I posted on this title for Book Group Buzz this week. I was going to simply include a link here but that site is prone to the whimsy of Viagra spam viruses, and may that be the only time I use the word “spam” in my beloved food blog. So I am including my posting below, in its entirety. Pardon me for getting a two-for-one but I have been occupied. I had guests all week and I am still scraping cheerios off the ceiling since one of the guests was a toddler. You know who you are, Little Edith. But I can’t stay angry at you because your chubby cheeks are so succulent.
Overlook, if you will, the title of this book, which plays on women’s deepest fears. Picking up where the French Women Don’t Get Fat trend left off, Naomi Moriyama takes us to her native Japan, where women get neither fat nor old. What, do they not get uninteresting or senile either? Well, probably not. Lay your skepticism aside for this reason: the recipes in this book are a feast for the senses. Oh, and also this reason: 34 percent of American women are obese. It’s time for new food.
If you don’t belong to a food-focused book group then find one, join one, found one – pronto – and make Moriyama’s mother’s Carrot-Tofu Dish. The Japanese know how to expose ingredients to minimal cooking and combine them in a manner almost too aesthetically pleasing to eat. The author quotes her mother Chizuko, who says, “The best cooking is the least cooking.” I am a sucker for anyone who looks back fondly on her mother’s cooking and proudly publishes family recipes. Moriyama makes you certain that the place she most desires to be is her mother’s Tokyo kitchen, partaking with pleasure (and not the guilty kind) of the fresh, colorful offerings.
If you have been employing a ladle of late to transfer your food from cauldron to plate with a glutinous smack, then set down your gruel shovel and pick up this book. Likewise if you receive the majority of your meals through the driver’s side window of your vehicle. And don’t do what I do and read diet, health and exercise books while recumbent, wine glass in hand and buttery popcorn at the ready. Though the wine seems to work for those French women…