Truth. The tongue can hold memories longer than the heart; sometimes even longer than the mind. Childhood delicacies like soft boiled eggs and Tapioca pudding could bring author Kate Christensen back to six years old, much the same way a steaming hot bowl of Cream of Wheat with melting swirls of butter and sparkling brown sugar still can for me in my middle age. The thread of food is woven in and out of Christensen's story, sometimes as a integral character and other times as supporting cast, pivotal moments are remembered as meals.
I have a lot in common with Kate. I can remember feeling exactly like her when, at seven years old, the best present in the world was to have a space, separate from the house, in which to hide from the world; a place to call my own. Another similarity was when she shared that she salivated at the thought of the breakfasts in Little House on the Prairie. I, too, had food envy.
There were a lot of unexpected aha moments while reading Blue Plate. It is strange how the trauma of events in childhood can inform decisions in adulthood without us knowing how or why. ( )

Wow, second foodie memoir in as many weeks where the author has some seriously horrific abuse in their past. And, yeah, reading two in a row like that impacts my review -- but here my problem is less about the memoir, which was eventful, if somewhat tortured -- it's a literary memoir by the writer of literary fiction after all, so well done on that scope -- as with the extremely tangential food connection.

She does talk about food throughout the book, and in a sometimes forced manner, adds recipes, but no, it's not at all like reading Ruth Reichl or Julia Child or Molly Wizenberg.

If you were looking for a book that turns on food, this is not that book. If you were looking for a action-packed literary memoir where the author thinks fondly of food while she's starving herself, then this is an excellent choice. ( )

This memoir made for both good reading and incredibly hard reading at the same time. The reason for this, I suspect, is that I might be too similar to the author and relate a little too much to her failing, her self-loathing, her struggle to find confidence in herself. This is an extremely honest memoir, and it makes for hard reading in the same way that looking in the mirror and acknowledging one's own faults is a hard thing to do. On the brighter side, like the author, I also love food and the descriptions of food here are amazing. Also, there are recipes! I actually tried the "Dark Night of the Soul" soup and it was wonderful. A good read, but know what you're getting yourself into before starting this one. ( )

I have very mixed feelings about this. I was so horrified by the father's violence and then the abuse at the Waldorf School that I never quite got pas t that - so the NY years and the marriages all felt a bit like chatter and the food, totally trivial. I also read the essay she'd written for Elle about coming to terms with the abuse and how she didn't even realize the impact of it until after she'd written the memoir. So I mostly felt discombobulated and upset.

I'm not sure how much you really learn about her as a writer but as a survivor, yes. ( )

I'm of mixed minds about this book.

It's very readable, and well-written with that as a criterion. The subtitle- "An Autobiogrpahy of My Appetites" is appropriate; her main appetites are food, lust, and writing. Christensen has lead a very eventful life, and her accounts of it are fascinating.

However- as she got older, but emphatically refused to gain insight into the same aspects of her life that were making her miserable, I grew impatient. Every new love is her Forever Soulmate!!!! until it blows up, of course. She seems like the sort of difficult person who enjoys being difficult; even as it makes her miserable, she will not consider another approach. She's stuck- and thus so are we, the readers.

The food writing- which I read this for- is excellent, and I am going to try several of the recipes. ( )