Yes, Chef

( 42 )

Overview

JAMES BEARD AWARD NOMINEE ? NAMED ONE OF THE TEN BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY VOGUE ? NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

?One of the great culinary stories of our time.??Dwight Garner, The New York Times
 
It begins with a simple ritual: Every Saturday afternoon, a boy who loves to cook walks to his grandmother?s house and helps her prepare a roast chicken for dinner. The grandmother is Swedish, a...

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Overview

JAMES BEARD AWARD NOMINEE • NAMED ONE OF THE TEN BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY VOGUE • NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

“One of the great culinary stories of our time.”—Dwight Garner, The New York Times
 
It begins with a simple ritual: Every Saturday afternoon, a boy who loves to cook walks to his grandmother’s house and helps her prepare a roast chicken for dinner. The grandmother is Swedish, a retired domestic. The boy is Ethiopian and adopted, and he will grow up to become the world-renowned chef Marcus Samuelsson. This book is his love letter to food and family in all its manifestations.   
 
Marcus Samuelsson was only three years old when he, his mother, and his sister—all battling tuberculosis—walked seventy-five miles to a hospital in the Ethiopian capital city of Addis Adaba. Tragically, his mother succumbed to the disease shortly after she arrived, but Marcus and his sister recovered, and one year later they were welcomed into a loving middle-class white family in Göteborg, Sweden. It was there that Marcus’s new grandmother, Helga, sparked in him a lifelong passion for food and cooking with her pan-fried herring, her freshly baked bread, and her signature roast chicken. From a very early age, there was little question what Marcus was going to be when he grew up.
 
Yes, Chef chronicles Marcus Samuelsson’s remarkable journey from Helga’s humble kitchen to some of the most demanding and cutthroat restaurants in Switzerland and France, from his grueling stints on cruise ships to his arrival in New York City, where his outsize talent and ambition finally come together at Aquavit, earning him a coveted New York Times three-star rating at the age of twenty-four. But Samuelsson’s career of  “chasing flavors,” as he calls it, had only just begun—in the intervening years, there have been White House state dinners, career crises, reality show triumphs and, most important, the opening of the beloved Red Rooster in Harlem. At Red Rooster, Samuelsson has fufilled his dream of creating a truly diverse, multiracial dining room—a place where presidents and prime ministers rub elbows with jazz musicians, aspiring artists, bus drivers, and nurses. It is a place where an orphan from Ethiopia, raised in Sweden, living in America, can feel at home.
 
With disarming honesty and intimacy, Samuelsson also opens up about his failures—the price of ambition, in human terms—and recounts his emotional journey, as a grown man, to meet the father he never knew. Yes, Chef is a tale of personal discovery, unshakable determination, and the passionate, playful pursuit of flavors—one man’s struggle to find a place for himself in the kitchen, and in the world.

Praise for Yes, Chef
 
“Such an interesting life, told with touching modesty and remarkable candor.”—Ruth Reichl
 
“Marcus Samuelsson has an incomparable story, a quiet bravery, and a lyrical and discreetly glittering style—in the kitchen and on the page. I liked this book so very, very much.”—Gabrielle Hamilton
 
“Plenty of celebrity chefs have a compelling story to tell, but none of them can top [this] one.”—The Wall Street Journal
 
“Red Rooster’s arrival in Harlem brought with it a chef who has reinvigorated and reimagined what it means to be American. In his famed dishes, and now in this memoir, Marcus Samuelsson tells a story that reaches past racial and national divides to the foundations of family, hope, and downright good food.”—President Bill Clinton

Winner of the 2013 James Beard Foundation Book Award for Writing and Literature
Winner of the 2013 IACP Cookbook Award for Literary Food Writing

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble

World-renowned chef Marcus Samuelsson has two names and has lived on three continents. Forty-two years ago, he was born as Kassahun Tsegie in Ethiopia. When he was just three, his mother died. Not long thereafter, he and his sister were adopted by a Swedish family. It was in Sweden, in the kitchen of his grandmother, that he gained his love of cooking. After a professional apprenticeship in his adopted country, Switzerland, and Austria, he moved to the United States in 1991 to pursue success. He fulfilled his dreams far beyond expectations, winning James Beard Awards both as a chef and a cookbook author. In 2009, his star shined even brighter when he was selected to prepare the first state dinner of Barack Obama's presidency. In this memoir, Samuelsson writes with warmth and candor about food and family, his two great lives. Now in trade paperback and NOOK Book.

