There were several things I didn’t know about Frank Bruni before reading his autobiographical book, Born Round: That he grew up in White Plains. That he was hired in ’04 as the New York Times restaurant critic despite having no food writing experience. That he’s completed a triathlon. That his outsized appetite was matched only by his outsized food demons.
It’s really sort of crazy when you think about it – a person with lifelong weight problems and compulsive eating tendencies accepting a job that requires him to dine out religiously, practically every night. That’s like inviting Tiger Woods to be a judge at a Miss Hawaiian Tropic pageant. And it’s not as though the restaurant critic can get away with ordering a side salad. He’s expected to try everything, from appetizers to desserts.
Born Round’s a zippy and interesting read. Bruni pulls no punches on himself, sharing every revealing and embarrassing detail of his food issues, beginning with his childhood in a tight-knit Italian-American family where food, and loads of it, was a way of life. (He tells the story of turning down his grandmother’s frits on one occasion, much to her horror. To an Italian grandma, passing on her food was like telling her he didn’t love her.)
We follow along with Bruni as he struggles with eating disorders and yo-yoing weight through high school, college, and into adulthood. Have to admit, I found myself frustrated at times, wanting to reach through the book and shake Bruni with a, “Come on, stop doing this to yourself!” His wildly swinging love/hate relationship with food is something I’ve never encountered, not even with friends or girlfriends who had some strange eating habits. The only thing I can equate him to is the self-battling Gollum from Lord of the Rings: “We loves to eat… we hates to eat!”
Near the end of Born Round, as Bruni reaches a weight normalcy, he shifts gears briefly to detail his stint as the Times critic. Some people may consider that section the least interesting of the book, but I wanted more of it, mainly because I find the general mechanics of being a restaurant critic fascinating. (But then, I guess that’s what Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires is for.) Surprisingly, the job doesn’t break him. In fact, he not only survives, but thrives.
Now Frank Bruni has moved on to New YorkTimes Magazine. Sam Sifton has taken his place as Times restaurant critic. I don’t know much about Sifton, but it’s a safe bet he’s probably not ridden quite the food roller coaster of his predecessor.
Frank Bruni’s “Born Round”
There were several things I didn’t know about Frank Bruni before reading his autobiographical book, Born Round: That he grew up in White Plains. That he was hired in ’04 as the New York Times restaurant critic despite having no food writing experience. That he’s completed a triathlon. That his outsized appetite was matched only by his outsized food demons.
It’s really sort of crazy when you think about it – a person with lifelong weight problems and compulsive eating tendencies accepting a job that requires him to dine out religiously, practically every night. That’s like inviting Tiger Woods to be a judge at a Miss Hawaiian Tropic pageant. And it’s not as though the restaurant critic can get away with ordering a side salad. He’s expected to try everything, from appetizers to desserts.
Born Round’s a zippy and interesting read. Bruni pulls no punches on himself, sharing every revealing and embarrassing detail of his food issues, beginning with his childhood in a tight-knit Italian-American family where food, and loads of it, was a way of life. (He tells the story of turning down his grandmother’s frits on one occasion, much to her horror. To an Italian grandma, passing on her food was like telling her he didn’t love her.)
We follow along with Bruni as he struggles with eating disorders and yo-yoing weight through high school, college, and into adulthood. Have to admit, I found myself frustrated at times, wanting to reach through the book and shake Bruni with a, “Come on, stop doing this to yourself!” His wildly swinging love/hate relationship with food is something I’ve never encountered, not even with friends or girlfriends who had some strange eating habits. The only thing I can equate him to is the self-battling Gollum from Lord of the Rings: “We loves to eat… we hates to eat!”
Near the end of Born Round, as Bruni reaches a weight normalcy, he shifts gears briefly to detail his stint as the Times critic. Some people may consider that section the least interesting of the book, but I wanted more of it, mainly because I find the general mechanics of being a restaurant critic fascinating. (But then, I guess that’s what Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires is for.) Surprisingly, the job doesn’t break him. In fact, he not only survives, but thrives.
Now Frank Bruni has moved on to New York Times Magazine. Sam Sifton has taken his place as Times restaurant critic. I don’t know much about Sifton, but it’s a safe bet he’s probably not ridden quite the food roller coaster of his predecessor.