Abu-Jaber was a dual-culture child: with an American mother and a Jordanian father, she spent most of her childhood in upstate New York but a two-year (relatively brief, but formative) period in Jordan. She portrays her father as a larger-than-life character, eagerly embracing much of what the States had to offer while also hanging steadfastly to certain cultural norms.

This is not the sort of book with a tidy start point and end point, or one about a definable thing that happens. Rather, it is a coming-of-age memoir about food and family and living between cultures. Just as children pick up languages more easily than adults, Abu-Jaber found it easier to navigate between cultures as a child—to slough off one and pick up the other as a child. As she got older, of course, she had to find more complex ways to manage her identity. I retain vivid impressions [of Jordan] worked into my body, she says, sharp and inexorable—the whiteness of the streets, the stone houses, the running children. These tokens have always been within me: the scent of mint in my parents' garden, the intricate birdsong, the seeded crust of the bread, and the taste of dried yogurt steeped in olive oil. All of it returns in my dreams. But when I deliberately try to reimagine it, it turns to dust (135–136).

Abu-Jaber's mother is more of an enigma here than her father. Her father (and his extended family) bursts with energy and emotion, cooking up a storm and concocting one scheme after another. Her mother has it harder, perhaps: thrust into a culture that she did not plan to be part of, on the sidelines while her children adapt with ease. (There's a scene where she makes pancakes in Jordan—the neighbours end up referring to them as 'burnt American flat food' (38). Sadder, though, is the child of diplomats whose parents have taught him to shun/scorn the locals.) But then, despite her comfort with staying in one place, perhaps Abu-Jaber's mother is better equipped for uncertainty and change: This is the way she holds to things, lightly, knowing to let such stuff pass on and through. Neither Bud nor I can do this. We seize up, our insides tightening fiercely around our desires.... Better not to have dreams at all, I think in a surge of bitterness, than to feel this way. Better not to know what could have been (176).

Anyway. So it goes. Wide-ranging and thoughtful and full of lush descriptions of food. Lots of searching for answers to questions that can't quite be defined.

I found myself easily caught up in the narrative voice and language of the author's Arab-American heritage. Using the actual recipes of ethnic foods to add meaning (and flavor) to family anecdotes works for the most part, but sometimes it felt like an unnecessary stylistic distraction.

If you're a foodie and like to read lists of spices and exotic preparation techniques, you'll enjoy this book.

Lyrical writing and both affectionate and clear-eyed in its remembrances. Will have to try the recipes soon. I do wish Abu-Jaber had spoken more about her mother, but I understand that wasn't the focus of the story she was telling - that her relationship with her father and their relationship with Jordan is the real central thread.

I will re-read this book. This is a great summer read- I know it's cliche but this book just evokes a feeling that I want to return to, and the only proper adjective I can think of is "rich"... in taste and quality context. The family stories are hilarious, the description of life in different places is intriguing, and I literally drooled over the description of food throughout the entire book. I felt transported to Diana's family dinner. This book reinforced the love that I have for my family.

I also had a chance to go to a reading and question and answer discussion with the author. She made me love the book even more, just because she is very true to herself in the writing of the book. She shared many family stories at the reading, and each was just as entertaining as the book. In person, as in the book, she stressed the importance of constantly developing as a person, but not being afraid to be a part of something that will never change.

Culinary memoir, eh? Sounds like a winner to me. Actually, so much foodwriting is shamelessly exhibitionist, a shower of sensory description, a contest to see who can worship more lavishly at the alter of the edible. And a lot of memoir is distracted by the need to editorialize on one's journey. So culinary memoir tends to center on The Nostalgically Delicious and Impossibly Meaningful Meal of Yore. This author's story unfolds naturally, her vivid recollections of shared family meals in the US and Jordan intimately tied into her shifting sense of identity. Turns out she had been working on another project, not intending to write about herself or food at all. Err, my issues with genre aside, it's a beautiful book, funny and insightful.

Charming, beautifully written, but I wish it contained a bit more analysis in additional to the memoir and the recipes.

I did not find this book "vibrant and humorous" like the jacket claimed. I found it sad and depressing. Most of the stories were upsetting and I didn't find the humor in them at all.