My greatest achievement over the past two days was the acquisition of a new pair of flats to wear with my skinny jeans. The pair I’ve been wearing for over two years are stretched beyond comfort. They flop when I walk and give me blisters. I bought Minnetonkas, shoes I last wore when I was 8 years old, so I’m not sure if this achievement isn’t in fact a regression. We’ll see how these work out.

I have Senioritis. I’m waiting for summer and becoming increasingly overwhelmed with everything on my plate, real and imagined. I knew baseball with two kids would be challenging on top of choir, school, everything…but in these past few weeks it seems like we have something to do every single day. Practices six days a week between both boys, games, homework, my niece is in a play, the Mister is traveling on business, family visiting, birthdays, holidays…none of it serious and none of bad. Just everyday stuff. Some people come alive with constant activity. I don’t. I hate having something to do every day, even when that something is good and fun and evidence of a full and happy life.

I’m aware that I’m ungrateful and, also, an enormous wimp. I have two kids! Round of applause to those with four children in sports. I can think of at least three families I know living this…dream? Nightmare? Either way, YOU WIN.

Over the weekend I reached a breaking point, and since I’m trying very much not to eat my emotions, I fell back on my next favorite vice: reading books of questionable quality. Since Sunday I’ve read this one, this one, and this one. I was hoping to find another series of ridiculous, campy awesomesauce (to wit: Dark Fever) but so far no such luck. The hunt for literary oblivion continues.

I do feel better, though, having decompressed a bit between the pages of three bad books. Truly, how can you be stressed about conflicting baseball games and school plays when you know somewhere out there a half breed vampire and her blind vampire king (full-blooded, impressive lineage) are struggling to rebuild a crumbling paranormal empire?

You can’t, obviously.

I’m getting sidetracked. I really wanted to come here to ask for a list of books you’ve been dying to read. I want a summer reading list for our book club so those of us with lackluster libraries [raises hand] have a chance at getting the book in time to participate in the discussions. I have a few ideas, but instead of linking to a million books and cluttering up your browser page, I’m linking to my book club page on Pinterest. I’m thinking about allowing people to pin suggestions to that board. What do you think? I also troll Goodreads for ideas. If we’re friends there, I look to see what books everyone has in common in their “to-read” lists. So friend me on Goodreads if you haven’t already.

I’m off to buy a tank filter since ours bit the bucket last night. Then I’m going to eat lunch, pick up the boys from school, and get Mikey ready for practice. After that, I’m going to studiously ignore the stains on the floor because I don’t feel like mopping.

I sat down to write this post with a rosemary cake in the oven, the recipe for which you can find on page 222 of An Everlasting Meal. It’s a test run for Mikey’s birthday party in June. He loves rosemary, hates frosting, and prefers cakes with dollops of whipped cream and fruit. I described to him the recipe and he asked me to make it for his birthday. Since it’s a rosemary cake, not exactly something you would find at most 8 year old birthday parties, I told him we would do a test run first to see if he liked it in practice as much as he does in theory. The smell from the oven is intoxicating.

This story about a rosemary cake is as much for me as it is for anyone. I retell it to remind myself that children can and do have sophisticated palates, and that there is life beyond nuggets. I have to admit, though, that the phrase “sophisticated palate” is the sort of elitist-sounding, quasi-hipster terminology that makes me want to poke my eyes out with a plastic spork. There has to be a better way to say, “I enjoy a wide and varied number of foods.” My point is, I read An Everlasting Meal and found many of the recipes better suited to a childless couple or singleton until I remembered that (1) Mikey and Nico are both adventurous eaters willing to try anything once and (2) the spirit of the book is to promote instinctive cooking, and if a recipe that calls for a Scotch Bonnet pepper seems unlikely, follow your instincts and skip it (the recipe or the pepper).

Overall, I enjoyed the book quite a bit and gave it four stars on Goodreads. The writing was clever, sometimes too clever, but overall I admired Adler’s ability to extract every last possible use from the ingredients in her kitchen. With each chapter I found myself thinking this would be how I would cook if I learned at the knees of my grandmother, someone who moved from Italy to Argentina and still walks busy city blocks to the butcher and then the produce vendor and then the baker.

Many people consider An Everlasting Meal to be life changing, which I understand. It’s the type of book you read once, and then again to take notes and mark important passages. I read it once and have fifteen post-it flags sticking out of the book.I hope I make the time to read it again. I feel I will get much more from it a second time around.

