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sinterblackwell · 3 years

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kaylina’s top ten books of 2020 🖤

update 01/13/21: i stupidly forgot about a book that upended my life and made me fall in love with historical fiction, and so thus,,,everything has changed 😔

what that means is that a few of the original titles listed here have either been moved around or removed; i apologize to myself for the inconvenience. i do recommend reading through a bit of this again if you already read it the first time as i also revised my thoughts on one book mentioned here, so just something.

one of the things i wish for the most in 2021 is that i get to share more about my love for reading, so here’s the first post of many to satisfy that wish.

throughout 2020, i wrote some posts on a complete whim about the stories i was reading and they just kept piling on and on because i was so caught up in the euphoria of having something to turn to when school was dragging me down. i found myself to really enjoy talking about these books while i was on here so i felt it would be a worthwhile conclusion to give a good wrap-up of the top ten books that made 2020 more bearable among all of the bad.

this post is very long so if you’re curious to see what ten books stood out to me this year to make it to this list, you can keep reading in the cut below. it’s all sort of a ranking so it’ll explain why the list is backwards, and i’ll also link more information on the titles in case any of you are interested :’)

first things first, here are three honorable mentions that didn’t quite make the cut but are still important to me one way or another.

3. circe by madeline miller

i have to give thanks to scylla for being one of the main reasons i considered this book as one of my top favorites, a nymph-turned- monster that circe has to face more than once in this story.

also, miller herself building this book upon a figure who was barely considered in the odyssey is like a big slap to all the scholars out there who didn’t consider circe anything else but a jealous madwoman who used sorcery as her vengeance for all the sailors who came across her island.

cheers to the author for having actual critical thinking skills 🥂

2. the invisible life of addie larue by v.e. schwab

i did write a review for this book that i don’t find nearly as coherent as any other review i’ve written in 2020 but here it is if any of you are interested.

the fantastical elements of this story, along with some of the portrayal of certain characters such as luc and those that passed addie by made me fall in love with what v.e. schwab had to offer.

however, i can’t help but think that there’s s a lack of depth regarding minorities in this historical fantasy also set in the modern day. there were bits and pieces of this story that made me pause and feel like something was missing, aspects to it that left something to be desired. thinking back to it now, and after seeing a reviewer’s update on their review of this story, i‘ve come to understand that it could be because i knew this book could’ve been so much stronger if the mc was BIPOC or there were more characters of color who could give their own piece to the story as well.

there’s so much more i can say about it, but that’s a post entirely of its own to be made in future, i hope.

1. the year of the witching by alexis henderson

probably the best reading experience i ever had in 2020. here’s a review that goes into a bit more detail :’)

and here we go!!

10. clown in a cornfield by adam cesare

this book was so fun. i didn’t realize how much of a good time with this story i had until i was thinking about it last night. i mention in my review that i’m not a big horror reader but you can genuinely tell how much the author themself was a big fan of the genre and poured so much of their love into this book. it’s because of that love that i’m grateful for how much i enjoyed this story as a reader who typically is drawn more towards fantasy and contemporary fiction.

i didn’t have much of an attachment to the characters but they did make me laugh and smile despite this being a slasher horror, and because of that, this has become a pretty memorable book for me.

9. sex with shakespeare by jillian keenan

sex, to me, has always felt like a taboo topic, not just because i don’t have experience in it but because it all seems so complicated to me so just talking about it feels like i’m way out of my depth. what made this such an enlightening read for me was seeing how the author was discovering her sexuality through the influence of shakespeare’s works. keenan is very open and considerate of what readers may think going in learning about her fetish but she holds her own when it comes to her personal experience and how much more complicated one’s sexuality really is.

i highly recommend reading this article she wrote for the new york times here for more insight about her sexuality before this book came to be.

in this compelling memoir, the author literally brought shakespeare’s own characters to life and made them feel real, connecting them to her journey throughout her life. this to me, was something i could completely relate to because there are fictional characters i envision in moments of my life where i need them most and seeing the author herself explore that felt so real and imaginative to me.

this book was funny, light-hearted in some parts but incredibly vulnerable overall. i found the insightful analyses she’s made with shakespeare’s works so smart and well-written, i couldn’t give this book anything less than a five-star.

8. blood water paint by joy mccullough

written in verse, this historical fiction took me a while to get through but only because it was just one of those weeks where reading wasn’t that easy for me. once i finally got back into the stick of things, i completely devoured the rest of this story in less than a day.

the main character’s love for art was written with so much vision and spilled out in all these bright colors as depicted on the cover. what i particularly loved about this story were the interludes, little pieces inbetween chapters where the main character reflects on her deceased mother’s stories that were told to her when she was young. these characters that the mother envisioned in her storytelling became a source of light for the main character in her real life, where she then is raped by a popular artist in her village that was a mentor to her for a brief time. the aftermath of this assault culminated into a trial that got quite bloody, particularly involving self-afflicted torture in a matter of dignity.

the title makes sense once we’re in the aftermath of this trial, but how the characters from her mother’s storytelling come to life in the moments when she feels vulnerable are something i was completely enraptured in. this was because it wasn’t just their stories being told, but it was also the main character’s. seeing fiction and reality converge in such a time where women were used and borrowed felt like a vindication of sorts, very telling in how the arts works wonders upon a world that prioritizes logic over matter.

