Life From Scratch: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Forgiveness

Life From Scratch: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Forgiveness

Sasha Martin

Language: English

Pages: 352

ISBN: 142621653X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Witty, warm, and poignant, food blogger Sasha Martin's memoir about cooking her way to happiness and self-acceptance is a culinary journey like no other.
 
Over the course of 195 weeks, food writer and blogger Sasha Martin set out to cook—and eat—a meal from every country in the world. As cooking unlocked the memories of her rough-and-tumble childhood and the loss and heartbreak that came with it, Martin became more determined than ever to find peace and elevate her life through the prism of food and world cultures. From the tiny, makeshift kitchen of her eccentric, creative mother, to a string of foster homes, to the house from which she launched her own cooking adventure, Martin's heartfelt, brutally honest memoir reveals the power of cooking to bond, to empower, and to heal—and celebrates the simple truth that happiness is created from within.

"This beautifully written book is both poignant and uplifting. Not to mention delicious. It's an amazing family tale that reminds me of The Glass Castle, but with more food. And not just any food: We're talking cinnamon raisin pizza." —A.J. Jacobs, author of The Year of Living Biblically

"Life From Scratch is an unconventional love story. This beautiful book begins with the quest of cooking a meal from every country—a noble feat of it's own!—but then turns it into something far beyond a kitchen adventure. Be prepared to be changed as you experience Sasha's journey for yourself." —Chris Guillebeau, author of The Happiness Pursuit

From the Hardcover edition.

Chasing Lost Time: The Life of C.K. Scott Moncrieff: Soldier, Spy and Translator

Abraham Lincoln: A Life, Volume 2

Gift from the Sea

Noticia de un secuestro

Time Lord: Sir Sandford Fleming and the Creation of Standard Time

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

butter, rum, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together in a small pot. Simmer for one minute, then remove from heat and add the chocolate. Cover and let sit a few minutes. Meanwhile, run a knife around the edge of the cake and release from the springform pan. Spread top and sides with remaining apricot jam to seal the crumbs. Whisk the chocolate glaze until smooth and glossy. Working over a cooling rack set over a baking pan, pour the glaze on top of the cake and spread evenly over the sides.

my hair in a high ponytail. When we arrived, the parking lot of the Golden Dragon was dark and mostly empty. Yellow streetlights pooled over a few scattered cars. After a quick check inside the restaurant, I realized Mom wasn’t there yet, or she’d given up waiting. I made a beeline for John’s SUV, but he reached for my hand and pulled me firmly back onto the sidewalk. “She’ll be here, Bean. Just wait.” “This is ridiculous, John. She’s not coming.” But John wasn’t listening. I followed his

neater than I recalled. From the looks of it, our toys had long since been donated. Michael’s bed was gone, too, a rubber plant in its place. But my bed was propped up just where I’d left it: my old, wooden castle just below the front window under the spider plant. As Mom gathered her box of kitchen tools from the hall, I stood by my bed, watching her move through this space that was at once so familiar, and yet so foreign. Those first few nights I tossed and turned, my body too long for the

together the flour, Jiffy Mix, and creole spice. Rinse the salt from the fillets, and dredge their wet flesh with the flour mixture. Deep-fry at 350°F until golden brown, turning once after 3 to 4 minutes and cooking for 6 to 8 minutes total. Drain on paper towels and eat immediately. Enough for 4 There’s something mandatory about experiencing a buffet in Oklahoma. Aside from the depressing chain restaurants, of which there is no shortage, every small town seems to have at least one quiet gem.

morning kiss. He’s naked, hunched on the shower floor, surrounded by steam and hot water. He doesn’t lift his head, and I ask, “Should I call an ambulance?” He mouths “no.” I grab him by the arm and help him up, then turn off the shower and wrap a towel around him. He leans on me while I help him step into a pair of sweats. His every movement is slow and brittle. I ask him a dozen more times what’s wrong, but all he can manage is “Take me to the emergency room.” My heart hammers so loudly, so

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