Bittersweet

Matt McAllester does write a very bittersweet memoir about his efforts at understanding and grieving his mother. Of course I had no idea that was what it was about based on the title Bittersweet: Lessons from my Mother’s Kitchen. I thought it would be true stories, which they were, about maybe growing up with a cook for a parent, which it somewhat was, and how that shapes the young man’s life, which it most certainly did. However, I didn’t realize that his mother would be mentally ill, then die, causing him unforeseen grief, and his attempt at reconciliation or redemption or some sort of closure would be to learn to cook.

His desire to follow his mother's advice, to cook without opening the cookbook, is one that I fully endorse. Discovering the taste of what’s in the cupboards and fridge can be the best! Taking that to a life-lesson is also pretty decent, asking oneself, ‘can I make something good with what’s here and without step-by-step instructions,’ as anybody by now realizes is how it is done, anyhow.

McAllester’s family stories were wonderful to read. No, not because there were so many sad ones, but because there were so many beautiful ones. His writing style is easy and even though he is British, his writing felt American. Previously a war correspondent for an American newspaper for about 10 years and receiving a Pulitzer Prize in journalism for his coverage makes his memoir at once believable and surprising. I don’t envision journalists and memoirists to be drawing on entirely the same skill set, so his writing has considerable breadth as well as depth.

Still, the surprise to find out so much about his mother and himself, which were often terribly unpleasant discoveries, made me wistful to learn more about his sister and father. His innumerable coincidences in learning about his family history, and how they overlap with his contemporary existence were fine, but they seemed to be given too much value for my palate. Regretfully McAllester was unable to find a deeper sense of meaning in his life and finishes by deciding that time will bring healing and that every joy and disappointment is to be accepted. Those are beautiful, mature lessons, but not much to sink your teeth into after the long journey through life. I hope my kitchen provides more.