7. everything i never told you by celeste ng

this is a story about a family who’s dealing with the grief of the middle child, who’s assumed to have committed suicide. having the story reflect on each family member before and after lydia’s death, each of them dealing with grief in their own ways, impacted me just the same as how i saw how much they were grieving even before everything was torn down to pieces, all to the point where there was no way to go back. family sagas in literary fiction are always something i find myself to really connect with, and this one was no exception.

i’d also recommend listening to “ven” by cami, if not because you yourself might understand my feelings about this story a bit better then just because it’s a really good song that i discovered as i was reading this book.

6. darius the great is not okay by adib khorram

there’s one particular post i made regarding this story that i’d love to share here. through that post, i share a bit about my connection to darius as our narrator in this first book and then going on to the second book, “darius the great deserves better”, review for that sequel here.

just as darius felt a disconnect to not just his persian side of the family, but also from his entire family as a whole, i felt the same when it came to my dominican heritage. reading his journey throughout this first book in his own voice meant a lot to me then and it means a lot to me now.

seeing him grow and create bonds with characters like sohrab, his depression not being put off to the side but not beholding itself as the center of the story, and then just the persian culture all in itself when darius and his family travel to iran due to personal circumstances--all of it, makes this story something so incredibly special to me.

i learned a lot from this book, and seeing family at the forefront throughout all this was everything.

5. autoboyography by christina lauren

lo and behold my 2020 comfort book of the year + one of my favorite books of all-time. it’s the same feeling i had with “verona comics”, except even stronger because i came into this book thinking it’d be a nice and light read but it was so much more than that.

not only did this story center around two teenage boys in love but it also took into account of the relationships that they both had with other characters in this story. the portrayal of both tanner and sebastian’s families moved me beyond belief, for entirely different reasons, but seeing their story play out along with these two characters made this story hit even harder than i would expect. the location of this story and the significance of that plays such a huge role when it came to how tanner’s bisexuality was represented throughout, and how sebastian’s own grapple with his sexuality affected parts of the story. the author’s note at the end was just about anything i could ever want when it comes to understanding the purpose of one specific story, except i already learned so much from it that reading that note made the characters feel even more real.

may i suggest listening to “someone” by michael schulte because the lyrics of this song and the singer’s voice itself remind me strongly of tanner and sebastian’s relationship? which thus led it to becoming a big comfort song for me? so much so that it was my 2020 song of the year on spotify? no? yes? cool :’)

4. clap when you land by elizabeth acevedo

this was my first acevedo book, “the poet x” being her most popular work, but “clap when you land” for me too important a read that i didn’t want to miss as i was first going into acevedo’s writing. you can say that it’s because of how much this book means to me that it motivated me to read her sophomore novel “with the fire on high” and motivates me to finally read her debut “the poet x”.

i’ve talked to myself a lot about the personal connection i have with this book, but i’ll just say here that the context behind how these two main characters weren’t aware of each other’s existence and what it meant as they were also dealing with the fact that their now-dead father was still there for them despite having them in two different places,,,,,it’s just too monumental for me to put into words here. this author being afro-latina just like me and having written this story about a flight destined to dominican republic that never actually made it, and with so much heart above it all, i connected with it a lot.

as a dominican who feels both connected and disconnected to her heritage, this story breathed so much life into me. i wish you can know just how much.

3. lobizona by romina garber

the fact that i thought everyone would talk about this 2020 release with so much fervor and yet here i am holding the weight of this story with both shoulders,,,,unbelievable. i always feel insecure when it comes to recommending a book because the fact that i thought this one was incredible but not a lot people have talked about it, it makes me wonder why that is.

i really loved this book because as fast of a read as it was, there was so much to take in that you can tell how much effort the author put into it. as a fantasy, it’s connection to our reality is so grounded that it makes you wonder if it actually exists, and the background of our main character raises the stakes of a story like this where one’s identity matters too much to simply be blurred into the background. i loved seeing how there was animosity between these characters that we meet and the main character because despite having ties between each other, that doesn’t ignore how much labels in our society and the connotations that come with it carry its weight. seeing the sacrifices that were made and the discoveries coming at our main character with such a force, there was something so exciting that came from reading this book but it was very solemn overall.

the reason why this story isn’t at the #1 spot is because of technicalities, as i do admit that the ending did feel a bit rushed. but!! it made me more excited to see what’s to come in the second book of this series, “cazadora” (set to release in august 2021) so there we have it.

2. black sun by rebecca roanhorse

inspired by the pre-Columbia Americas, this story and its different narrators enraptured me in each and every page, my love for naranpa and serapio as characters soaring beyond the pages. all these different narrators appeared to have started this story as if they had no ties to each other but really, these web of characters are so interwoven with each other that there’s no telling what their destinies reveal. seeing how naranpa and serapio’s fates were tied together (not romantic, just a note in case i made it seem as such) put me on edge because there was so much political conflict and then here was a prophecy that put so many lives at stake, it was hard to know what could possibly happen. because of this, the ending of this first book in the “between earth and sky” series absolutely bowled me over and i cannot wait to see what could possibly happen next.

let me also just show my appreciation for one of the narrators, xiala, who for some reason made me think for a brief moment that her part in the story was over but really, that could not be further from the truth, i have to believe in that.

here is a review written by one of my favorite book bloggers about this story, listing five reasons as to why reading “black sun” could be an absolutely brilliant reading experience for you. it’s much more detailed and brings so much justice to this story than i ever could so if you’re interested, i highly recommend you check it out.

