One reason I love An Everlasting Meal is that even more than its ostensible didactic value, Tamar Adler's writing and humanity compels and enchants you to cook so that you might have a life as lovely as hers. Her writing conjures a world of warmth and bonhomie and charm: you finish the book less with a renewed understanding of why and how to keep a practical kitchen, and more with a sense of the joy of cooking and the joy of sharing it with others.
This is not an easy feat. By blurring the line between textbook and memoir, authors run the risk of doing neither well; such is the case with Bringing up Bebe, a book that exists less as a serious study about cultural and socio-economic differences in child-rearing (here is a fun drinking game: take a shot every time Druckerman refers to the Parisian crèche where she sends her children as "completely free") nor as a meaningful self-examination of her own transformation as her mother during her time in Paris (even the stilted narrative strains credulity: she opens a chapter about how no other mothers would talk with her at the park due to "typical French indifference", and then the very next chapter opens with an anecdote of a French mother chatting her up at the park).
This is unduly harsh; if I had approached Bringing up Bebe less as a serious tract and more as, say, a This American Life segment, I would probably be more charitable. Certainly, I found the core theses of the book interesting and worthwhile. I'd summarize them as follows:
- French households try to integrate their children into the existing family unit, rather than reorienting the family unit to revolve around the child.
- French parents espouse a "cadre", or "frame", where very strict and non-negotiable limits are set on certain things, but within those limits children have a great deal of freedom and autonomy.
★★