The New York Times Book Review
Yes, Chef, [Smauelsson's] blandly titled but otherwise beautiful memoir…is written with sparkle and grace…His rise is gratifying to read about, partly because he never sounds as if he's crowing.
—Craig Seligman
The Washington Post
Samuelsson's memoir, Yes, Chef, is a sensitive and compelling account of his rise and his extraordinary life. Written with Veronica Chambers…it's an affecting, absorbing tale.
—Robin Shulman
The New York Times
Mr. Samuelsson…possesses one of the great culinary stories of our time…Yes, Chef…chalks in the details of [his] story with modesty and tact. What lifts this book beyond being merely the plainly told story of an interesting life is Mr. Samuelsson's filigreed yet often pointed observations about why so few black chefs have risen to the top of the culinary world…a good book to give to the aspiring professional cook in your life because its abiding theme is the brutal and selfless work that must undergird culinary inspiration.
—Dwight Garner
From the Publisher
Advance praise for Yes, Chef
 
“The Red Rooster’s arrival in Harlem brought with it a chef who has reinvigorated and reimagined what it means to be American. In his famed dishes, and now in this memoir, Marcus Samuelsson tells a story that reaches past racial and national divides to the foundations of family, hope, and downright good food.”—President Bill Clinton
 
“I’ve read a lot of chefs’ books, but never anything like this one. Marcus Samuelsson has had such an interesting life, and he talks about it with touching modesty and remarkable candor. I couldn’t put this book down.”—Ruth Reichl, bestselling author of Tender at the Bone

“Marcus Samuelsson has an incomparable story, a quiet bravery, and a lyrical and discreetly glittering style—in the kitchen and on the page. I liked this book so very, very much.”—Gabrielle Hamilton, bestselling author of Blood, Bones, & Butter
 
“The pleasures of this memoir are numerous. Marcus Samuelsson’s life, like his cooking, reflects splendidly multicultural influences and educations, and he writes about it all with an abundance of flavor and verve. A delicious read.”—Henry Louis Gates, Jr.
Library Journal
Among the many celebrity chefs who have written memoirs, Samuelsson, winner of the second season of Bravo's Top Chef Masters, stands out for his ability to layer effectively the stories of his globe-spanning life and career with evocative descriptions of meals (as readers of food writing expect). Although he was born in a remote Ethiopian village, his mother died of tuberculosis when he was three years old, and he and his sister were adopted by the Samuelssons from Göteborg, Sweden. He spent his childhood playing soccer, fishing with his father, and watching his grandmother cook. Samuelsson's passion and drive took him around the world to apprentice with the best. He finally landed in New York City, where he gained at Aquavit a coveted three-star New York Times review. VERDICT This distinctive and compelling memoir has all the elements of a good story: humor, travel, and a young individual overcoming obstacles via a passionate calling. Highly recommended for Samuelsson's many fans and lovers of culinary memoirs. [See Prepub Alert, 12/12/11.]—Ann Wilberton, Pace Univ. Lib., Brooklyn, NY
Kirkus Reviews
A compelling memoir from an acclaimed chef. Born in Ethiopia, the author was placed in an orphanage after his mother died from tuberculosis, and the Samuelsson family adopted him and his sister. After becoming a famous chef, the author sought out his roots in multiple visits to his birth country. During one of those visits, he reconnected with his father, and he has kept in touch with his birth family since then. In rich detail, the author tracks his rise as a chef, from the cooking classes at his vocational high school and his first internship, to his appearance on Bravo's Top Chef, which coincided with his cooking of the White House State Dinner after President Obama's inauguration. The author chronicles the long and grueling hours in the kitchen and looks at the stiff hierarchy that exists not only among the kitchen staff, but also among head chefs. It took Samuelsson several years of working at Aquavit (where he "became the youngest chef ever to receive a three-star rating from the New York Times") to be accepted as an equal chef by veterans, like Bobby Flay, already in the inner circle. In 2010, Samuelsson won Top Chef Masters, and he currently owns and runs Red Rooster Harlem in New York City. In addition to plenty of behind-the-scenes details, the author ably captures the feeling of being a young, single (he is now married), ambitious person in New York City. Samuelsson strikes a skillful balance between the personal and the professional--recommended for those interested in pursuing a career as a chef or those curious about the secrets behind high-end dining.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780385342605
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 6/26/2012
  • Pages: 336
  • Sales rank: 135,136
  • Product dimensions: 6.40 (w) x 9.30 (h) x 1.10 (d)