1. “lovely war” by julie berry

a mythic historical fiction that explored ww1 spanning a circle of characters, including the greek gods themselves—it was bound to catch my attention.

the beginning of this story immediately solidified my interest in the plot, the gods and aphrodite herself regaling the tale of mortals caught in the brink of a war that not only came with death and terror but music and bonds formed under strenuous circumstances.

watching as this journey didn’t exclude the gods themselves and how they were affected in what’s ultimately a love story, but not exclusively a romantic one, made this book become something so close to my heart, i’ll never let it go. i highly recommend.

and we’re done!! thank you to those who’ve read this far, this was actually a lot of work with a lot of links but i hope there’s something that you guys got out of it in the end. i’m really proud that i did this but i’m more proud of myself for having read so much in 2020 to have even been able to make this post.

thank you to all the new characters i met who will stay in my heart forever but most importantly, my thanks go to the authors who worked so incredibly hard to get their books out there, some with debuts and others with a beginning of a new series; you guys have done so much among all the trials of 2020 and i, along with so many other readers, will continue working to get your stories out there this year and the years ahead, that’s for sure.

happy new year to all of you and stay safe, everyone.

#❣️#this is a lot ik but i tried :’)#booklr

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thereadingchallengechallenge · 4 years

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10 Questions tag (Round 3)

answering @anassarhenisch ‘s questions because they looked cool :3

1. Do you have any pet photos handy? apparently I have this one 😂 this is from about 7 years ago tbh, when we were resurrecting our fish pond and Mista was still allowed outside. I’ve never met a cat less afraid of water lol

2. Are there any orange books on your shelves? lots! my favourites are Amelia Westlake by Erin Gough, I Was Born For This by Alice Oseman and Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram

3. What’s the last 5-star book you’ve read? not including rereads, I Am Still Alive by Kate Alice Marshall - a gritty, thrilling read about a disabled girl left stranded in the Canadian wilderness

4. Have you ever eaten dessert pizza? I have! there’s a place near me that does Nutella pizza topped with strawberries which is really yum - verrrrry sweet though

5. What’s your favourite style of architecture? I looooove Victorian Gothic. or whatever style English cottages are. just anything cozy but potentially haunted lol

6. Plain water or carbonated water? Plain! bubbles don’t belong in water (unless it’s bubble mixture)

7. What’s your favourite reading position? on the couch, feet tucked up, cat asleep beside me 👍

8. What Disney song is a genuine bop? ooh I’m gonna go a bit obscure and say “The Great Divide” from Tinker Bell: Secret of the Wings. it’s fun and groovy and loads of fun to sing :3

9. If you were a supervillain, what would your dastardly plan be? to amalgamate all streaming services into one so that we don’t have to be signed up for fifteen different things! I want to move seamlessly from Moana to Sherlock to Good Omens to The Simpsons without changing tabs!

10. Have you ever watched a silent film? I have - at school we watched a silent film that had been based on the poems of CJ Dennis, an Australian poet whose work I did not especially enjoy but definitely captures the Australian vernacular of the late-19th, early-20th centuries

I won’t write my own questions because I already have lol they’re available here for anyone who wants to join in :)

#tag games

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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Author Adib Khorram Is Always Looking for His Next Meal

Khorram talks to Eater about writing food scenes, the concept of the “cultural iceberg,” and tea — and reads an excerpt from his YA novel, Darius the Great Is Not Okay

In Adib Khorram’s novel Darius the Great Is Not Okay, protagonist Darius Kellner, a self-described “Fractional Persian,” visits Iran with his mother, father, and younger sister. There, he comes to terms with his identity and his place in his family, he strikes a new friendship with Sohrab, and he eats a whole lot of food. Darius also loves tea — it’s a ritual that calms him, and one he can share with his dad, with whom he doesn’t necessarily see eye to eye.

Like Darius, Khorram loves food and tea too, which is why it plays such a large role in his first novel, as well as the sequel, Darius the Great Deserves Better, which comes out on August 25 and is currently available for pre-order. In the new book, there’s plenty of food scenes — “food plays a big role because as always, I was hungry when I was writing,” says Khorram, and he teases that, yes, there’s plenty of Iranian food, tea, and even breakfast for dinner. (Khorram also has a children’s book, Seven Special Somethings, coming out next spring, all about Nowruz.)

During Eater Book Club, Khorram shared that he likes Harney & Sons and Steven Smith Teamaker as tea brands, and for Iranian tea, he suggests a mix of Assam and Earl Grey, or looking for Iranian tea blends. He recommends people who want to cook Persian food for the first time start with the cookbook New Food of Life by Najmieh Batmanglij. His favorite local bookstores are Rainy Day Books in Fairway, Kansas, and the Raven Bookstore in Lawrence, Kansas.

Below, find an excerpt from Darius the Great Is Not Okay, which Khorram read live for Eater Book Club on Instagram Live with host Sonia Chopra on Thursday, April 2, as part of the Eater @ Home virtual event series.

I gave the horseshoe knocker three quick raps. Mahvash Rezaei answered. There was a smear of white powder across her forehead, and some had gotten into her eyebrows, too, but she smiled when she saw me—that same squinting smile she had passed down to her son.

