Time of Death: Page 133

Erica Bauermeister's The School of Essential Ingredients sounds like the perfect read for me: "...the lives of eight students who gather in Lillian’s Restaurant every Monday night for cooking class....One by one the students are transformed by the aromas, flavors, and textures of Lillian’s food, including a white-on-white cake that prompts wistful reflections on the sweet fragility of love and a peppery heirloom tomato sauce that seems to spark one romance but end another. Brought together by the power of food and companionship, the lives of the characters mingle and intertwine, united by the revealing nature of what can be created in the kitchen." Fiction and food almost always equal a winning recipe for me, but not this time. I started with the audio version of the book. Cassandra Campbell is a wonderful narrator and I've enjoyed listening to her before, but even her lovely voice could not make up for the annoying writing. Bauermeister seems to love similes and metaphors, using them in what seems like every other sentence. I went back to the print version and started counting--on average there are about 2 similes per page. Which probably wouldn't be so noticeable, except most of them are just ridiculous. Just to give you a taste:

"She shook the last of the water from the potatoes. The skins came off easily, like a shawl sliding off a woman's shoulders."

Ugh. After a while I found myself only half-listening and by mid-way through the book I realized I did not want to listen to this anymore. But, because I was determined to finish the book, I thought I would at least skim the rest of the print. The individual stories of the students in the class aren't bad, and I found myself wanting to find out what had brought them to this cooking class, until I got to Tom's story. Tom was deeply in love with his wife, who died of cancer. For a moment I thought I might actually continue reading after I read this moving paragraph:

"After the weeks and months of watching, of life suspended in the bottomless well of Charlie's illness, the world seemed absurdly practical. There were bills to pay, a lawn to mow...Incoming phone calls reverted to casual check-ins from friends; no longer was he the source of grim updates. The hand-delivered meals from helpful neighbors slowed and then disappeared. He went to the grocery store without wondering if she would be there when he returned, the churning in his stomach replaced by a more certain and deeper ache. She was nowhere and everywhere, and he couldn't stop looking."

But on page 133, the ridiculousness returns and that did it for me. If you really want to know what happens, you can read the book, but let's just say that it was the manner in which Tom disposes of his wife's ashes.