Kane writes a food blog (Nosheteria.com) and the book reads like blog entries: nothing too deep, a steady narrative line (and voice), and chirpy conclusions stuck in here and there.  Each chapter starts with a recipe — very blog-like — which ties in with something in the chapter and the recipes look great.  In fact, Kane is at her best when talking about food: buying it, preparing it, and eating it.

The purpose of memoir is to reveal what is hidden, to hold up thoughts and fears, hopes and sorrows, to the light of exposure, and to find a story in that exposure. The memoir invites the reader to be witness to the events that changed and shaped a life. Julia Blackburn’s memoir, The Three of Us, reviewed here on December 2, 2008, is a powerful memoir of emotionally abusive parents and the resilience and intelligence of Blackburn in the face of the abuses.  It is powerful because Blackburn shares with the reader the facts of her life with her parents, no matter how ugly; her feelings, no matter how dark or shallow or seemingly inappropriate; and her actions, both laudable and not-so laudable.

Adrienne Kane suffered a stroke just weeks before graduating from college. Cooking and Screaming tells of her recovery and how she came to rely on cooking to regain her confidence, gain her independence , and jump start her new life. Using my imagination and reading between the lines, I can see that it must have been terrible for Kane to suffer such a stroke  and become partially but permanently disabled. But I never read about her pain, her fears, her anger, her moments of weakness: she was a bit too stoic and understated over the circumstances of her stroke and the aftermath of rehab.  Kane had to start over again, living a new life in a different way and what did that feel like?  For example, Kane had been a dancer her whole life but after the injury she does not dance; I suppose she just cannot dance but Kane doesn’t tell me that, or about how it must feel to have danced every day and then — suddenly — never dance again.  She never tells us about remembering what it had been like to dance: the sweat, the work, the ache of her muscles, the beauty that came out of the pain and work and sweat.  Did she never think about dancing again?  Did being a dancer help her in rehab?  Does she miss dancing now, does she go to dance performances, is she in touch with past teachers and fellow dancers?  The sharing of these kinds of details and even more intimate ones are what memoirs are made of. The deeply felt and hidden responses to one’s life are the blood and bone of memoirs and we get absolutely none of that in this book.

But I did like reading Kane’s book. She is sincere and genuine and laid back. Reading her memoir was like reading Facebook entries from a friend telling me about her recovery from a debilitating illness (a friend who does not want to share any compelling details of the illness or the aftermath but just wants me to take her word for it that it was terrible). I liked the woman who wrote this book and we would probably have stuff in common if we met –books and music and movies that we would both like — except that I am a terrible and impatient cook who occasionally and miraculously cooks something good but since I never follow a recipe, I have no idea how I did it and the dish is just never as good the second time around.  Kane sounds like she must be a marvelous cook. I just wish she had shared the details of her wrenching and disabling experience — what she was feeling mentally and physically — as willingly as she shares her recipes.

I am not happy that she dissed my adopted hometown, New York City, and even worse, my favorite grocery store, Fairway. But I cannot deny the superior produce and weather of Northern California and I know that a good apricot is hard to find. A great memoir is also hard to find but a good read is always a pleasure: read her book, enjoy her company, and try her recipes.