“Alláh-u-Abhá, Darioush!”

“Um.”

I always felt weird, if someone said “Alláh-u-Abhá” to me, because I wasn’t sure if I should say it back—if I was even allowed to—since I wasn’t Bahá’í and I didn’t believe in God.

The Picard didn’t count.

“Come in!”

I pulled my Vans off and set them in the corner next to Sohrab’s slender shoes.

There was a wooden partition separating the entryway from the rest of the house, with shelves covered in pictures and candles and phone chargers. The rugs were white and green with gold accents, and they didn’t have little tassels on them like Mamou’s. The house felt cozy, like a Hobbit-hole.

The air was heavy with the scent of baking bread. Real, homemade bread, not the mass-produced Subway kind.

“Have you eaten? You want anything?”

“I’m okay. I had breakfast.”

“Are you sure?” She steered me toward the kitchen. “It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure. I thought I should come visit, since it’s the day after Nowruz.”

I felt very Persian.

“You are so sweet.”

Darius Kellner. Sweet.

I liked that Sohrab’s mom thought that about me.

I really did.

“You are sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m okay. I had qottab before I came.”

“Your grandma makes the best qottab.”

Technically, I had not tasted all the possibilities, but I agreed with Mahvash Rezaei in principle.

“She sent some with me,” I said, holding out the plastic container I’d brought.

Mahvash Rezaei’s eyes bugged out, and I was reminded of a Klingon warrior. Her personality was too big and mercurial to be contained in a frail human body.

“Thank you! Thank your grandma for me!”

Khanum Rezaei set the qottab aside and went back to the counter by her oven. It was dusted with flour, which explained the mysterious white powder on her face.

Her sink was overflowing with whole romaine lettuce leaves, bathing under the running water. I wondered if it was for the bread. I didn’t know of any Iranian recipes that involved baking romaine lettuce into bread, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.

“Um.”

“It’s Sohrab’s favorite,” Khanum Rezaei said, nodding toward the sink. “He and his dad love it.”

Sohrab’s dad.

I felt so bad for him.

Also, I felt confused, because I didn’t know anyone whose favorite food was romaine lettuce.

Sohrab Rezaei contained multitudes.

“Can you take it outside for me?” Mrs. Rezaei scooped the leaves into a colander, banged it on the sink a few times, and handed it to me. “Put it on the table. I’ll go get Sohrab.”

The Rezaeis’ garden was very different from Babou’s. There were no fruit trees, no planters of jasmine, only long rows of hyacinths and a collection of huge pots filled with different herbs. The largest was right next to the kitchen—it was nearly two feet across and three feet high—and it was being assimilated by fresh mint.

Mint is the Borg of herbs. If you let it, it will take over each and every patch of ground it encounters, adding the soil’s biological and technological distinctiveness to its own.

There was a charcoal grill in the middle of the garden, the big round kind that looked like a miniature red Starbase. The only table was a Ping-Pong table, close to the door where I stood holding the dripping romaine leaves.

“Khanum Rezaei?”

There was no answer.

Was the Ping-Pong table the one I was supposed to put the romaine on?

Did Iranians say Ping-Pong, or did they say table tennis?

We didn’t cover the history of Ping-Pong/table tennis in Iran during our Net Sports Unit in physical education, which now seemed like a ridiculous oversight.

Khanum Rezaei popped up behind me. I almost dropped the lettuce in fright.

“I forgot this,” she said, squeezing behind me and flapping a giant white-and-blue tablecloth over the Ping-Pong table. It tented up over the little posts for the net. “You can spread the leaves out to dry some.”

“Okay.” I did what she asked, spreading the leaves out so they overlapped as little as possible. The water seeped into the tablecloth, turning it translucent.

“Darioush!”

Sohrab grabbed me around the shoulders from behind and swayed me back and forth.

My neck tingled.

“Oh. Hi.”

He was wearing plaid pajama pants so huge, he could have fit his entire body down one leg. They were cinched around his waist with a drawstring. I could tell because he had tucked his green polo shirt into his pants.

As soon as Sohrab saw the lettuce, he let me go and ran back inside, talking to his mom in Farsi at warp 9.

I had become invisible.

As I watched Sohrab through the doorway, he seemed younger somehow, swimming in his pajama pants with his shirt tucked in.

I knew without him saying it that he was missing his dad.

I felt terrible for him.

And I felt terrible feeling sorry for myself. Another Nowruz had come and gone for Sohrab without his father, and I was worried about feeling invisible.

But then Sohrab looked back at me as I watched him from the doorway, and his eyes squinted up again. His smile was a supernova.

“Darioush, you like sekanjabin?”

“What?”

“Sekanjabin. You’ve had it?”

“No,” I said. “What is it?

He pulled a short, wide-mouthed jar out of the fridge, said something quick to his mom, and came back outside. “It’s mint syrup. Here.” He unscrewed the jar, shook the water off a piece of lettuce, and dipped it in the sauce.

If his face was a supernova before, it became an accretion disc—one of the brightest objects in the universe—as soon as he tasted his lettuce.

I loved that Sohrab could be transported like that.

I took a tiny leaf and tried the sauce. It was sweet and minty, but there was something sour too.

“Vinegar?”

“Yes. Babou always adds a little.”

“Babou made this?”

“Yes. You never had it?”

“No. I never heard of it before.”

