Meat and Heat

If you have not read Bill Buford’s “Heat,” an account of the writer as budding culinarian, you should remedy that. The guy can write.

Here, for instance, is a paragraph from his review in the New Yorker of three carnivorous

new books:

For twelve months, Fearnley-Whittingstall was in culinary heaven. He had never learned so much so quickly. He discovered the seasons, and their bounty, and was paid to make food from it: could things get any better? They couldn’t, because he was fired. He was told that, actually, he wasn’t good enough. He was disorganized, and incorrigibly messy: he was Pigpen in the kitchen. For Fearnley-Whittingstall, it was a heartbreaking moment-he’d discovered both his calling and his inability to follow it.

Well roared, Lion. Read the New Yorker piece here, get “Heat” here or at the library.


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