If you’ve ever tasted something and instantly remembered a person, a place, a moment—Aftertaste is your kind of weird.
Daria Lavelle’s debut is one of those books that defies easy labels. It’s a ghost story, sure, but also a love story, a meditation on grief, and a deep dive into the chaotic poetry of restaurant kitchens. Oh, and it has killer food writing—no pun intended.
Konstantin “Kostya” Duhovny isn’t your average haunted soul. He doesn’t see ghosts. He tastes them. He’s plagued by sudden mouthfuls of meals he’s never eaten, the favorite foods of spirits lingering nearby. It’s bizarre, deeply original, and—somehow—it works. After a lifetime of silence, Kostya decides to act on the flavors that haunt him. He starts cooking. And from there, things spiral: grief therapy via five-course meals, spectral reunions over duck à l’orange, and a whole lot of emotional unraveling.
Lavelle is fearless with tone, shifting from tender to terrifying to laugh-out-loud funny, often within a single scene. One moment you’re swooning over a love interest with psychic baggage, the next you’re panicking about what happens when the afterlife gets hangry.
What’s wild is how much works. The characters are layered and strange and often kind of awful—in that compelling, “I don’t want to hang out with you, but I will absolutely read 400 pages about your existential spiral” way. Kostya in particular is a mess: charming, judgy, impulsive, and just self-aware enough to know he's in over his head. His friendship with Frankie, is one of the book’s most compelling threads, adding levity and pathos in equal measure.
And the food. Lavelle writes with a sensuality that borders on criminal. Even if you’ve never been near a Michelin star kitchen, you’ll feel the sizzle, the steam, the weight of memory in a sauce reduction. It’s less about appetite and more about soul hunger—a craving for connection, forgiveness, closure.
Bottom line? Aftertaste is completely unhinged in the best possible way. It’s about food and ghosts and love and grief and the terrifying idea that the only thing harder than letting go… is not knowing when to. Definitely one of my top reads this year.