How did I not know my grandfather made sekanjabin?

How did I not know how delicious sekanjabin was?

“He is famous for it. My dad . . . He always grew extra mint, for Babou to use when he made it.” He gestured out to the garden. “You saw our mint?”

“Yeah.”

“Now it grows too much. Babou hasn’t made it for a while.”

“Oh.”

Sohrab dipped another leaf and then passed me the jar.

It was perfect.

“Thank you for coming over, Darioush.”

“It’s tradition to visit your friends the day after Nowruz.” I took another leaf to dip. “Right?”

Sohrab squeezed my shoulder as he inhaled another piece of lettuce. He nodded and chewed and swallowed and then squinted right at me.

“Right.”

After I helped Sohrab polish off every piece of lettuce on the table—two whole heads—he ran to get dressed, while I watched Khanum Rezaei make her bread. She pounded out the dough with her floured palms, then sprinkled a mixture of dried herbs and spices on top.

“Do you like this bread, Darioush-jan? Noon-e barbari?”

“Um. Yeah. Mom gets it from the Persian bakery sometimes.”

“You don’t make it at home?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll make some for you. You can put it in the freezer and take it home with you.”

“Maman!” Sohrab had reappeared in the doorway, dressed in real pants and a white polo shirt. He said something to his mom in Farsi, something about dinner, but it was too quick. “Come on, Darioush. Let’s go.”

“Um. Thank you,” I said to his mom. I followed Sohrab to the door and laced up my Vans.

There was something he wanted to show me.

Excerpted from Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram, (c) Penguin Young Readers.

Buy Darius the Great Is Not Okay: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop

Pre-order Darius the Great Deserves Better: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2UYTcoT https://ift.tt/2xLIbPX

Khorram talks to Eater about writing food scenes, the concept of the “cultural iceberg,” and tea — and reads an excerpt from his YA novel, Darius the Great Is Not Okay

“Alláh-u-Abhá, Darioush!”

“Um.”

The Picard didn’t count.

“Come in!”

I pulled my Vans off and set them in the corner next to Sohrab’s slender shoes.

The air was heavy with the scent of baking bread. Real, homemade bread, not the mass-produced Subway kind.

“Have you eaten? You want anything?”

“I’m okay. I had breakfast.”

“Are you sure?” She steered me toward the kitchen. “It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure. I thought I should come visit, since it’s the day after Nowruz.”

I felt very Persian.

“You are so sweet.”

Darius Kellner. Sweet.

I liked that Sohrab’s mom thought that about me.

I really did.

“You are sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m okay. I had qottab before I came.”

“Your grandma makes the best qottab.”

Technically, I had not tasted all the possibilities, but I agreed with Mahvash Rezaei in principle.

“She sent some with me,” I said, holding out the plastic container I’d brought.

Mahvash Rezaei’s eyes bugged out, and I was reminded of a Klingon warrior. Her personality was too big and mercurial to be contained in a frail human body.

“Thank you! Thank your grandma for me!”

Khanum Rezaei set the qottab aside and went back to the counter by her oven. It was dusted with flour, which explained the mysterious white powder on her face.

“Um.”

“It’s Sohrab’s favorite,” Khanum Rezaei said, nodding toward the sink. “He and his dad love it.”

Sohrab’s dad.

I felt so bad for him.

Also, I felt confused, because I didn’t know anyone whose favorite food was romaine lettuce.

Sohrab Rezaei contained multitudes.

“Can you take it outside for me?” Mrs. Rezaei scooped the leaves into a colander, banged it on the sink a few times, and handed it to me. “Put it on the table. I’ll go get Sohrab.”

Mint is the Borg of herbs. If you let it, it will take over each and every patch of ground it encounters, adding the soil’s biological and technological distinctiveness to its own.

“Khanum Rezaei?”

There was no answer.

Was the Ping-Pong table the one I was supposed to put the romaine on?

Did Iranians say Ping-Pong, or did they say table tennis?

We didn’t cover the history of Ping-Pong/table tennis in Iran during our Net Sports Unit in physical education, which now seemed like a ridiculous oversight.

Khanum Rezaei popped up behind me. I almost dropped the lettuce in fright.

“Okay.” I did what she asked, spreading the leaves out so they overlapped as little as possible. The water seeped into the tablecloth, turning it translucent.

“Darioush!”

Sohrab grabbed me around the shoulders from behind and swayed me back and forth.

My neck tingled.

“Oh. Hi.”

As soon as Sohrab saw the lettuce, he let me go and ran back inside, talking to his mom in Farsi at warp 9.

I had become invisible.

As I watched Sohrab through the doorway, he seemed younger somehow, swimming in his pajama pants with his shirt tucked in.

I knew without him saying it that he was missing his dad.

I felt terrible for him.

And I felt terrible feeling sorry for myself. Another Nowruz had come and gone for Sohrab without his father, and I was worried about feeling invisible.

But then Sohrab looked back at me as I watched him from the doorway, and his eyes squinted up again. His smile was a supernova.

“Darioush, you like sekanjabin?”

“What?”

“Sekanjabin. You’ve had it?”

“No,” I said. “What is it?

If his face was a supernova before, it became an accretion disc—one of the brightest objects in the universe—as soon as he tasted his lettuce.

I loved that Sohrab could be transported like that.

I took a tiny leaf and tried the sauce. It was sweet and minty, but there was something sour too.