There are little things Adler does that wouldn’t occur to me, like saving the ends of onions for chicken stock. I use onions regularly and always toss the ends. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I want to start a compost bin; the waste bothers me. So when I read she saves the ends to use later for chicken stock, I had to laugh. I make chicken stock regularly and always use a fresh, whole onion. Never, not once, did it occur to me to save any of the vegetables ends I discard during the week for another purpose.

After I read that I started saving the ends and scraps and the chicken stock I made that week was better than any I ever made in 12 years of marriage. I later used the chicken stock in a sausage and kale soup that was also pretty darn tasty.

Most of the recipes in the book are made from odds and ends, mistakes and regroupings. There is a lot of adapting leftovers, lots of, for the lack of a better word, European eating. I’m not sure that’s the phrase I’m looking for, but I’ll use it until someone suggests something better. Simple meals made of simple ingredients, like a baguette and soft-boiled eggs over greens, that make dinner seem almost decadent. It’s strange to think of such a spare meal as decadent, but isn’t it, in a way? No rigid eating guidelines or courses, no formal “this is a dinner and we must dine” mentality.

It sounds crazy, to have a dinner that isn’t really a dinner. And then I remembered the night that in January when we ate a dinner that wasn’t a dinner.

And how we promised that we should do it at least once a week because it was so satisfying, so delicious. Number of picadas for dinner since January: zero.

Expect a post in the next few days discussing the picks for the next few months. I think a rough idea of what we will be reading will be good, both for waiting lists and budgets.

Before we get into May’s book pick, I have something to show you. The cute post header above is by Kristen Hodges of Ahoy Graphics. I won a design package over the summer and have been waiting to use it on something special. Our book club fit the bill. Also, a logo.

I also have small and large blog banners, bookmarks, and all sorts of fun collateral. But, to be perfectly honest, the whole technology thing isn’t really my bag. I have the files for the banners but don’t know how to make the code work (see: William Morris Project Coding Debacle of 2012). I’ll hold off on that until someone can help me avoid looking like a complete Luddite.

My methodology for picking books is pretty simple. I compile a list of potential books, check out the reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, and then see if one book stands out as a favorite among my friends. If it’s a book a vast majority of you have on your “to read” lists, it’s an almost guaranteed pick. Ergo, May’s book club pick:

The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern.

Many of you have this book on your to-read lists, but for those who don’t, here is the synopsis.

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night.

But behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway—a duel between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood expressly for this purpose by their mercurial instructors. Unbeknownst to them, this is a game in which only one can be left standing, and the circus is but the stage for a remarkable battle of imagination and will. Despite themselves, however, Celia and Marco tumble headfirst into love—a deep, magical love that makes the lights flicker and the room grow warm whenever they so much as brush hands.

True love or not, the game must play out, and the fates of everyone involved, from the cast of extraordinary circus per­formers to the patrons, hang in the balance, suspended as precariously as the daring acrobats overhead.

Written in rich, seductive prose, this spell-casting novel is a feast for the senses and the heart.

That’s our May pick. I hope you like it! If you have a suggestion for the next few months, now is your time to share. I’m wondering…since summer is coming and people go on vacation, should we stick to short beach reads? Read every other month? Let me know your thoughts. I’m always reading so the time of year doesn’t make much difference to me, but I know not everyone is as cuckoo for coco puffs as I am. More than anything, I want this book club to be fun. No drudgery allowed.

Remember when I made this the book pick for April and contacted the publisher (actually, the publisher’s publicist) and asked them for copies of the book to give away for book club members? Well, guess what?

They completely ignored me. Didn’t even get a reply email.

Guess what else? Susan G. bought an extra copy of the book and wants to give it away here. I bought an extra copy of the book and want to give it away here. That’s two copies to give away for those of you who would like to read what I hear is an amazing book. A quick reminder, we’ll be discussing this book on Monday, April 30.

There are no rules to win.* Just leave a comment! I’ll announce the winner before the end of the week.

*I shouldn’t have said that. We can only do US shipping so that’s a rule–US residents only. Oh, and minors can’t win so that’s another rule. Two rules. Ugh.

I read The Hunger Games Trilogy in the same month as The Book Thief. I planned on reading the latter, not the former, and for a moment I thought I blew it. After The Hunger Games, I didn’t know if I could handle another book on death, dying, and children. In a panic, I read something fluffy before reading about the Führer. I can’t remember what I read, so I suppose that means it did its job.

I shouldn’t have worried, at least not too much. Collins and Zusak both write about a world gone to hell, but they sit on opposite sides of the battlefield. While The Hunger Games decries the destruction of the masses and points at broken pieces left behind, The Book Thief affirms the humanity of the individual and uncovers pockets of beauty and normalcy among the rubble. To paraphrase Death, I like that.

