100 Books Like Food

As a transplant to Atlanta from Los Angeles, I’ve been fascinated by the regional cuisines and culinary traditions of the south. But after being caught up in the romance of pimento cheese, mint juleps, and fried chicken, I knew there was so much more to the story that I was missing.

This book tells that untold story, showing us the immeasurable debt southern food owes to Africa and enslaved peoples brought to America. What I love about this book is not just the history being told but how Twitty tells it, combining a mix of genres, from narrative nonfiction to genealogical documentation, historical account to personal memoir.

Just as cooking is a highly creative act that fuses together diverse flavors and ingredients, writing about food needs to be equally creative and equally diverse.

Thirsty for more buff orc lesbians? Legends & Lattes serves up a mug of warm, cozy queer fulfillment. Viv was an adventurer, but she no longer wants to be. Despite her battle scars and intimidating looks, she longs to open her own quiet coffee shop.

The journey to small-business success has challenges, but her determination to live on her own terms brews up a staff of misfits that become a queer-found family. This quiet, low-stakes novel is as sweet as an almond croissant and will leave you hungry for more.

I have this weird rule. It’s more of a habit I developed while reading for the last few years: for every fiction book I read, I alternate with a nonfiction book afterward. It’s not that strange of a rule, but it has been what has felt right since 2019. And for nonfiction works, I tend to feast on memoirs by comedians. It’s just my thing.

Maniscalco’s coming-of-age memoir recounts his journey of venturing to LA as a humble youngin’, grinding away, to eventually develop his full-fledged star status. Food is an interesting device in this one, as it’s the backdrop, the motif, and the recipe for not only staying afloat but daring to thrive also.

Another good example of developing voice when it comes to food as an amorphous topic.

Digestate is probably the original spark point for my short story collection. I discovered this graphic anthology during my writing MFA program in the Bay Area.

It was such a strong and artful reminder to keep what would eventually become my book, years later, a diverse series of stories from different characters’ points of view. Diverse - in a variety of meaningful ways that are visible to everyone else in the diegetic, literary universe between Digestate’s covers.

It’s weird. It’s funny. It has great visual, narrative takes on food, style, and choice.

Platinga is a sergeant with the San Francisco police department. I love his book because so many of the stories are similar to ones that I experienced as a cop. It brought back some good and some not-so-good memories.

You don’t have to be a cop or a former cop to love the read, though. It’s not only a great reference book for crime writers who want to learn and add authenticity to what they’re writing but also a wonderful read for those who want to take a wild ride inside a cop’s head during the course of their tour of duty.

Reading this book is like sitting in on a support group. It’s a collection of quotes about living with dementia from people who are doing just that.

I love it for churches starting a memory ministry because these quotes could be quickly read aloud in worship services, as a “ministry moment,” or read round-robin style in groups beginning to learn about dementia.

I like the collection of many voices speaking out candidly and poignantly about this difficult journey. 

American readers and news watchers are deeply segregated: those on the left reading and watching news produced by liberals, and those on the right consuming words and images from conservative authors and broadcasts. And then there is Washington Post columnist George Will, a conservative, who reads voraciously across the political spectrum and offers commentary that reasonable Americans must recognize as honest and insightful. American Happiness and Its Discontents is a collection of thoroughly researched, thought-provoking, exquisitely-written columns written by Will from 2008 to 2020. He offers insightful commentary on a wide range of political, social, and cultural topics and tackles subjects deemed taboo by the left such as the wave of nonsense that has flooded higher education. 

When I was in graduate school, I watched the movie Awakenings with Robin Williams playing the role of Dr. Oliver Sacks. Having really enjoyed the movie, I went to a bookstore and picked this book up and could not put it down.

Sacks, more than any author I have read, captures the perspectives, struggles, triumphs, feelings, and diversity of people dealing with various psychological and neurological conditions.

At the time, studying psychology, I was reading books, listening to lectures, and watching videos about effective listening practices. Sacks made me understand seeing the person—observing and identifying subtleties, idiosyncrasies, and proclivities—was part of being an effective observer and that listening was only possible if we use our eyes as well. 

Far from being depressing, I found great perverse enjoyment in reading about the disasters that befell others. It is a treasure trove of well-written tales that I found hard to put down. I found the contents to be an absolute treasure-chest of absorbing, beautifully written stories.

If ever I was feeling down, this volume always lifted my spirits, knowing that my day could be a lot worse.

I saw my first raven near Mount Rainier. The bird looked me in the eye, hopped to the left, sized me up, and continued his business. The advancing Russian army drove Bernd Heinrich and his family into the forest near Hahnheide, Germany, where they lived in a small hut for five years.

There, he began his lifelong quest to connect with insects (especially bees), owls, trees, antelope (he runs ultramarathons), geese...and ravens. The mind of the Raven is a deep, scientific meditation on the intersection between being human and raven. It concludes that “ultimately [our differences are] less a matter of consciousness than of culture” (342).

I wonder how culture has dulled my imagination, a struggle Heinrich clearly has fought more successfully than I have.