“Vinegar?”

“Yes. Babou always adds a little.”

“Babou made this?”

“Yes. You never had it?”

“No. I never heard of it before.”

How did I not know my grandfather made sekanjabin?

How did I not know how delicious sekanjabin was?

“He is famous for it. My dad . . . He always grew extra mint, for Babou to use when he made it.” He gestured out to the garden. “You saw our mint?”

“Yeah.”

“Now it grows too much. Babou hasn’t made it for a while.”

“Oh.”

Sohrab dipped another leaf and then passed me the jar.

It was perfect.

“Thank you for coming over, Darioush.”

“It’s tradition to visit your friends the day after Nowruz.” I took another leaf to dip. “Right?”

Sohrab squeezed my shoulder as he inhaled another piece of lettuce. He nodded and chewed and swallowed and then squinted right at me.

“Right.”

“Do you like this bread, Darioush-jan? Noon-e barbari?”

“Um. Yeah. Mom gets it from the Persian bakery sometimes.”

“You don’t make it at home?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll make some for you. You can put it in the freezer and take it home with you.”

“Um. Thank you,” I said to his mom. I followed Sohrab to the door and laced up my Vans.

There was something he wanted to show me.

Excerpted from Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram, (c) Penguin Young Readers.

Buy Darius the Great Is Not Okay: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop

Pre-order Darius the Great Deserves Better: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2UYTcoT via Blogger https://ift.tt/2yzWCah

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instantdeerlover · 4 years

Text

Author Adib Khorram Is Always Looking for His Next Meal added to Google Docs

Author Adib Khorram Is Always Looking for His Next Meal

Khorram talks to Eater about writing food scenes, the concept of the “cultural iceberg,” and tea — and reads an excerpt from his YA novel, Darius the Great Is Not Okay

“Alláh-u-Abhá, Darioush!”

“Um.”

The Picard didn’t count.

“Come in!”

I pulled my Vans off and set them in the corner next to Sohrab’s slender shoes.

The air was heavy with the scent of baking bread. Real, homemade bread, not the mass-produced Subway kind.

“Have you eaten? You want anything?”

“I’m okay. I had breakfast.”

“Are you sure?” She steered me toward the kitchen. “It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure. I thought I should come visit, since it’s the day after Nowruz.”

I felt very Persian.

“You are so sweet.”

Darius Kellner. Sweet.

I liked that Sohrab’s mom thought that about me.

I really did.

“You are sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m okay. I had qottab before I came.”

“Your grandma makes the best qottab.”

Technically, I had not tasted all the possibilities, but I agreed with Mahvash Rezaei in principle.

“She sent some with me,” I said, holding out the plastic container I’d brought.

Mahvash Rezaei’s eyes bugged out, and I was reminded of a Klingon warrior. Her personality was too big and mercurial to be contained in a frail human body.

“Thank you! Thank your grandma for me!”

Khanum Rezaei set the qottab aside and went back to the counter by her oven. It was dusted with flour, which explained the mysterious white powder on her face.

“Um.”

“It’s Sohrab’s favorite,” Khanum Rezaei said, nodding toward the sink. “He and his dad love it.”

Sohrab’s dad.

I felt so bad for him.

Also, I felt confused, because I didn’t know anyone whose favorite food was romaine lettuce.

Sohrab Rezaei contained multitudes.

“Can you take it outside for me?” Mrs. Rezaei scooped the leaves into a colander, banged it on the sink a few times, and handed it to me. “Put it on the table. I’ll go get Sohrab.”

Mint is the Borg of herbs. If you let it, it will take over each and every patch of ground it encounters, adding the soil’s biological and technological distinctiveness to its own.

“Khanum Rezaei?”

There was no answer.

Was the Ping-Pong table the one I was supposed to put the romaine on?

Did Iranians say Ping-Pong, or did they say table tennis?

We didn’t cover the history of Ping-Pong/table tennis in Iran during our Net Sports Unit in physical education, which now seemed like a ridiculous oversight.

Khanum Rezaei popped up behind me. I almost dropped the lettuce in fright.

“Okay.” I did what she asked, spreading the leaves out so they overlapped as little as possible. The water seeped into the tablecloth, turning it translucent.

“Darioush!”

Sohrab grabbed me around the shoulders from behind and swayed me back and forth.

My neck tingled.

“Oh. Hi.”

As soon as Sohrab saw the lettuce, he let me go and ran back inside, talking to his mom in Farsi at warp 9.

I had become invisible.

As I watched Sohrab through the doorway, he seemed younger somehow, swimming in his pajama pants with his shirt tucked in.

I knew without him saying it that he was missing his dad.

I felt terrible for him.

And I felt terrible feeling sorry for myself. Another Nowruz had come and gone for Sohrab without his father, and I was worried about feeling invisible.

But then Sohrab looked back at me as I watched him from the doorway, and his eyes squinted up again. His smile was a supernova.

“Darioush, you like sekanjabin?”

“What?”

“Sekanjabin. You’ve had it?”

“No,” I said. “What is it?

If his face was a supernova before, it became an accretion disc—one of the brightest objects in the universe—as soon as he tasted his lettuce.

I loved that Sohrab could be transported like that.

I took a tiny leaf and tried the sauce. It was sweet and minty, but there was something sour too.

“Vinegar?”