I like that while bombs loom overhead, people listen to murder mysteries down below.

I like that during a time of hate, a little girl learns to love.

I like that the narration is like war. The surprise is not in the outcome, but in the timing. We all have the same ending.

I like that we can’t stop being human, even when we try, and that boys will always think of ways to kiss girls.

(Oh, Rudy. You lemon-haired saukerl. I adore you and I miss you.)

I liked all that and more about The Book Thief.

The book started slowly, waiting for me to adapt to Death as a narrator. It took me a while, about 159 pages. For most people, pages 30-40. My pacing was off. I was accustomed to stories laid out like clean towels. Easy to see, folded neatly. This was different, like hunting for matching socks in a deep drawer. They’re there, but they’ll take effort to find. Two weeks later, I reread the beginning and didn’t have the same problem. Socks on a silver platter.

I almost deleted that entire paragraph out of shame, but since I used laundry as a simile (hence, the shame) I figured I could also use it to clumsily segue into what I liked most about The Book Thief: the characters.

I loved every last one of them, even Rosa Hubermann. Especially Rosa Hubermann.

I could go on, but I won’t since I prefer to share more in the comments. What did you think of The Book Thief? Any favorites passages? I have several. Too many, really. At first I flagged the pages with writing I admired, but it became ridiculous. I faced the risk of using every last post-it in the county. I stopped at page 111, where Death contemplates heil Hiltering.

Many jocular comments followed, as did another onslaught of “heil Hitlering.” You know, it actually makes me wonder if anyone ever lost an eye or injured a hand or wrist with all of that. You’d only need to be facing the wrong way at the wrong time or standing marginally too close to another person. Perhaps people did get injured. Personally, I can only tell you that no one died from it, or at least, not physically.

I thought I’d pop in with a quick update on The PIBC. The plan has always been to discuss the book club pick on the last day of the month, but since the 31st falls on a Saturday, I decided to move the discussion date for The Book Thief to Monday, April 2nd. This gives everyone the weekend to finish (or start) the book and it gives me a little time to try and think of something intelligent to say. Odds are I’ll clam up when it comes time to write the post and then find inspiration by reading your comments. Y’all are a smart bunch, and I’d be lying if I said writing any sort of review (even tongue in cheek ones on Mad Men) wasn’t intimidating. That said, I’m looking forward to talking on Monday. These posts where we have long discussions about the minutia we’ve found tucked within the pages of a book are fast becoming my favorites.

Our first month we read general fiction. Then, young adult. Next month, I want to dip a toe into nonfiction. An Everlasting Meal by Tamar Adler is not a food memoir. It’s a collection of essays and instructions on instinctive cooking: cooking without recipes, making do with the odds and ends in the cupboards, and eating well. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.

So far, everything I’ve heard is great, despite this book being a modern revival of the culinary favorite, How to Cook a Wolf by M. F. K. Fisher, a book published in 1942 to help home cooks make due with wartime food shortages. It’s a bold and risky move to base your book on a classic, and it says something that so far it has been well received.

I took this blurb from the dust jacket:

Through the insightful essays in An Everlasting Meal, Tamar Adler issues a rallying cry to home cooks.

In chapters about boiling water, cooking eggs and beans, and summoning respectable meals from empty cupboards, Tamar weaves philosophy and instruction into approachable lessons on instinctive cooking. Tamar shows how to make the most of everything you buy, demonstrating what the world’s great chefs know: that great meals rely on the bones and peels and ends of meals before them.

She explains how to smarten up simple food and gives advice for fixing dishes gone awry. She recommends turning to neglected onions, celery, and potatoes for inexpensive meals that taste full of fresh vegetables, and cooking meat and fish resourcefully.

By wresting cooking from doctrine and doldrums, Tamar encourages readers to begin from wherever they are, with whatever they have. An Everlasting Meal is elegant testimony to the value of cooking and an empowering, indispensable tool for eaters today.

I’m a good home cook, a fair utilizer of resources, and a poor planner. My hope is that An Everlasting Meal inspires and teaches me to cook with economy and grace. It’s in the title, so I don’t think it’s an unreasonable expectation.

I bought my copy of the book on Sunday, but I also contacted the publicist at Scribner/Simon Schuster and asked for copies to share with those who are unable to purchase a hardcover new release at this time. I haven’t heard anything, yet. Fingers crossed they take interest! If you know someone who works there and can put in a good word for our book club, I’d be forever grateful. Of course, it goes without saying that you should try your library. I couldn’t find it at mine, but maybe yours is better stocked with new releases.

