is like to anticipate dire consequences based on the results of the latest medical test, but then also to feel the warmth of friends and family as they stand by you unflinchingly and completely every day, then Stir is the book for you.
But this is also a love story. Eli, her husband, is the man any woman would want beside her in joy and in crises. From courtship to marriage to fatherhood, he is always at Fechtor's side, providing words of encouragement, dealing with doctors and families with firmness and sensitivity alike, and providing Fechtor a worthy partner in the healthy life they create. In stories of helping Fechtor learn to ride a bike to designing their engagement ring, Eli is the perfect companion in all conditions (unless he has poured milk onto his cereal and cannot be disturbed for anything). It is always a pleasure to read a great love story between two smart, interesting, caring people.
Then, there are the recipes and cooking memories so vital to Fechtor's recovery and relationships. Four months after the aneurysm, Fechtor starts a food blog (Sweet Amandine). In the blog, she shares favorite dishes along with photos she takes of the dishes,all delivered with her splendid writing. Fechtor shares past memories of the kitchen and the influential people who guided her interest in food and cooking, from her mother and step-mother, to friends, fellow chefs, and other family members. Her blog followers grew and grew, in numbers as well as probably in girth with all the lusciously photographed and described recipes presented.
To expand the blog into a book, Fechtor expanded the focus to more of her personal journey in her relationship with Eli and how these helped her deal with the aneurysm. A small incident remembered from her hospital bed triggers a warm description of the preparation of a particularly delicious item. The recipes for these special dishes are included, but I cannot comment on their complexity or deliciousness as I am not a foodie. But I trust Fechtor to provide food-loving readers with accurate road maps to creating the same goodies that so influenced her life and recovery. It is enough for me, an indifferent eater, to read Fechtor's descriptions of ingredients and the adventure of combining them to convince me about the power of food.
You bake to share....Baking is an act of generosity, and thereby an act of freedom,since to be generous is to be free from the smallness of thinking only of yourself. Illness had made me dwell unnaturally on my own body and mind.I wanted to be generous again.Who cannot enjoy a book with such a high level of self-awareness and exquisite writing? Whether you read to understand a medical survivor's tale, a wonderful love story, or possibly just for the recipes, Stir will satisfy your mental, emotional, and literary appetite.
Thinking about food means thinking about everything that goes on around it. The dash from the breakfast table out the door, the conversations that shape us, the places and faces that make us who we are. What besides food could I think of that would encompass my life so roundly?
If this book interests you, be sure to check out:
Gaffigan, Jim. Food: A Love Story
A hilarious (and I don't ever use that word, but in this case it is accurate) portrayal of author Gaffigan's relationship with every aspect of food as an all-consuming "Eatie," rather than a more selective "Foodie." He explores food across the United States, his personal favorite restaurants, and best food (bacon, "the candy of meat"), delivering all observations and comments with laugh-out-loud humor. (previously reviewed here)
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