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July 11, 2008
Food, glorious food
New short story collection is a pleasant appy.
CYNTHIA RAMSAY
Broccoli and Other Tales of Food and Love
By Lara Vapnyar
Pantheon Books, New York, 2008. Hardcover. $23.
For lovers of fine food – small, delicately presented, slightly exotic fare – Broccoli and Other Tales of Food and Love by Lara Vapnyar provides a tasty meal. You may go home a little hungry though.
Broccoli and Other Tales of Food and Love is a collection of short stories, most of which have been published previously. "Borscht," about a man who gets more consolation from a bowl of beet soup than from a paid female companion's sexual attentions, appeared in Harper's. The New Yorker published both "A Bunch of Broccoli on the Third Shelf," about a woman who loves vegetables (but doesn't ever have time to cook them), and "Luda and Milena," about a pair of elderly women who compete for a widower in their English language class, using food as a lure. "Puffed Rice and Meatballs," a women's recollection of a couple of childhood incidents, was in Zoetrope: All-Story and O. Henry Prize Stories 2006. "Slicing Sautéed Spinach" and "Salad Olivier" round out the collection.
In Broccoli, Vapnyar, author of There Are Jews in My House and Memoirs of a Muse, captures some very personal moments in the lives of eastern European émigrés who settle in the United States. There is a definite ethnic-specific feel to the stories, but readers will relate to at least some of the characters' sadnesses, pleasures and attitudes towards food and drink. Vapnyar writes with wit and empathy about these people who have experienced a very different life before arriving in America, where there is, of course, great opportunity, but also many disappointments. Freedom is not achieved merely by landing on democratic soil. For Jews, whose ancestors had to wander in the desert for 40 years to shed their slavehood, this is not surprising.
More than one story will have authenticity for Jewish readers. For example, in "Salad Olivier," Vapnyar writes:
"'The fact is, Marochka, that Tanya does have suitors,' she [Tanya's mother] says on the phone. 'Wonderful men. But Americans! You understand me, don't you? There are differences that can't be resolved, different cultures and such. We want a Russian boy for her.'
"I [Tanya] listen from the kitchen, while scraping the salad remains off the sides of the bowl.
"As the call progresses, CUNY becomes NYU, the linguistic department becomes medical school and my receptionist service at the urologist's becomes my medical work. When she sees me look over at her, my mother throws me a defiant look.
"I know, I agree. If I were worthier, she wouldn't have had to lie.
"She ends the call, with 'I see,' followed by 'Yes, please, if you hear anything.' The receiver falls onto the base with a helpless clunk.
"Then she walks into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of currant juice. Don't pity me, she seems to be saying, while slurping the red liquid. It's not me who has just been rejected, it's you. I dated enough in my time. I found a man to marry. Her black mascara melts together with tears and runs in tiny twisted streams down her cheeks.
"At times I want to shrink so I can hug my mother's knees, press my face against her warm thighs, and cry with her, wetting the saucer-size daisies and poppies on her skirt.
"At other times (increasingly often lately) I want to walk up and shove her, making her spill the juice all over her sweaty neck and her stupid flowery dress.
"Instead, I rise from my chair, dump the bowl into the sink, and leave the kitchen."
There is one more aspect to Broccoli that adds to its charm, and that's the final chapter of the book: the recipe roundup. Each short story has a focal food and Vapnyar provides a humorous (but accurate) account of how to prepare each dish.
Overall, Broccoli is an enjoyable read. However, it would have been a more fulfilling experience if Vapnyar had more thoroughly developed a few of her characters. As it is, we only get a brief meeting with them, an appy or a one-night stand, so to speak, when it would have been nice to have had a relationship, or at least a full-course meal, with them.
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