Recipe for Disaster

by Aimee Lucido

Overview

In this heartfelt middle school drama, Hannah's schemes for throwing her own bat mitzvah unleash family secrets, create rivalries with best friends, and ultimately teach Hannah what being Jewish is all about.

With a delicious mix of prose, poetry, and recipes, this hybrid novel is another fresh, thoughtful, and accessible Versify novel that is cookin’. - New York Times Best-Selling Author Kwame Alexander

Hannah Malfa-Adler is Jew . . . ish. Not that she really thinks about it. She'd prefer to focus on her favorite pastime: baking delicious food! But when her best friend has a beyond-awesome Bat Mitzvah, Hannah starts to feel a little envious ...and a little left out.

Despite her parents firm no, Hannah knows that if she can learn enough about her own faith, she can convince her friends that the party is still in motion. As the secrets mount, a few are bound to explode. When they do, Hannah learns that being Jewish isn't about having a big party and a fancy dress and a first kiss — it's about actually being Jewish. Most importantly, Hannah realizes that the only person's permission she needs to be Jewish, is her own.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780358386919
Publisher:	HarperCollins
Publication date:	09/14/2021
Pages:	352
Product dimensions:	5.80(w) x 8.10(h) x 1.20(d)
Age Range:	8 - 12 Years

About the Author

Aimee Lucido is a crossword maker, trivia writer, and the author of several books for kids, including Emmy in the Key of Code, Recipe for Disaster, and Pasta Pasta Lotsa Pasta. She got her MFA in writing for children and young adults at Hamline University and lives with her husband, daughter, and dog in Irvington, New York. When she’s not making puzzles or writing books, Aimee likes to cook, run, and watch reality TV.

aimeelucido.com

Twitter: @AimeeLucido  

Instagram: @AimeeLucido

Read an Excerpt

Fall is when we make rugelach.
      “In honor of Shira’s bat mitzvah!” Grandma Mimi says today.
      I lift my spatula in agreement and call out “Hear, hear!” while Sam does the same with his whisk.
      My family will take any excuse to bake rugelach. It makes the house smell like fall—butter and chocolate with a hint of cinnamon—and even though no one needs an excuse, it’s tradition to come up with one anyway.
      Today, that excuse is my best friend’s bat mitzvah.
      “Hannah?” Dad walks into the kitchen half dressed, waving a folded piece of paper. “Mom wants you to write Shira a note in her card before we all sign . . . ooh, chocolate!” He reaches into the bowl of rugelach filling, card forgotten, and—Slap!
      “Ow! Miriam!” Dad licks the chocolate from his fingers. “I wanted to taste your arugula!”
      Grandma Mimi whisks the bowl of filling off the countertop and points a floury finger toward the door. “On rugelach day, the kitchen is a Jewish space.” She says it all stern, but her eyes are laughing as she talks.
      Dad waves his sticky hand at me and Sam. “Then what are they doing in here? They’re not really Jewish!”
      “Rude!” calls Sam, and I laugh.
      “My grandchildren?” says Grandma Mimi, tugging at her Star of David necklace. “My Hannah? My Sam? With me as their grandmother, they’re as Jewish as they come! Besides, have you seen how they roll rugelach?”
      “Yeah, Dad!” I beam at Grandma Mimi and point to my perfectly crafted rugelach crescent. “We’re as Jewish as they come!”
      Dad laughs and tries again to reach into the bowl of chocolate filling, but Grandma Mimi pulls it away. “Richard, you’re going to make us late. And you, Hannah?” She turns to me. “Go write a note to your friend. Move!”
      Dad goes upstairs to get dressed, and I find a handful of colored pencils in the junk drawer.
      I write:

Recipe for a She-ra

Mix together:

my #1 sous-chef

the nicest person I know

the Marlin to my Dory

the REAL winner of the sixth-grade Olympics

(no matter what Mr. Pierri Says)

Zendaya

(just cuz)

my favorite dance partner

the sister I never knew I needed

and you get one She-ra
(my best friend)

Love,

Ha-na-na-na-boo-boo

P.S. You are the GOAT. And the sheep. And the cow. Moo.

P.P.S. Remember, if you get nervous, just picture Jeremy Brewer in his underwear.

Then I draw a picture of us. We’re wearing the bat mitzvah dresses we bought together—caramel for her, green for me—and we’re dancing to our favorite song. It’s the one we chose months ago for the first partner dance of her party: “Single Ladies.”
      And with that, I hand the card to Sam to sign.
      “When I open my own bakery,” he whispers, taking the card out of my hand, “if anyone pronounces it arugula in my presence, I’m pressing charges.”
      I laugh. “You better.” Then I return to Grandma Mimi’s side to finish rolling rugelach, my gift to my best friend for her bat mitzvah.

Editorial Reviews

Hannah is a strong narrator, and the narrative is engagingly interspersed with charming handwritten recipes with notes and scratch-outs, poems that follow a recipe-like format, and passages from the Torah. Food, family, friendships, and Jewish identity are the focus of this moving coming-of-age story. Highly recommended for middle grade collections.”—School Library Journal
 

From the Publisher

2021-07-08
Hannah is desperate to be Jewish.

Grandma Mimi, her mother’s mother, is Jewish, so according to Jewish law she must be too, right? Even if her White father, who was raised Catholic, and her nonreligious mother don’t seem to think so. When Hannah attends her best friend Shira’s bat mitzvah, she finally finds the place where she feels she belongs, and she decides to have her very own bat mitzvah. Unfortunately, her parents—especially her mother—vehemently disagree. So, Hannah schemes with Grandma Mimi and Aunt Yael, a rabbi and her mother’s estranged sister, to prepare for her own bat mitzvah. Hannah secretly learns Hebrew and studies her Torah portion in six months, and her rapid mastery of the language feels unrealistic. Her experience is an authentic portrayal of struggling to find oneself through religion even when parents may not be supportive. However, Hannah’s parents’ constant negativity about Judaism—her father frequently “jokes” in ways that read like microaggressions, and the context for her mother’s hostile comments is not revealed until the end—will be deeply uncomfortable for some readers, though the novel does end with a positive message of love and acceptance. The mix of prose, poetry, and recipes is original, but the execution leads to a disjointed and choppy read. Readers questioning their sense of belonging could find this to be exactly what they need.

A disjointed yet sincere story about family, Judaism, and finding oneself. (author's note) (Fiction. 8-12)

Kirkus Reviews