“Yes. Babou always adds a little.”

“Babou made this?”

“Yes. You never had it?”

“No. I never heard of it before.”

How did I not know my grandfather made sekanjabin?

How did I not know how delicious sekanjabin was?

“He is famous for it. My dad . . . He always grew extra mint, for Babou to use when he made it.” He gestured out to the garden. “You saw our mint?”

“Yeah.”

“Now it grows too much. Babou hasn’t made it for a while.”

“Oh.”

Sohrab dipped another leaf and then passed me the jar.

It was perfect.

“Thank you for coming over, Darioush.”

“It’s tradition to visit your friends the day after Nowruz.” I took another leaf to dip. “Right?”

Sohrab squeezed my shoulder as he inhaled another piece of lettuce. He nodded and chewed and swallowed and then squinted right at me.

“Right.”

“Do you like this bread, Darioush-jan? Noon-e barbari?”

“Um. Yeah. Mom gets it from the Persian bakery sometimes.”

“You don’t make it at home?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll make some for you. You can put it in the freezer and take it home with you.”

“Um. Thank you,” I said to his mom. I followed Sohrab to the door and laced up my Vans.

There was something he wanted to show me.

Excerpted from Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram, (c) Penguin Young Readers.

Buy Darius the Great Is Not Okay: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop

Pre-order Darius the Great Deserves Better: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop

via Eater - All https://www.eater.com/2020/4/3/21201854/adib-khorram-darius-the-great-book-club

Created April 3, 2020 at 11:06PM /huong sen View Google Doc Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xa6sRugRZk4MDSyctcqusGYBv1lXYkrF

