I went a long time without knowing who Frank Bruni was, to be perfectly honest. I wasn't writing about restaurants and food for the majority of the time he was the New York Times critic. And for a good part of his tenure, I was still in high school; so can you really blame me for not knowing the man? Fast forward to senior year of college, one of my roommates, Lauren, had worked at the Letterman Show and had gotten a free copy of Bruni's book. She devoured it and thought I might love the book too.
On a personal level, I instantly got wrapped up in Bruni's description of his larger-than-life Italian family. Growing up in New Jersey, a great number of my family members seem to think they're Italian, even though none of them actually are. So the stories of his grandmother, mother and aunts making meatballs and manicotti (pronounced "man-ih-GOT" where I'm from), were familiar and comforting to me.
Moreover, Bruni's love of food really started with his family, something that is often common among chefs, cooks and foodies alike. It was from those roots that he grew to appreciate and even struggle with his relationship with food. While I'll get to his relationship with food later, the descriptions of his relationships with his family members are endearing and often candid. They're humorous and obviously full of love. His description of his mother compulsively feeding people was one I had to chuckle at: "Food was how she showed people the amount of time she was willing to spare for them, the sorts of sacrifices she was willing to make for them. But while it was part courtesy, it was also part boast. She wanted to demonstrate what she could pull off." Now there's a woman I understand. If you know me on a personal level and have ever come over to my house to eat, you'll know that I always insist on you bringing "nothing but yourself, maybe a bottle of wine." What I'm really saying is a) I like you enough to dedicate my time and energy to cooking for you and b) I'm a good cook, so please, let me show off my culinary prowess for one evening. if. you. wouldn't. mind.
Following Bruni's early history with food in the context of his family, he delves into his tumultuous relationship with food. For example, Bruni comedically mentions his "baby bulimia" early in the book. As a toddler, when he was denied more food, he'd throw everything up that he had just eaten, and so this foreshadowed his later struggle with bulimia as an adult. I give Bruni a lot of credit for writing so candidly about his eating disorder, and even more credit for not making it sound like an awful Lifetime movie. He showed admirable strength in finally defeating his bulimia and struggling with and defeating his weight problems to achieve a healthy lifestyle.
Following his time as a political reporter, White House correspondent and
The New York Times' Rome bureau chief, Bruni unexpectedly became the food critic. The stories of maintaining a low profile, dressing up in disguises for particular restaurants, the politics between the
Times and particular restaurants and chefs, all give incredible insight into the profession of a food critic, and specifically Bruni's career as one. Yes, food critics have an incredibly fortunate career, but there is actually hard work that goes into it. Of course, all the while Bruni still chronicles his struggles with diet and exercise, and reveals how he managed not to go over the deep end while he was the
Times' food critic, eating multiple dinners sometimes in one evening in some of the world's finest restaurants. I'm not sure many people could restrain themselves from stuffing themselves silly at a job like that where you get to try everything on the menu and someone else foots the bill. One comical story was during a piece Bruni did on "Transfatamerica" and his road trip across the U.S. eating at fast food restaurants. His "taste and trash" method of eating only a bite or two of a burger, a sandwich, fries and then throwing the junk food away was both funny and very smart for such an undertaking.
The combination of Bruni's superb, witty and descriptive writing style with his ability to create an engaging narrative make this book a great and quick read. I found myself laughing at his jokes and jabs at his family and friends, and even crying when he described the passing of his grandmother and mother. It's a book you won't want to put down, as you read more about Bruni's interesting personal life and career as a food critic. Bruni is perhaps proof that you don't always need fancy culinary training to know good food; some people are just born to be full-time eaters.