Meet the Author

Marcus Samuelsson

A James Beard Award–winning chef and author of several cookbooks, Marcus Samuelsson has appeared on Today, Charlie Rose, Iron Chef, and Top Chef Masters, where he took first place. In 1995, for his work at Aquavit, Samuelsson became the youngest chef ever to receive a three-star review from The New York Times. His newest restaurant, Red Rooster, recently opened in Harlem, where he lives with his wife.

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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

My African Mother

I have never seen a picture of my mother.

I have traveled to her homeland, my homeland, dozens of times. I have met her brothers and sisters. I have found my birth father and eight half brothers and sisters I didn’t know I had. I have met my mother’s relatives in Ethiopia, but when I ask them to describe my mother, they throw out generalities. “She was nice,” they tell me. “She was pretty.” “She was smart.” Nice, pretty, smart. The words seem meaningless, except the last is a clue because even today, in rural Ethiopia, girls are not encouraged to go to school. That my mother was intelligent rings true because I know she had to be shrewd to save the lives of myself and my sister, which is what she did, in the most mysterious and miraculous of ways.

My mother’s family never owned a photograph of her, which tells you everything you need to know about where I’m from and what the world was like for the people who gave me life. In 1972, in the United States, Polaroid introduced its most popular instant camera. In 1972, the year my mother died, an Ethiopian woman could go her whole life without having her picture taken—especially if, as was the case with my mother, her life was not long.

I have never seen a picture of my mother, but I know how she cooked. For me, my mother is berbere, an Ethiopian spice mixture. You use it on everything, from lamb to chicken to roasted peanuts. It’s our salt and pepper. I know she cooked with it because it’s in the DNA of every Ethiopian mother. Right now, if I could, I would lead you to the red tin in my kitchen, one of dozens I keep by the stove in my apartment in Harlem, filled with my own blend and marked with blue electrical tape and my own illegible scrawl. I would reach into this tin and grab a handful of the red-orange powder, and hold it up to your nose so you could smell the garlic, the ginger, the sundried chili.

My mother didn’t have a lot of money so she fed us shiro. It’s a chickpea flour you boil, kind of like polenta. You pour it into hot water and add butter, onions, and berbere. You simmer it for about forty-five minutes, until it’s the consistency of hummus, and then you eat it with injera, a sour, rich bread made from a grain called teff. I know this is what she fed us because this is what poor people eat in Ethiopia. My mother carried the chickpea powder in her pocket or bag. That way, all she needed to make dinner was water and fire. Injera is also portable, so it is never wasted. If you don’t finish it, you leave it outside and let it dry in the sun. Then you eat it like chips.

In Meki, the small farming village where I’m from, there are no roads. We are actually from an even smaller village than Meki, called Abrugandana, that does not exist on most maps. You go to Meki, take a right in the middle of nowhere, walk about five miles, and that is where we are from.

I know my mother was not taller than five feet, two inches, but I also know she was not delicate. Those country women in Ethiopia are strong because they walk everywhere. I know her body because I know those women. When I go there now, I stare at the young mothers to the point of being impolite. I stare at those young women and their children and it’s like watching a home movie that does not exist of my childhood. Each woman has a kid, who might well be me, on her back, and the fingers of her right hand are interlocked with another slightly older kid, and that kid is like my sister. The woman has her food and wares in her bag, which is slung across her chest and rests on her hip. The older kid is holding a bucket of water on her shoulders, a bucket that’s almost as heavy as she is. That’s how strong that child is.

