#kitchens of the great midwest

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
J. Ryan Stradal, author of Kitchens of the Great Midwest

As a skinny, un-athletic, book-loving kid growing up in a Minnesota hockey town in the 1980s, the local and school libraries were more than my sanctuary—the books they held were like personal messages in bottles from a larger world. I knew I’d never fit in with the boys who spent their days on backyard ice rinks, and I found not only a community, but a focus for my intensely curious young mind in the libraries of my childhood..

Like a lot of kids, I loved dinosaurs, and in second grade, the librarians in my elementary school put me to work on a map describing the “Dinosaurs of North America.” This wasn’t a school assignment—it was completely voluntary—but when they suggested it to me, I knew exactly what I wanted to be doing after school. When I had exhausted the library books at my school, they sent away for others. One of them, The Dinosaurs of North America, by Helen Roney Sattler, became my favorite.

The librarians urged me to write her a fan letter—and to my unspeakable joy, she replied. I remember her envelope had a “Help End Hunger” stamp, and her typed response emphasized the importance of readers like myself. It was both magical and demystifying to receive a personal letter from an author; until then, I had thought of writers as deities, and this letter was proof that they were actually people—kind people who wrote letters back to little kids in Minnesota. It was the first time that I thought, I could do this too, someday. And it was all thanks to the urging of an astute and caring librarian.

As I got older, I expanded into U.S. Presidents and Greek mythology, and by then, the local school libraries couldn’t sustain me; my grandparents had to drive me up to the Twin Cities, where I could find the intensely detailed books on these subjects in the Minneapolis and University of Minnesota libraries. It seemed that, as my intellectual curiosity grew, there would surely be a library somewhere with the answers I needed, and indeed, that has always been the case.

I also attended my first reading at a library—not a story time for children, but an adult reading for adults (though I was eleven at the time)—and it blew me away. It was a writer reading from his book about voyageurs, the early French explorers of northern Minnesota. I’m not sure if the topic even mattered to me; I was transfixed, and if my heart hadn’t already desired being an author someday, that evening confirmed it.

Today, with my first novel, Kitchens of the Great Midwest, coming out at the end of July, my publisher, Pamela Dorman Books/Viking has scheduled a book tour, but the first place I scheduled on my own after the official tour concludes is an appearance at my hometown library in Minnesota. My childhood would have been vacant and lost without it, and without the responsive, engaged librarians of my childhood. Even though it’s not the same building I knew as child, it’s going to be incredibly moving to read there as an author, among the books and the people that started me on this path, so long ago.

Enter the Librarian, a review by Josh Hanagarne
Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J. Ryan Stradal

I grew up feeling like I didn’t understand food. Not only that I didn’t know how to cook it, but I felt like I didn’t even know how to eatit. My family loved eating more than anything. Each of them had a specific dish for a best friend. The relationships were intense and oft-scrutinized. They enjoyed every bite more than I could enjoy anything.             

My best friend wasn’t a sandwich or a gumbo. He was a boy named Travis, and my primary reason for eating was so I didn’t die.            

Not much has changed these days, except that I’ve read a book that makes me want to learn how to cook: J. Ryan Stradal’s Kitchens of the Great Midwest. The descriptions of food reminded me of The Debt to Pleasure by John Lanchester, but without the sociopathic gourmand. The included recipes reminded me of my grandma’s bookshelves. Most of her favorite novels were mysteries that included quilting patterns and recipes for various custards.              
ButKitchensis completely original. There is nothing derivative about its story, style, characters, or humor. I can truly say it’s one of the nicest surprises I’ve had while reading a book. If I say, “How’s this sound? There’s a story about love and there’s some food and cooking in it,” would your engine start revving? Maybe. Maybe not. Mine didn’t. It sounds like it could be similar to plenty of other books. But wow, it’s not.             

Every chapter focuses on a different character and a different dish. I’ve read books where there are too many characters who receive too little treatment and as a result I wind up not loving or knowing or hating any of them as much as I’m supposed to. But that’s not the case here. Stradal understands how to develop characters. To endear them to us or repulse us by their smallest words and actions. He absolutely understands what it means to be a horny teenage boy. And a frustrated father who worries that he might not be measuring up. The tormented inner life of a man trying to date again after the loss of his wife. The petty jealousies of someone lovely who recoils when losing someone’s affections to a less attractive woman.             

It’s about many different people and their relationships and the wonderful and awful things we can do to one another. It was uncomfortably familiar, and also a celebration of how we can all do the right thing sometimes, even if sometimes it happens by accident.             

And it’s funny! Far and away, this was my favorite part of the book. It is so funny. It’s not a relentless, desperately quirky gag reel of a book. It’s easy enough to populate pages with a bunch of quirky weirdos, and Minnesota has been a target for writers who want to craft idiosyncratic oddballs. But Stradal obviously knows and loves his characters, and they’re far more than comic fodder. 

My favorite character is a tall, sometimes awkward girl named Eva. By the age of ten she is a brilliant cook. Early in the book bullies dare each other to kiss her, even offering money for whomever has the “courage” to do so. She responds by whipping up an impossibly hot sauce, holding it in her mouth, and spitting it into one of their faces when he tries to kiss her the next time. It might be the only time I’ve actually cheered out loud when something happened in a book. I was sitting in an empty room when it happened. 

I think part of it is because Eva reminded me of my food-wild family. But every character resonated with me. Every single one of them made me nod at some point and think, “Yes, people are like that. Ican be like that.” 

Kitchens of the Great Midwest is a treasure. I hope you’ll give it a try. 

Also, I have no plans on learning how to cook. The phase passed quickly. But I am recommitting to begging someone to make the recipes in this book for me. 

Kitchens of the Great Midwest, J. Ryan Stradal