I just finished reading David Lebovitz’s The Sweet Life in Paris. It’s a great book, full of sharp (often self-deprecating) wit, astute cultural observations, and very good (often surprisingly easy) recipes.
The root of good humor is serious issues, and the book is grounded in loneliness, alienation and the quest for good food (if you don’t think this is serious, ask Parisians). Lebovitz first realizes he’s become Parisian when he puts on a fresh ironed shirt and nice pants just to walk downstairs to deposit a bag of trash. Apparently clothes are continually judged there. He also refers to a series of commercials for a newspaper, Le Parisien Publicite, which humorously portray Parisians’ self-centeredness. At the same time, he continually humiliates himself as he inadvertently mangles the language, e.g. a one-syllable mistake that leads him to repeatedly refer to a male body part without realizing it.
The interspersing of recipes is not only useful but … continue reading