Women like my mother don’t wear shoes. They don’t have shoes. My mother, sister, and I would walk the Sidama savannah for four hours a day, to and from her job selling crafts in the market. Before three p.m. it would be too hot to walk, so we would rest under a tree and gather our strength and wait for the sun to set. After eight p.m. it was dark and there were new threats—animals that would see a baby like me as supper and dangerous men who might see my mother as another kind of victim.

I have never seen a picture of my mother, but I know her features because I have seen them staring back at me in the mirror my entire life. I know she had a cross somewhere near her face. It was a henna tattoo of a cross, henna taking the place of the jewelry she could not afford or even dream of having. There was also an Orthodox cross somewhere on the upper part of my mother’s body, maybe on her neck, maybe on her chest, near her heart. She had put it there to show that she was a woman of faith. She was an Orthodox Ethiopian Christian, which is very similar to being Catholic.

I don’t remember my mother’s voice, but I know she spoke two languages. In The Souls of Black Folk, W.E.B. DuBois spoke of the double consciousness that African Americans are born into, the need to be able to live in both the black world and the white world. But that double consciousness is not limited to African Americans. My mother was born into it, too. Her tribe was a minority in that section of Ethiopia and it was essential to her survival that she spoke both the language of her village, Amhara, and the language of the greater outside community, which is Oromo. She was cautious and when she left the Amharic village, she flipped that switch. She not only spoke Oromo, she spoke it with a native accent.

I don’t know my mother’s face, but I sometimes think I remember the sound of her breath. I was two when a tuberculosis epidemic hit Ethiopia. My mother was sick, I was sick, and my sister Fantaye was doing only slightly better than the two of us. We were all coughing up blood and my mother had seen enough in her young life to measure the ravages of that disease. She knew she had to do something. She put me on her back. It was all coming at her now: the fatigue and the fever; pieces of her lung splintering and mixing with her throw-up; the calcifications on her bones, where the disease had already spread. She and Fantaye walked more than seventy-five miles, my mother carrying me the whole way, under a hot sun, from our village to the hospital in Addis Ababa to get help. I don’t know how many days they walked, or how sick my mother was by the time she got there. But I do know that when we arrived, there were thousands of people standing in the street, sick and dying, awaiting care. I do not know how my mother managed to get us through those lines and into that hospital. I do know that she never left that hospital and that perhaps it was only by the miracle of that henna cross that Fantaye and I got out alive.

Today, in the dead of night when I should be sleeping, I sometimes imagine the breath of the woman who not only gave me life, but delivered me from death. I sometimes reach into that tin by my stove and take a handful of berbere, sift it through my fingers, and toss it into the pan. I watch my wife cook and I imagine that I can see my mother’s hands. I have taught myself the recipes of my mother’s people because those foods are for me, as a chef, the easiest connection to the mysteries of who my mother was. Her identity remains stubbornly shrouded in the past, so I feed myself and the people I love the food that she made. But I cannot see her face.

Two My Swedish Mother

My father wanted a son. That is how I came to live in Sweden, of all places. My sister and I had been orphaned in Ethiopia in 1972, in the tuberculosis epidemic that cost my mother her life. And the Samuelssons of Göteborg, Lennart and Anne Marie, wanted a son.

They already had a daughter, an eight-year-old foster child named Anna, who had been born to a Swedish woman and a Jamaican man. While it would take decades for the United States to see a wave of international and transracial adoptions, this had been going on in Sweden since the 1950s and 1960s. In those days, it was nearly impossible to find a Swedish child to adopt. Single and pregnant Swedish women either had abortions, which were increasingly acceptable, or raised their children as single mothers, which was not frowned upon by the society at large. So in the mid-1960s, my parents were matched with fifteen-month-old Anna, who was not technically adopted but was doted on nonetheless by Lennart and Anne Marie, who were so thrilled to have their dream of becoming parents come true.

Before a family adopts a child, there’s a journey they go on. For my parents, it was ten long, painful years of “We want to have a baby, but we can’t.” Today, if a couple is trying to get pregnant and it’s not happening, doctors can do tests and, in most cases, offer up a relatively quick diagnosis and sometimes a measure of hope. Back then, there was just my mother sitting in the kitchen with her mother, wondering how she was going to become the woman she wanted to be without a child. She wanted to have a family. She was a very traditional person in that sense. When my parents adopted Anna, my mother hardly cared what race she was. Anne Marie Samuelsson, at age forty-five, was finally a mother. Anna wasn’t black or white, she was joy.

