Toast

A deliciously evocative story of childhood in 1960s suburban England from one of the United Kingdom’s best-loved writers, Nigel Slater Toastis the truly extraordinary story of a childhood remembered through food. In each chapter, as Nigel Slater takes us on a tour of the contents of his family’s pantry—rice pudding, tinned ham, cream soda, mince pies, lemon drops, bourbon biscuits—we are transported…His mother is a chops-and-peas sort of cook, exasperated by the highs and lows of a temperamental stove, a finicky little son, and the asthma that would prove fatal. His father is a honey-and-crumpets man with an unpredictable temper. When he is widowed, Nigel’s father takes on a housekeeper with social aspirations and a talent in the kitchen and the following years become a heartbreaking cooking contest for his affections. As he slowly loses, Nigel finds a new outlet for his culinary gifts and we witness the birth of a lifelong passion for food. Nigel’s likes and dislikes, aversions and sweet-toothed weaknesses, form a fascinating backdrop to this exceptionally moving memoir of childhood, adolescence, and sexual awakening.With a new preface and glossary for American readers, this British bestseller and national award winner is sure to delight foodies and memoir enthusiasts on this side of the pond. Possessed of the subtlety and wit of Ruth Reichl’s Tender at the Boneand the disarming frankness of Anthony Bourdain’s page-turning Kitchen Confidential, Toastis a treat to be savored. BACKCOVER: Nigel Slater at his unpretentious, delicious best.” –Nigella Lawson, author of How to Be a Domestic Goddess His writing could not be more palate-cleansing… his acidic riffs put you in mind of Nick Hornby, Martin Amis and Philip Larkin all at the same time.” –The New York Times Nigel is a genius.” –Jamie Oliver, author of Jamie’s Kitchen, The Naked Chef, and Happy Days with the Naked Chef Nigel Slater's Toastis an exceptional book. It brilliantly weaves hungers together: belly hunger, sexual hunger, and the hunger for love and loss. I loved every page and the poignancy of being a child is dead on.” –Jane Stern, author of Ambulance Girl, coauthor of Roadfood, and contributing editor at Gourmetmagazine I enjoyed every moment of reading Nigel Slater's Toast. It's hard to imagine a more elegantly rendered memoir of growing up. Funny, poignant, artful, erotic, sad, a story conveyed through intelligent and unsentimental prose—the book is a jewel.” –Michael Ruhlman, author of The Soul of a Chef Toastis a remarkable story of a young man's life, and the food that nourished it. Well written, lively and engaging.” –Marie Simmons, author of Fig Heaven The genius of his food writing comes from an obvious belief that food and happiness share the same organ in the brain.” –Lynne Truss Convincing, engaging, and rich with detail, Slater’s prose lets readers taste the pink marshmallows, smell the freshly baked oat cookies, and feel the crunch of the green beans. Paced as superbly as a seven-course meal, [Toast is] able to engage the heart and the memory as well as the taste buds.--Publishers Weekly A banquet of unlikely delectations… England’s answer to Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential.” –Daily Telegraph(UK) No one writes more temptingly about food.” –The Independent(UK) An inspired memoir, boil-in-the-bag Proust!” –Tim Adams, Observer(UK) This artful, disconcerting, endearing book deserves a place in the literature of childhood unhappiness and survival against the odds.” –Daily Telegraph(UK)

Nigel Slater is the author of several classic cookbooks, including Real Fast Food and the award-winning Appetite. He has written a much-loved column for The Observer (London) for more than a decade and has been described by the media as a national treasure.

Preface Write a piece about the food of your childhood, will you?” asked the (then) editor of my weekly food column in London’s Observer newspaper. I liked the idea and went out and bought the candies and puddings that, some thirty years ago, had been such an important part of my diet. Some I still ate as an occasional treat; others I had not had my tongue around for twenty years or more. As I unwrapped each sticky chocolate bar or sucked each brightly colored candy, the memories—surprisingly clear and loud—flooded back. This would be easy, I thought. A painless column to write after several years of penning weekly recipe-led pieces.At first it was all straightforward enough. Oat cookies reminded me of coming home from school; green beans brought back the smell of the farm were I was sent to pick them; Turkish Delight reminded me of Christmas. In that respect it was not dissimilar from other foodie memoirs. But the more I ate the more I realized that not every mouthful produced a memory so sweet. A dish of canned raspberries revisited a violent thrashing from my father that brought me to a point of near collapse (I had spilt them and their scarlet juice on the new gray carpet, and he was distraught from being newly widowed); cream-filled Walnut Whips hit back with an embarrassingly vivid recall of early sexual voyeurism; and the soft pink marshmallows I had not eaten since I was nine I found to be inseparably linked with my late mom’s goodnight kisses.I decided to take a chance and made the piece uninhibitedly personal. I linked the food not just with events but with feelings, warts and all, and even chucked in a fair helping of sex. I handed the column in.A half hour later the phone rang. I knew it was my editor even before I picked it up. It’s about the story,” she said. Immediately I gabbled at her, saying that I was sorry, I knew it was too intimate and was out of style. I offered to rewrite it, taking out all the memoir and sticking strictly to the food. No,” she insisted, I love it. I’m going to publish it exactly as it is.”The morning after the piece, now called My Life on a Plate,” came out, Louise Haines, my literary editor who had worked on all of my cookbooks, called to say that she had read the story and thought I should write it as a book. We were in the depths of finishing Real Food, my fifth cookbook and one that tied into my television cooking series at the time. Overloaded with work, we put the idea of the memoir on the back burner. Forget salt and pepper, garlic and lemon. The most successful seasoning for what we eat is a good pinch of nostalgia. Ask anyone about the foods they grew up with and you will unleash a torrent of (mostly) happy memories. I must admit that I knew this when I finally set out to write Toast. To punctuate the story of a childhood memoir with brand names of the chocolate and candy and recipes that were household names at the time would be sure to ring a few bells.I suppose it is perfectly appropriate that I should have chosen food as the blood in my memoir’s veins. I have always worked with the stuff; first in restaurant kitchens, and then as a food writer. I have had a weekly newspaper cooking column for over a decade, written for glossy magazines, and have published several cookbooks, the first of which, Real Fast Food, is now in its twenty-eighth printing. Food has been my career, my hobby, and, it must be said, my escape.Yet most people were more than a little surprised that I should write such a personal book at all. Despite my work being well known in the UK, I had never taken (and never will take) the celebrity route. I had devoutly refused to play the game, to attend food symposiums, join writers’ guilds, present cooking demonstrations, or do the cooking circuit. I would go to any length to avoid a photo shoot or a seminar and would rather eat feathers than attend an awards ceremony. Even when