Did you ever think, when you were younger and the creaks of closing
doors hadn’t yet become thunderous, that you and all of your friends
were going to do great things? Because now it seems like circumstance
has threatened, in the friendships it didn’t destroy altogether, that
idea of mutually assured success. Three years removed from the rapidly
fading end of college, the majority of my peers sport psychic bruises
gotten at the hands of a world we’ve learned isn’t vested in our
personal triumph. The few people who know what they want to do have
discovered their chosen professions aren’t guided by the principles of
meritocracy. It’s ostensible chaos, and, after fifteen years of
structured, teleological environments, it breeds doubt—doubt that like
a giant black maw eats away at the confidence of those glowing
assessments you made back in the ninth grade. When the maw isn’t
satisfied—its appetite is only whetted by the feast on your friends—the
jaws of uncertainty turn inward and you begin questioning whether that
secret self-conviction you’ve always harbored, the belief you would add
to the world in a distinct and remarkable way, was ever really
justified.
But there are methods for sating such an ugly beast. I’ve discovered one is you feed it at the restaurant where my friend pulls from the oven pizzas that, prior to glorious consumable conception, spent thousands of hours parbaking in his head.
We thought it would be really fun to do a summer reading piece and asked some of our contributors what they’ve read this summer and what they recommend.
). It’s an extraordinary, textured look at an American family, multi-generations of women and how they influenced their children and generations to come. Written in pitch-perfect prose, it’s just great!
by Willliam Makepeace Thackery but don’t take this very seriously because I read “Vanity Fair” every summer and never manage to get through it... Except that Becky Sharp is one of the great characters ever written – it always loses me (or I lose the book) somewhere along the way... I know my friends at the 
I’m also riveted by Stuart Firestein’s new book 
The rhythm of everyday life enters in: George chops tomatoes at their country house in Weston, and roasted chicken and dessert orange jelly are served to guests. Tanny, in the novel, mentions the kitchen as “the site of continual commotion…it looked forlorn to me tidy.”In The Ballet Cookbook, published in 1966, she collected the recipes of almost every famous dancer or choreographer of the time, including Jerry Robbins, Suzanne Farrell, Margot Fonteyn, and Rudy Nureyev, whose winter borscht is one of the crowd-pleasers. The cookbook has a cult following and, a la Julie and Julia, “Dinner with Mr. B.” events and the like have sprung up, with participants fording the shrimp bisque, blinis, banana sweets, and fish dinners that melted off the frames of the supremely lithe. The Master’s Muse comforts the reader with the assurance that a love of life can fortify a love affair that refuses to perish.
My favorite book this summer is Maria Semple's 
The book that stole my heart and soul this summer was 
(Amy's too shy to mention this but the paperback version of her latest book 
by Patti Smith. Loved. - Christina Wayne
which is stunning. Now reading, 
, a real eye opener. And finished 
, on which I am ambivalent. - Linda Deutsch
, a first novel by G. Willow Willows. Really interesting mix of modern Cairo and mystical jinns. I couldn't put it down. - Allison Thomas
by Marilynne Robinson. I wept at the end just for extraordinary ordinariness of it all. - Pam Felcher
- short stories by Peter Stamm - an internationally-acclaimed Swiss author - stories of people who are lonely and unhappy in their everyday lives (characters with whom we can identify). - Christina Zawadiwsky
and both other Gillian Flynn books - 
and 
. - Kate Guinzburg
by Coburn Hawk. And yes, Maria Semple's Where'd You Go Bernadette is next on my list. - Roni Keller
– I would love to take a moment to review The Sriracha Cookbook that arrived last January. It’s a fantastic cookbook, and if you’re crazy for the flavors of that certain chili sauce then you really need the book. Really. It’s wonderful. Get it and make the Piquant Pulled Pork right away. You won't regret it. 
Sara Foster's Southern Kitchen
is filled with traditional Southern favorites as seen through Sara’s kitchen. It’s a book that you can’t help but get hungry from just looking at it as it’s packed with Southern favorites that I want to eat this very second. All the classics are there with contemporary twists like Shrimp Jabalaya, fried chicken, brisket and spare ribs. Now can you see why I’m all about this book? Sara’s familiar tone in writing really makes you feel as if you’re there and have known her for years, which I love. I also love her glossary of Southern pantry essentials, should you need a brush up. But the thing about Sara’s Southern Kitchen that really makes me hungry is the food photography from Peter Frank Edwards. The food is gorgeous, real, and captured in such a way that it truly feels as if you’re just sitting down to enjoy a meal with Sara and the family.
I was particularly popular last week. It began with the arrival of our pin up boy president, Barack Obama, just blocks from my house. Since local streets were closed to prevent us local aliens from crashing the political party, and no one was going anywhere, I decided to throw a blocked by Barack block party in my front yard, to celebrate our proximity to all
the action at the Beverly Hilton. I fired up the gas grill and texted the next door neighbors whose kids sent tweets to others to bring sweets and treats, and we all e’d others and
within an hour we drew a crowd. Folks “came as they were” with whatever was in their refrigerators “as it was.” I have no idea what the expiration dates were on most of the U.F.O’s (unidentified frying objects) on my barbecue, but I sauced, smoked and fed about fifteen denizens of my block who flocked with sniffly progeny to my yard for a gangland eating orgy. Partay!
I am at That Age. The age when once every couple of weeks, you check your post mail and instead of a bill (yes, I still use the United States Postal Service to pay my bills) or the 1,000th solicitation from Doctors Without Borders you've received that week, you have a real letter. Or, at least what looks like a letter - it's got a handwritten, maybe even calligraphied address and a return label with the name of your friend or... wait... the name of the parents of your friend...