In the Samuelsson family, the adoption chain goes back even further. Right after the Second World War, my mother’s parents took a Jewish girl into their one-bedroom apartment. My mother was fifteen years old at the time and spoke fluent German. Sweden had remained neutral during the war and like many young people her age, my mother volunteered to go down to the port and work as a translator to help the thousands of Jews who were walking from Denmark to Sweden, seeking refuge. On the docks, she met a sixteen-year-old girl named Frieda. Frieda was Czechoslovakian and had been in a concentration camp. She was all alone. My mom and Frieda became friendly and one day she said to my grandfather, “Can’t we just take her? Can’t we save one person?” My grandparents didn’t have any money, but they did it, they took her in. And the happiness that Frieda brought to my mother’s life led to the happiness that Anna brought to my parents’ life, which paved the way for us.

My father wanted a son. He didn’t care what color the boy was; he just wanted a boy he could teach to hike and fish. He filled out adoption forms in triplicate and considered offers from any part of the globe where orphaned baby boys were seeking homes: Greece, Vietnam, Korea, Russia, the continent of Africa. Anyplace that had been touched by famine or war, anyplace poor enough to part with a fatherless boy.

I’d been hospitalized in Addis Ababa for six months, but was on the mend when Anne Marie and Lennart got the call saying I might soon be up for adoption. It wasn’t just me, though: I had my four-year-old sister, who had also been hospitalized, and our Ethiopian social worker didn’t want to separate us. We had already lost our mother to disease, she told the Samuelssons; it would be best if we didn’t lose each other now.

Yes, Anne Marie and Lennart said almost instantly. Yes, why not two?

It would take nearly a year for my sister and me to make the journey from Addis Ababa to Göteborg, a blue-collar city on Sweden’s southwest coast.

On Tuesday, May 1, my father’s mother, Lissie, died in Smögen, a small island off the west coast of Sweden where my father and his siblings had been raised. The next morning, the old priest stood in the pulpit of the brick Lutheran church with its whitewashed walls and dark wood pews. He said the Church of Sweden liturgy and each mourner placed a flower on Lissie’s casket, which was then ferried over to the mainland to be buried in a graveyard next to her husband and four generations of Samuelssons. On Thursday, the family gathered for gravol, “grave beer,” and the toasts and reminiscing went on for hours.

On Friday, my parents received a phone call in the Smögen house. It was my mother’s parents. The Swedish adoption agency, unable to reach them directly, had called with news: My sister and I were on our way from Ethiopia. My parents raced back to Göteborg, stopping along the way to purchase a bunk bed and linens, and then booked round trip tickets to Stockholm—three going and five returning—for the next day. As our parents would always say, with both grief and gratitude, never before had they seen so clearly how when one life ends, another begins.

My mother never gave birth, but as any adoptive mother knows, the journey to meet the child you hope to call your own is its own kind of labor. When Mom, Dad, and Anna arrived at the customs area, they learned that our flight had been delayed for several hours. My father, a scientist, and Anna, his shadow, sat quietly reading, while my nervous mother proceeded to unpack a picnic in the airport waiting area. A large thermos of coffee for her and Dad, a small thermos of saft, a sweet red-currant drink, for Anna. Then came two types of sandwiches, both on heavily margarined multigrain bread. One was made of västerbottensost, a hard, parmesan-like cow’s-milk cheese from the north of Sweden, and a few thin slices of green pepper. The other was stuffed with slabs of a rough, country-style liver pâté. My mother’s mother, Helga, had not only made the pâté, but topped it with slivers of homemade pickles and a smear of grainy mustard. For dessert, there was apple cake, which, my mother explained to anyone who would listen, would have been so much better with the traditional vanilla sauce topping, but since they had been in a rush, and had traveled by plane, compromises had to be made.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 42 )
Rating Distribution

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(25)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 42 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 28, 2012

    Brought tears to my eyes, and love into my heart!

    Wonderfully written. Moving.

