100 Books Like Lunch in Paris

Disclosure: This memoir is by a high school classmate. Georgeanne Brennan is an award-winning cookbook author (James Beard award), writer, and teacher who specializes in food with a Mediterranean slant. Her delightful memoir tells the fascinating true story of her move to Provence, France, in the 1970s with her husband and a toddler. 

Brennan writes about changing one’s life, raising goats, learning to make cheese, hunting for truffles, and eating luscious meals with neighbors. She makes me want to move to the French countryside. If only I could speak French!

I loved the descriptions of food and the traditional ways of preparing and eating it in a French village. Each chapter ends with one of Georgeanne’s delicious recipes for a Provencal dish. What a bonus!

The subtitle, Lessons in Food and Love from a Year in Paris, drew me to this memoir of a woman stranded in the city of her dreams without her husband. She fills her lonely days learning about French food. I enjoyed the memoir’s structure. Each chapter studies an iconic local dish: the history of the dish, the way it is made, her travels to find it, and tasting...lots of tasting. Her recipes, adjusted for American kitchens, are the bonus de resistance.  

But Mah doesn’t write only about food. She also shares her struggles with loneliness, missing her husband, and finding her way around France on her own. I totally recommend this personal and informative memoir by a Chinese American Francophile. 

While my previous three recommended memoirs feature French cooking, this one is about the Caribbean. In the early 1990s, the author and her husband rented their home and moved onto a 42-foot sailboat for a two-year sailing escapade.  

I loved this memoir for its descriptions of high adventure and the dangers of a sailing life. Vanderhoof’s wonderful selection of recipes stem from her experiences cooking in a tiny, sea-going kitchen. Starting with Chesapeake Bay crabcakes, Ann progresses to curried lobster, stewed conch, and Piῆa Colada cheesecake. 

Storms, friends, danger, repairs, the search for local food, and cooking combine to create a page-turning and delicious story—for me, a memoir similar to my own life-changing experience and resulting memoir.

As an artist, I simply fell in love with this book about the author’s journey from a stressed advertising executive to a strolling artist. And yes, it is another memoir about falling in love in Paris. This one offers a different bonus: black and white illustrations that only hint at the vibrant, colorful watercolors featured in MacLeod’s next two books

Written with humor and intimacy, it offers a look at simplifying a fast-track life to allow for a year of travel. Besides being an uplifting read, this memoir features practical advice to make the dream of living abroad a reality–plus an additional bonus at the end–a list of tips on how to save/make $100 a day to set aside for a “break year.” 

I love travelling to Italy’s great cities: Florence, Venice, Rome, Naples, Palermo, Bologna, Turin. One of the great pleasures is enjoying the local foods and wines. In this book, John Dickie demonstrates that Italy’s famed regional cuisines have origins not in the countryside but in the peculiar and particular workings of these great urban entities.

By exploring foods through links to cities, and cities through the foods that are unique to each, whether because of foreign influences, systems of agricultural tender, or through highlighting differences between working, merchant, and aristocratic classes, Dickie gave me greater insight and appreciation into place through the food that you or I will encounter on our plates, wherever in Italy we might happen to find ourselves.

OK, I don’t actually love this book.

I think it gets a lot wrong about agriculture, and it’s responsible for a lot of romantic myths about what farms that will make it very difficult for us to eat less of the earth—starting with the idea that the environmental tragedy of agriculture was intensification (chemicals and other modern practices that allowed farmers to grow more food per acre) rather than extensification (the transformation of nature into agriculture as farmers use more acres to grow food).

But Pollan is a beautiful writer, and he identified many real problems with industrial agriculture; there’s a reason his book has inspired so many not-nearly-as-compelling copycat books about regenerative agriculture.

The family stories in this book bring history to life on a personal level. The five families are connected by their immigrant experience, but they approached food in different ways, from family-oriented German biergartens to kosher delis to imported olive oil. Each new wave of immigrants brought their own unique traditions to America, and the neighborhood evolved as each successive group brought something new to the metaphorical table.

I find the tension between maintaining food traditions and adapting them to a new nation fascinating. It also made me think about how much each group contributed to the American diet. 

This isn’t just a book—it’s a feat of cultural anthropology, an ark of the world’s wondrous and unique food cultures on the brink of erasure due to the encroachment of industrial food and globalization. The photos are mesmerizing, and the accounts of the families are both fascinating and heartrending.

I keep this book on my desk and open it anytime I have a little downtime. I can disappear into the world of, say, subsistence farmers in Bhutan or marvel over the mouthwatering array of dishes a Turkish mom churns out for her family of six from a one-bedroom apartment in Istanbul. I never cease to be amazed—or hungry.

This book starts with an unforgettable vignette from a silent film produced in 1900: an alligator swallows an unsuspecting Black child while he is fishing by the river. A man comes to the rescue, slitting the gator open and lifting the child out of its stomach. From there, Tompkins shows how eating culture became a part of racist ideology in the United States. I gobbled this fascinating book up in just a few sittings.   

Eating, one of my favorite daily rituals, is contiguous with my love of smelling and cooking.  Most of what we consider to be the flavor of food arises from retronasal olfaction (the olfactory pathway from the back of the nose). And a great deal of our gustatory experiences are created from a confluence of multiple sensory channels within our headspace.

This piece of knowledge and many others are wonderfully covered in this book. Bringing to bear his cutting-edge research on mutli-modal perception, Spence provides what is to my mind the most enjoyable scientific introduction of gustatory perception and in particular an in depth explanation of why eating and drinking, when done well, are on of life’s greatest (multi-modal) pleasures.