I received this book as a sample and thought “This could be interesting.” Father-daughter road trip through France, hitting all the classic wine regions (except Bordeaux – “Fuck Bordeaux” as they say in the book). Should be fun.
Memoirs can be hit-or-miss, though. And if you don’t connect with the author’s “voice” it can be tough sledding. And I did not find myself connecting with Ms. Borel, her inner torment or issues with her dad.
Basically, Ms. Borel has some issues, her wine-loving overbearing dad has some issues and she joins him on this “wine trip to end all wine trips” hoping it will help them connect. Now, I knew this was a memoir, not a wine book, but the wine felt REALLY secondary to the angst here. I hung in there, hoping to get to some good wine-geekery or even some good armchair travel, but those moments were too few and far between for me. In a way, it reminded me of Julie & Julia, the memoir by Julie Powell about an unhappy woman who decides to cook her way through Julia Child’s The Art of French Cooking. That book, too, was a bit to angst-y for me. But if you like that book, you very well could like this one.
I’m going to see if I can talk my wife into reading and reviewing this book here on the blog. As a fan of the memoir (travel and otherwise), she may have a different take.
I have an extra copy of the book, so let’s do a little giveaway. Leave a comment about a memory you have of (1) your parents and wine or (2) a wine-related road trip. I’ll put all commenters names in a hat and draw a winner and ship you the book.
(If you’ve read the book, I’d love to hear your thoughts as well.)
I remember a stack of wooden wine crates in our basement when I was growing up. The stack was taller than I was until I grew and the stack shrunk, I was 10 or 11 at that point. My parents always talked about how they got such a deal on this stuff. They had moved from NYC in the ’50’s to the middle of nowhere (Columbus, Ohio) and the local bumpkins had no idea what this wine was about. Apparently the store owner that sold it to them begged them to take it off his hands, this was the early ’60’s at this point. This sort of became our “house” wine, my parents made sure that my 3 older brothers and I got a modest sip from time to time, education of the wee lads was important after all.
It wasn’t until later that I realized what that stack of wooden cases in my basement really represented. 1949 Ch. Haut Brion ain’t too bad as a “house” wine I suppose.
Well, it looks like “Win a book that I didn’t like” isn’t the most compelling way to attract comments. Adam, you’re the big winner! I’ll be in touch soon to send the book out to you. (And thanks for the story – that’s some serious juice.)