Escopetas descargadas
Author: Igone Marrodan
Cuando cesa el sonido de las escopetas nos queda la satisfacción por las piezas cobradas y la recompensa de poder disfrutar de los variados sabores que nos aportan tanto las aves y mamíferos de pequeño tamaño como las piezas de caza mayor.
Es un amplio recorrido por el mundo de la cocina: desde los tradicionales cocidos a los platos más actuales. Con un lenguaje sencillo y con una letra clara, las recetas, bien equilibradas, van acompañadas en su mayoría de información útil e interesante acerca del plato y, así, de forma amena, enriquecen la cultura culinaria del lector. Aprovechando en cada época del año los productos que la naturaleza nos ofrece, esta obra destierra para siempre viejas concepciones erróneas: Cocinar no es un sufrimiento, es un placer que todos podemos disfrutar.
Go to: Cosmetic Surgery or Astanga Yoga
Language of Baklava
Author: Diana Abu Jaber
Diana Abu-Jaber’s vibrant, humorous memoir weaves together stories of being raised by a food-obsessed Jordanian father with tales of Lake Ontario shish kabob cookouts and goat stew feasts under Bedouin tents in the desert. These sensuously evoked repasts, complete with recipes, in turn illuminate the two cultures of Diana's childhood–American and Jordanian–while helping to paint a loving and complex portrait of her impractical, displaced immigrant father who, like many an immigrant before him, cooked to remember the place he came from and to pass that connection on to his children. The Language of Baklava irresistably invites us to sit down at the table with Diana’s family, sharing unforgettable meals that turn out to be as much about “grace, difference, faith, love” as they are about food.
Publishers Weekly
Abu-Jaber's father, who periodically uprooted his American family to transplant them back in Jordan, was always cooking. Wherever the family was, certain ingredients-sumac, cumin, lamb, pine nuts-reminded him of the wonderful Bedouin meals of his boyhood. He might be eating "the shadow of a memory," but at least he raised his daughter with an understanding of the importance of food: how you cook and eat, and how you feed your neighbors defines who you are. So Abu-Jaber (Arabian Jazz; Crescent) tells the charming stories of her upbringing in upstate New York-with occasional interludes in Jordan-wrapped around some recipes for beloved Arabic dishes. She includes classics like baklava and shish kebab, but it's the homier concoctions like bread salad, or the exotically named Magical Muhammara (a delectable-sounding spread) that really impress. While Abu-Jaber's emphasis is on Arabic food, her memoir touches on universal topics. For example, she tells of a girlhood dinner at a Chinese restaurant with her very American grandmother. Thanks to some comic misunderstandings, the waiter switched her grandmother's tame order for a more authentic feast. Listening to the grandmother rant about her food-obsessed son-in-law, and watching Abu-Jaber savoring her meal, the waiter nodded knowingly at Abu-Jaber. "So you come from cooking," he said, summing her up perfectly. Agent, Joy Harris. (Mar. 15) Forecast: Readers who enjoyed Ruth Reichl's Tender at the Bone or Patricia Volk's Stuffed will devour Baklava. Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Lorie Paldino - KLIATT
Diana Abu-Jabel's culinary memoir speaks the undeniable truth that food evokes memories. It transports us back in time to places and people who are a rich part of our own personal history as well as the history of our ancestors. She begins with her earliest memories of family gatherings with her Jordanian father's family, a cast of characters ranging from "Professor-Uncle Hal" to "Crazy-Uncle Frankie" and various relatives who immigrated to the US and oscillate through the family. Her memoir intricately weaves the memories of her family with the food that connects them, including recipes. Each recipe is sprinkled with commentary, such as "Subsistence Tabboulehi: for when everything is falling apart and there is no time to cook" and "Spinach Stuffed Fetayer: for those in search of a home." At the center of it all is her father, a keeper of the family traditions through the meals he prepares and the edicts he sets forth for his brood of daughters. He moves the family to Jordan and back, to a rural home and back, in keeping with the Bedouin life he left behind in his home country. Diana struggles with her pull between Jordanian and American culture. Throughout her life, the one constant and comfort is food. The glimpse into the heritage of Arab-Americans is enlightening and mystical. Yet at the same time, the reader cannot help but see the same cast of characters in one's own family. Diana's narrative serves to remind us how deeply rooted our traditions are, how our families, both immediate and extended, are an important part of who we are. In a calorie-conscious era, where food is often seen as a necessary evil, Diana's celebration of food, its essences and aromas, its connection to family,is a refreshing reminder. Recommended for all levels, especially YA readers from immigrant families. As a note of caution, however, the vocabulary is challenging at times and the recipes will perhaps have limited appeal for YA readers. KLIATT Codes: JSA--Recommended for junior and senior high school students, advanced students, and adults. 2005, Random House, Anchor, 330p., $14.95.. Ages 12 to adult.
