This book is entirely unrelatable to me (which also means it’d be very relatable to most ppl). I disagree with almost every sentiment expressed. (The “everyone only loves the flavours they grew up with” on nearly every page; the classism of the intellectuals; the ambivalent sexism; a variety of essentialism.) Yet another male food writer who does not write about his own cooking if he cooks at all (this book actually has one mention right at the end). Good thing he hinted 2 times at an unmentionable event. Seeing an older person misuse pop slang is always cringe.
I enjoyed reading this, but to me it is the kind of book that’ll only leave a general impression and nothing to ponder.
It’s like, listening to your dad, telling his war stories, except that it’s around road trips discovering different local food and flavors around China…