I wanted to like this book. There should not be anything to dislike. Great food, an adventurous and intrepid heroine, a whirlwind tour through the crusine and culture of the past thirty years. It was so tempting.
I hated it. The last book I disliked with this much intensity was Thomas Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities. I stopped reading Wolfe's book three pages from the end because I could not stand the characters.
I had the same visceral reaction to the people in this memoir. The only difference is that I made myself finish the book in the faint hope that it would get better. It did marginally improve in the last fifty pages, but not quite enough to make up for the rest of it.
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