    8 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 10, 2012

    I loved this book. The story is incredibly moving, plus Marcus

    I loved this book. The story is incredibly moving, plus Marcus is a great story teller. I could not put it down and found myself in tears at three different parts. I would highly recommend this book - it's the best book I have read in ages.

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 9, 2012

    Who Knew?

    Not only a great chef but a very good writer. This would still be an intetesting book even if you didn't know who the writer was. Kudos Marcus. I highly recommend this book.

    5 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 21, 2012

    Excellent and fascinating memoir! Unable to put down! Met him at

    Excellent and fascinating memoir! Unable to put down! Met him at book signing with a smile to match his life experiences. Will recommend and continue following his journey!!

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 11, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    It is an absolute pleasure to read a chef's memoir about somethi

    It is an absolute pleasure to read a chef's memoir about something other than how many drugs they have done of how drunk they can get on the line and still put out food.

    Marcus Samuelsson's passion for food and drive to excel leap from the page and swirl through the readers mind like the aromatics from the pots and pans on his stove. This is a story of high-quality food and cooking and how to obtain it. Through hard work, passion, and determination, Marcus has become a chef we should all look up to and emulate.

    This is the book I'd like to represent a chef's life.

    It is a pleasure to read and an inspiration.

    Victoria Allman
    author of: SEAsoned: A Chef's Journey with Her Captain and Sea Fare A Chef's Journey Across the Ocean

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 24, 2012

    A Fascinating Story about a Fascinating Chef

    I have always been intrigued by Marcus Samuelsson; when watching him on the Food Network, I'd always hear his accent and wonder where he was from. When I found out that he was Swedish but was born and adopted out of Ethiopia, I knew that he'd have an interesting story to tell. I admire his cooking skills, love for food, and commitment to elevating Harlem cuisine, but he has by far the most colorful personal story out of all the celebrity chefs out there. A most enjoyable read and a great journey into a man's life.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 22, 2012

    Learn about the behind the scenes culinary world

    Excellent journey into what it takes to be an outstanding chef. Well written and engaging.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 9, 2012

    Well written, hard to put down book. Amazing, inspiring story.

    Thanks, chef, and all those who helped to write this book. Excellent!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 22, 2013

    Our book club read and discussed this remarkable story. Thank y

    Our book club read and discussed this remarkable story. Thank you Marcus for the history and journey of your inspiring life.
    Excellent!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 10, 2013

    Superb book, well done Mr. Samuelsson. The mark of a good book i

    Superb book, well done Mr. Samuelsson. The mark of a good book is that you feel better for having read it - like the mark of a good meal, where you feel better for having eaten it. Truly an amazing story, told with respect and compassion. The writing is poetic. Highly recommended for all, not just the foodies.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 2, 2012

    Good read for anyone

    I read this book as a food lover and fan of the chef, but his life and journey are so unique and moving that I think anyone would enjoy this!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 8, 2012

    Great read. Enjoyed the behind the scenes of different kitchens

    Great read. Enjoyed the behind the scenes of different kitchens.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 13, 2014

    Evie

    STOP POSTING YOUR ADS AT PON IT IS REALLY FU<_>CKING ANOUYING

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 13, 2014

    Xander

    "Hey." he says

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 22, 2013

    Recommend highly

    This was a selected by a member of my book club. It is not a book I would have chosen to read on my own. I was pleasantly surprised at what an interesting book it is. Describing his childhood and how his race affected his career was quite fascinating. This was a fast read for me. I recommend it highly.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 30, 2013

    To kenzie

    Nope it Egrith he changed. So how about you screw off and leave you nasty bit<3>ch. And go shower i smell fish. Might wanna clean that pus<3>sy. Next time i see you advertise this you WILL NOT be able to post EVER!

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 30, 2013

    Kenzie to to egrith

    His name is bob so screw off

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 22, 2013

    Michelle

    How could u? Just lie to me!!!:( im forgetting u......i thought of u everyday it haunted me and made me happy at he same time.....im done with u parker bye

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 28, 2013

    Amazing book

    Could not put this down. Loved the vivid descriptions of Sweden and Africa.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 25, 2013

    A wonderful book!

    I took a chance on this, and I loved it! I was surprised to encounter such a fine human being with such an interesting life journey.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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