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.