Tamar Adler, the author, is young, hip, has a gorgeous website, and uses modern media to her advantage. She’s produced several videos to summarize a few of the chapters in An Everlasting Meal. These videos are for Chapter 3, How to Stride Ahead. I hope you like them, and I hope you join me in reading the book.

That’s what I’m thinking, but I’m open to suggestions. I would love to steer clear from, I don’t know, cancer, death, war, insanity, child abuse, genocide, and things that blow. That would be my only request. I’ll read about someone with a difficult mother, but only if at the end everyone is in a relative state of happiness. I hunted around Goodreads to see what memoirs everyone is enjoying, and it looks like food ones are always good. Homesteading and chickens seem a popular choice, too.

I’m thinking maybe a food one or a homesteading one. My goal is to close the book and say something as important as, “That recipe for aspic sure looks swell!” or “I don’t know about you, but Australorps are my favorite egg laying hen, hands down.”

p.s. Yesterday was awesome. Thanks for having such an interesting conversation with me regarding mythology, violence, whether to monitor our kids reading, and how books can be both addictive and disturbing.

I started The Hunger Games Trilogy on Friday and finished it Monday night. I’m not sure what to think. I gave them average marks on Goodreads (3, 2, and 2) but that might change because hours later I am still thinking about the series. Books that compel thought deserve marks for that alone, which is one of the reasons why I think the Goodreads ranking system, wonderful though it may be, is flawed.

I gave Bet Me by Jenny Crusie and The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco 4 stars. They are not the same.

So when I say I “liked” The Hunger Games and thought Catching Fire and Mockingjay were “okay,” I mean that in a way that says nothing. Because right now, I’m confused.

The pacing of the first book exceeded expectations. Collins impressed me with her ability to maintain tension for well over 60 pages. I stayed up until 2:39am (I checked) to finish the first book. The second book didn’t grab me until a similar climatic event occurred in the second half. Once again, Collins had me on the edge of my seat, and her history of working in television came as no surprise. The third book failed to do the same. There were parts I loved, especially with Peeta. (No spoilers.) But, for the most part, the series ended for me with the gentle slide of a sad trombone.

I’m finding difficultly expressing my dismay–if I can call it that–with the series without giving away major plot points for those who are still reading. I admit that part of it may come from reading over 1,000 pages in four days. You can have too much of a good thing, and that may be the case here. But, what disheartens me most–and what I can talk about since it doesn’t involve plot–is that this is a book for children age 12 and up.

I don’t see it.

I understand the argument that these are book best understood in layers, and that only the older, more mature readers will grasp the larger construct of the novels. Forgive me if I argue that a 12 year old (a child 4 years and 3 months older than Mikey) can pick up elsewhere lessons on friendship, adventure, and love of family. The themes in the third book were so mature, so complex and, ultimately, so depressing, I can’t imagine a 12 year old understanding 25% of the takeaway. Children may very well love these books  because they are too young to understand what they are reading. I understood most of it and finished the series utterly dejected.

I picked up most of the references to the debauchery of the Roman Empire. I felt the way the tributes were treated upon their return harkened back to the treatment of veterans after the Vietnam War, and could easily see commentary on our culture’s obsession with reality TV, 24 hour news, and glamorized, impersonal war. But it’s only in reading about the books elsewhere that I discovered major references to Greek mythology (the myth of minotaurs and Theseus my two major oversights). I consider myself fairly educated, but I feel like I could drag these books with a fine-toothed comb and pull out half a dozen theses on topics ranging from poverty to feminism.

I don’t know. I need to think about this series some more before I make a final decision. I may reread them over the summer. Certainly, I’m in the minority if I conclude this series isn’t all that. On Goodreads one 1-star reviewer (that means “didn’t like it”) received over 700 comments, many questioning her ability to read or think. People, please.

In other news, I need to start reviewing books for the April book club selection. After reading this series and starting The Book Thief next, I’m looking for something funny or at the very least not so damn existential. Any suggestions?

The day is here to discuss Rules of Civility! What did you think of the novel? I waited until four days ago to start the book, and while I finished it with time to spare (yesterday, just after lunch) I won’t do that again. I felt rushed, and didn’t take the time to enjoy the dialogue, which was really quite good. I’m going to start reading next month’s book straight away.

I don’t want to taint the conversation with my opinions before it even gets started, so let’s meet in the comment section and see if you gave it the same rating I did.