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Quote

Khorram talks to Eater about writing food scenes, the concept of the “cultural iceberg,” and tea — and reads an excerpt from his YA novel, Darius the Great Is Not Okay In Adib Khorram’s novel Darius the Great Is Not Okay, protagonist Darius Kellner, a self-described “Fractional Persian,” visits Iran with his mother, father, and younger sister. There, he comes to terms with his identity and his place in his family, he strikes a new friendship with Sohrab, and he eats a whole lot of food. Darius also loves tea — it’s a ritual that calms him, and one he can share with his dad, with whom he doesn’t necessarily see eye to eye. Like Darius, Khorram loves food and tea too, which is why it plays such a large role in his first novel, as well as the sequel, Darius the Great Deserves Better, which comes out on August 25 and is currently available for pre-order. In the new book, there’s plenty of food scenes — “food plays a big role because as always, I was hungry when I was writing,” says Khorram, and he teases that, yes, there’s plenty of Iranian food, tea, and even breakfast for dinner. (Khorram also has a children’s book, Seven Special Somethings, coming out next spring, all about Nowruz.) During Eater Book Club, Khorram shared that he likes Harney & Sons and Steven Smith Teamaker as tea brands, and for Iranian tea, he suggests a mix of Assam and Earl Grey, or looking for Iranian tea blends. He recommends people who want to cook Persian food for the first time start with the cookbook New Food of Life by Najmieh Batmanglij. His favorite local bookstores are Rainy Day Books in Fairway, Kansas, and the Raven Bookstore in Lawrence, Kansas. Below, find an excerpt from Darius the Great Is Not Okay, which Khorram read live for Eater Book Club on Instagram Live with host Sonia Chopra on Thursday, April 2, as part of the Eater @ Home virtual event series. I gave the horseshoe knocker three quick raps. Mahvash Rezaei answered. There was a smear of white powder across her forehead, and some had gotten into her eyebrows, too, but she smiled when she saw me—that same squinting smile she had passed down to her son. “Alláh-u-Abhá, Darioush!” “Um.” I always felt weird, if someone said “Alláh-u-Abhá” to me, because I wasn’t sure if I should say it back—if I was even allowed to—since I wasn’t Bahá’í and I didn’t believe in God. The Picard didn’t count. “Come in!” I pulled my Vans off and set them in the corner next to Sohrab’s slender shoes. There was a wooden partition separating the entryway from the rest of the house, with shelves covered in pictures and candles and phone chargers. The rugs were white and green with gold accents, and they didn’t have little tassels on them like Mamou’s. The house felt cozy, like a Hobbit-hole. The air was heavy with the scent of baking bread. Real, homemade bread, not the mass-produced Subway kind. “Have you eaten? You want anything?” “I’m okay. I had breakfast.” “Are you sure?” She steered me toward the kitchen. “It’s no trouble.” “I’m sure. I thought I should come visit, since it’s the day after Nowruz.” I felt very Persian. “You are so sweet.” Darius Kellner. Sweet. I liked that Sohrab’s mom thought that about me. I really did. “You are sure you don’t want anything?” “I’m okay. I had qottab before I came.” “Your grandma makes the best qottab.” Technically, I had not tasted all the possibilities, but I agreed with Mahvash Rezaei in principle. “She sent some with me,” I said, holding out the plastic container I’d brought. Mahvash Rezaei’s eyes bugged out, and I was reminded of a Klingon warrior. Her personality was too big and mercurial to be contained in a frail human body. “Thank you! Thank your grandma for me!” Khanum Rezaei set the qottab aside and went back to the counter by her oven. It was dusted with flour, which explained the mysterious white powder on her face. Her sink was overflowing with whole romaine lettuce leaves, bathing under the running water. I wondered if it was for the bread. I didn’t know of any Iranian recipes that involved baking romaine lettuce into bread, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. “Um.” “It’s Sohrab’s favorite,” Khanum Rezaei said, nodding toward the sink. “He and his dad love it.” Sohrab’s dad. I felt so bad for him. Also, I felt confused, because I didn’t know anyone whose favorite food was romaine lettuce. Sohrab Rezaei contained multitudes. “Can you take it outside for me?” Mrs. Rezaei scooped the leaves into a colander, banged it on the sink a few times, and handed it to me. “Put it on the table. I’ll go get Sohrab.” The Rezaeis’ garden was very different from Babou’s. There were no fruit trees, no planters of jasmine, only long rows of hyacinths and a collection of huge pots filled with different herbs. The largest was right next to the kitchen—it was nearly two feet across and three feet high—and it was being assimilated by fresh mint. Mint is the Borg of herbs. If you let it, it will take over each and every patch of ground it encounters, adding the soil’s biological and technological distinctiveness to its own. There was a charcoal grill in the middle of the garden, the big round kind that looked like a miniature red Starbase. The only table was a Ping-Pong table, close to the door where I stood holding the dripping romaine leaves. “Khanum Rezaei?” There was no answer. Was the Ping-Pong table the one I was supposed to put the romaine on? Did Iranians say Ping-Pong, or did they say table tennis? We didn’t cover the history of Ping-Pong/table tennis in Iran during our Net Sports Unit in physical education, which now seemed like a ridiculous oversight. Khanum Rezaei popped up behind me. I almost dropped the lettuce in fright. “I forgot this,” she said, squeezing behind me and flapping a giant white-and-blue tablecloth over the Ping-Pong table. It tented up over the little posts for the net. “You can spread the leaves out to dry some.” “Okay.” I did what she asked, spreading the leaves out so they overlapped as little as possible. The water seeped into the tablecloth, turning it translucent. “Darioush!” Sohrab grabbed me around the shoulders from behind and swayed me back and forth. My neck tingled. “Oh. Hi.” He was wearing plaid pajama pants so huge, he could have fit his entire body down one leg. They were cinched around his waist with a drawstring. I could tell because he had tucked his green polo shirt into his pants. As soon as Sohrab saw the lettuce, he let me go and ran back inside, talking to his mom in Farsi at warp 9. I had become invisible. As I watched Sohrab through the doorway, he seemed younger somehow, swimming in his pajama pants with his shirt tucked in. I knew without him saying it that he was missing his dad. I felt terrible for him. And I felt terrible feeling sorry for myself. Another Nowruz had come and gone for Sohrab without his father, and I was worried about feeling invisible. But then Sohrab looked back at me as I watched him from the doorway, and his eyes squinted up again. His smile was a supernova. “Darioush, you like sekanjabin?” “What?” “Sekanjabin. You’ve had it?” “No,” I said. “What is it? He pulled a short, wide-mouthed jar out of the fridge, said something quick to his mom, and came back outside. “It’s mint syrup. Here.” He unscrewed the jar, shook the water off a piece of lettuce, and dipped it in the sauce. If his face was a supernova before, it became an accretion disc—one of the brightest objects in the universe—as soon as he tasted his lettuce. I loved that Sohrab could be transported like that. I took a tiny leaf and tried the sauce. It was sweet and minty, but there was something sour too. “Vinegar?” “Yes. Babou always adds a little.” “Babou made this?” “Yes. You never had it?” “No. I never heard of it before.” How did I not know my grandfather made sekanjabin? How did I not know how delicious sekanjabin was? “He is famous for it. My dad . . . He always grew extra mint, for Babou to use when he made it.” He gestured out to the garden. “You saw our mint?” “Yeah.” “Now it grows too much. Babou hasn’t made it for a while.” “Oh.” Sohrab dipped another leaf and then passed me the jar. It was perfect. “Thank you for coming over, Darioush.” “It’s tradition to visit your friends the day after Nowruz.” I took another leaf to dip. “Right?” Sohrab squeezed my shoulder as he inhaled another piece of lettuce. He nodded and chewed and swallowed and then squinted right at me. “Right.” After I helped Sohrab polish off every piece of lettuce on the table—two whole heads—he ran to get dressed, while I watched Khanum Rezaei make her bread. She pounded out the dough with her floured palms, then sprinkled a mixture of dried herbs and spices on top. “Do you like this bread, Darioush-jan? Noon-e barbari?” “Um. Yeah. Mom gets it from the Persian bakery sometimes.” “You don’t make it at home?” “Not really.” “I’ll make some for you. You can put it in the freezer and take it home with you.” “Maman!” Sohrab had reappeared in the doorway, dressed in real pants and a white polo shirt. He said something to his mom in Farsi, something about dinner, but it was too quick. “Come on, Darioush. Let’s go.” “Um. Thank you,” I said to his mom. I followed Sohrab to the door and laced up my Vans. There was something he wanted to show me. Excerpted from Darius the Great Is Not Okay by Adib Khorram, (c) Penguin Young Readers. Buy Darius the Great Is Not Okay: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop Pre-order Darius the Great Deserves Better: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Bookshop from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2UYTcoT

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/04/author-adib-khorram-is-always-looking.html

#EasyFoodNetwork #ComfortFoodRecipes #EasyRecipes #GoodFood #BestComfortFoodRecipes #TastyFoodv

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