(Dolen Perkins-Valdez, hardback). From the title you might think this is a book about the s-x word. It’s not. By a long shot. But the story, set in about 1852, is about a black slave woman, and her somewhat misguided “love” for her master. About the children she bore him, under the eagle eye of the master’s wife. But it’s all tied together with a yearly journey made to a place called Tawawa House, a rural inn of sorts in southern Ohio (a free State), that for some years allowed white slave owners to stay at the resort in rustic cottages with their black slaves, as couples. This place existed, according to the author’s afterword, and finally closed because some of the regulars (white couples who stayed in the main house) didn’t fancy this concubine business going on out in the woods. It’s about Lizzie’s relationships with the other slave women, about their desire to run to safety through the local underground, about them secretly meeting some free blacks, finding out more about abolition, and about the hardships all these black mistresses endured, and how little their lives were valued. A real stunning book. (I was sent this book as a perk from Harper Collins – because I had mentioned The Help. No strings attached – I could choose to mention this book, or not, here on my blog. I’m glad to because it’s a very good read.)
(Jamie Ford, on my Kindle). A poignant story about a Chinese-American, growing up in Seattle at the beginning of World War II. Henry falls in love with a young Japanese girl before her family is interned in a relocation camp. It a very secretive relationship because his parents would highly disapprove. The story goes back to the 40’s and forward to the 1980’s when Henry is in his 50’s and his wife (not the Japanese woman) has just died of cancer. The story pulls you in from the first page, especially when some artifacts are found in the basement of an old hotel which contain personal belongings from several Japanese families who were suddenly taken away back in 1942. You can see where it’s going, can’t you? I heard criticism of this book that it was just a little bit contrived. Halfway through I’m enjoying it very much.
(Kathryn Stockett on my Kindle, an excellent read); 
by Jetta Carleton (Kindle edition, eh); 
by Susan Richards (Kindle edition, good book); 
by Sally Gunning (Kindle edition, very good read)
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(Mario Batali & Gweneth Paltrow); 
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So, I was reading the blog post over at Accidental Hedonist, and immediately I was transported to about 1965. Allow me to set the stage . . . I was about 23 years old. My first husband was an officer in the U.S. Navy (air). His air group was deployed on a carrier, and we’d made plans for me to travel for several months from country to country in Asia as I followed the ship around from port to port. It was my first international trip. I was a totally inexperienced traveler, besides being on my own abroad. The Vietnam War intervened, but I decided to continue the journey, even if I spent more time alone. First I went to Japan for a couple of months, and then on to the Philippines, where I met up with two other wives.The carrier carried on, and the three of us wives went to Hong Kong, a few days before a monsoon started, as part of our around-Asia special airline ticket. We stayed at the Hong Kong Hilton.
Let me just say that the two other wives were far more worldly than I. They’d both been PanAm stewardesses for some years before marrying their pilot husbands. I was (and am) a relatively shy-type not given much to reveling and drinking much alcohol, nor dancing with men I didn’t know (or even men I did know except my then husband). So, upon our arrival in Hong Kong, the other two wanted cocktails and dancing; I wanted some dinner and sleep. They went to the sky bar and I went to the small cafe near the lobby.
As the only occupant in the small cafe, I received exemplary service. I tried to understand the menu. It was in Chinese with just a few minimal words in English, German and a couple of other languages. Nothing appealed to me much, but there was this one spaghetti dish. The word bolognese was in it and I knew I’d seen that in Italian restaurants. The other word I didn’t recognize. But, it was quite inexpensive. So I ordered it. With great anticipation, the dish arrived and I dug in. Ewwwwh! It was chicken liver sauce on pasta. It was horrid. I tried a second bite of just the pasta I could manage to extract from the sticky, grainy sauce. Nope, it wouldn’t go down. Being on a very strict budget, I couldn’t order something else. I pushed the food around, drank some ice water and didn’t know what to say to the waiter when he came to my table and pointed at my plate, asking questions in what he thought was English. I couldn’t understand anything he said. I was too embarrassed to try to explain with more pointing or making screwed-up ugly faces. I ate the saltine crackers on the table, and drank a second glass of water. Back then I was still testing the waters, so to speak, of international travel. I was very sensitive to my inability to speak the language. Today I’d be in a financial position, thankfully, of saying I’ll order something else and do my level best to smile a lot and be pleasant. Do you have any similar experiences? I’d love to hear about them – leave a comment – click the link below. So, my advice: if you don’t understand a menu in a foreign country, ask questions.
Graphic at top created at www.wordle.net
Patty
said on September 20th, 2008:
My dad took my mom, my sister and me to Hong Kong over 20 yrs ago. One night we had dinner with his friend and his friend’s family. The wife spoke very little English but my mom and I still asked her what we were being served. According to the wife, we ate jellyfish and squirrel that night. Yum. I truly think (hope) something was lost in the translation. (Do they even have squirrels on Hong Kong?)
And, I just read that you’re in Orange County. I’m in San Juan Capistrano.
Patty – I certainly wouldn’t ever eat jellyfish or squirrel, either one! Yuck. But in many cultures I guess it’s standard fare. Thanks for sharing the story! And yes, I live in the Tustin Hills. . . . Carolyn