Library Journal
Novelist Abu-Jaber's (Crescent) Jordanian father tried to re-create his culture in upstate New York with his American wife and three daughters. His intense bouts of homesickness led to several upheavals in Abu-Jaber's childhood, including a year "back home" in Jordan. One of the few constants in her life was the emotional and physical nourishment provided by food, both Arab and American. Abu-Jaber traces her life to early adulthood, as she struggles to find an identity that can incorporate the pressure of being a "good Arab girl" with the desire to be a confident American woman. Often overwhelmed by her charming but unpredictable father and his extensive clan of relatives, she slowly becomes her own person, embracing aspects of both cultures. For many immigrants, food is a key connection to their homeland, and Abu-Jaber makes the connection with recipes at the end of each chapter, including Arab classics like tabbouleh and magloubeh. An enjoyable read with evocative descriptions of the immigrant experience and Arab American culture; For public libraries and Arab American collections. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 11/15/02.]-Devon Thomas, Hass MS&L, Ann Arbor, MI Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
School Library Journal
Adult/High School-A coming-of-age memoir about seeking identity through the foods of childhood. The daughter of a Jordanian father and an American mother, Abu-Jaber was raised in upstate New York but spent long periods of time in Jordan. Her Middle Eastern grandmother's knaffea and her American grandmother's roast beef helped her bridge both worlds. The author peppers her story with recipes for the foods that have formed her, and with recollections about her eccentric family. Her father carried her over his shoulder as he cooked onions for the meals that helped him remember his origins. Her American grandmother, always at odds with her son-in-law, cooked a huge ham when they first met, not realizing (or perhaps knowing all too well) that Muslims don't eat pork. Not all of the memories associated with food are pleasant. Abu-Jaber experienced her first dose of prejudice when her father, unaware of suburban traditions, grilled shish-kabob in the front yard. On the bus to school the next day, a friend informed her, "-in this country nobody eats in the front yard-.If your family doesn't know how to behave, my parents will have to find out about getting you out of the neighborhood." Perhaps her most memorable meal was in a Bedouin camp. The tribal women tried to entice her to stay with them rather than return to the U.S. as they scooped mensaf, a goat dish, into their mouths. Teens don't need to share Abu-Jaber's love of food to enjoy this story of family, love, and finding one's identity.-Pat Bangs, Fairfax County Public Library, VA Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Stories of family and food that spread out like pancake batter on a griddle are about "grace, difference, faith, and love," writes Abu-Jaber (Crescent, 2003, etc.). Abu-Jaber is the daughter of a Jordanian father and an American mother (though there's also a German grandmother thrown into the mix, who adds rigorous counterpoint to the wayward intuitiveness of Abu-Jaber's father). The stem of the narrative is about the author's precollege youth, an appealing sequence about making and losing friends, testing the waters, endeavoring to find a way forward. Its foliage is a swarming recollection of food and exile; though Abu-Jaber's father immigrated to the US of his own free will, he feels the bite of his homeland enough to move the family there for a year. What soothes the Jordan in his heart is a piping knaffea, or a "shish kebab that comes like an emergency," eaten hot off the grill. Abu-Jaber, too, will be shaped by food, both her father's and that of the immigrants around her: she wants to confess her sins after her first bite of panna cotta, and she warms her frostbitten toes in a bowl of Arabic soup made of bright herbs and orange peels. Her father is restless, moving the family here and there, the geography fluid while the daughter's social life is constrained by the father's edicts. But if he is protective on the fatherly front, he is expansive when it comes to food and, more affectingly, to the stories of his family. Abu-Jaber's tales are equally powerful and lovely in their imagery, from the faux pas of barbequing in their front yard in the US to the car ride they take late at night, to the Dead Sea, where the road is "dusty blue and smells like the woolly heat of a sheep's back."Food as a way to remember or a way to forget-either way, Abu-Jaber gets it just right.
