Still single five years after a broken engagement, 29-year-old food lover Jessica Stone decides to leave New York City for a fresh start in London, hoping the change in scenery would finally usher in a new relationship. In this all-consuming memoir, she indulges in one culinary adventure after another while undergoing the trials and tribulations of trying to date in a different country. Would she finally find the winning recipe for lasting love?
Craving London is an intimate journey of the heart and palate. Those engaged in a life-long love affair with food and travel—as well as a hunger for self-improvement and a curiosity for foreign culture—will find many ingredients to sink their teeth into here.
Join Jessica as she reinvents her life from scratch, reminisces about her Cuban roots, shares her favorite recipes, and attempts to unravel the nature of relationships…one rapturous bite at a time.
MY THOUGHTS:
I LOVED this memoir!!
Jessica Stone has captured my heart through my stomach in this delicious, hilarious, and refreshingly honest and well written memoir and travelogue.
Jess an American who transplants herself to live a life in London while training at Le Cordon Bleu after a failed engagement is just what I needed for a great lockdown read.
Thank you for not only transporting me to London but the sprinkling of amazing recipes throughout the book is simply divine! From chunky cookies, to delectable side dishes, brunch item menus and the to-die-for Curry Cauliflower, Jess........ THANK YOU!
ENJOY AN EXCEPRT FROM THE BOOK
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I started reading The Power of Now, keeping a gratitude journal, getting up early to do yoga, meditating by candlelight, and really trying to find my happiness within. I also volunteered to serve on the rowing club's committee, which included doling out Pimm's during the Oxford and Cambridge boat race. Every spring, crews from both universities compete on a 4.2-mile stretch of the Thames in west London. It's a big party for onlookers lining the river. Pimm's, the drink of choice for the day, is a gin-based liquor mixed with lemonade, cucumbers, strawberries, oranges, and mint. Meanwhile, my food blog led to some TV appearances and a series of articles in Men's Health magazine, including a how-to piece on who fires up the best barbecue: Americans, Australians, or South Africans. Answer: they all do it differently.
I was convinced I had now really and truly "arrived" and that life had even bigger and better things in store for me.
And so it was. Because that's when I met The Supersize, an ex-rower.
Standing 6'5, he played rugby every weekend and could drink for the entire team. He was enormously proud of his body, and the tales of him dancing atop tables wearing backless chaps were legend. There was even a YouTube video to prove it.
On our first date, The Supersize drank 16 pints of beer--I counted. But I made excuses for it and pretended it didn't bother me; after all, the date had gone from brunch to past dinner, and I had to get with the programme.
He seemed to hold the alcohol well--too well. And he was so attentive! As we trained and bussed from one pub to another, he was so excited about me that at one point he looked up at the sky while holding my hand and yelled, "Winning!"
At the end of the night, he walked me to the bus stop and slurred, "So, Jess, this is what I do every Saturday. I go to the pub with my friends, and I drink. Are you OK with that?"
Completely overcome by finally being on a date with someone I wanted to jump--even if I needed a trampoline--I chirped, "Of course, we all like different things!"
Then he added two more questions: did I have any cats, and was I bisexual?
No to both, I said.
"Good," he replied with relief. "Because I dated a bisexual lady once, and they always go with the girl."
I never asked about the cat.
The next day, he called. Yes, an actual phone call.
"Jess, I want you to know I'm not usually that crazy."
Great, now we were both lying.
It was an opposites-attract match in the truest sense, and we both forged ahead knowing full well it was doomed. I reveled in the sheer size of him, while he felt even larger next to me. He would give me piggyback rides down the seven flights of stairs from my flat and swing me over his head à la Dirty Dancing for anyone who would watch. When we took a bubble bath together--his back against my chest--it was like playing the cello. When I'd set the table, he joked I should use plastic so his footsteps wouldn't shatter the glassware. In a wave of early-dating zeal, he even suggested we visit his mother in the country sometime. I was ecstatic.
Everything was fun, until it wasn't. I was as much a fish out of water with him as he drank like one. A barracuda.
One day in his car, he suddenly became serious.
"There's something I want to mention. We've been dating for over a month, and if there's anything at all you're upset about, I want to know. I don't want surprises."
It turned out that his last girlfriend had broken up with him after a few seemingly good weeks, and he didn't want to go through that again. I was touched by his vulnerability, and I kept trying to silence the voice within me that said yes, I was concerned about something.
But when we celebrated his 30th birthday and I watched the bartender try to dissuade him from yet another beer, I couldn't hold it in any longer. The next morning, over scrambled eggs and focaccia at Carluccio's, I finally brought up the issue. It was right after he told me "all my money goes to alcohol," and of course it was his way of waving the flag so I could escape before it was too late for both of us.
I took the bait. I confessed that his drinking worried me, and that I felt terrible watching someone as fit and full of life change the way he did when he drank. I tried to boost his ego as I carefully laid out my case, but as we walked past the pond in Hyde Park, I felt his hand go limp in mine. There it was again--the shift: that awful, gut-turning feeling when you know the person you're dating has had a change of heart, and not for the better. That night, we slept on opposite sides of the bed.
AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT
Jessica Stone has spent a hearty chunk of her time plotting what to eat next and pondering the mysteries of love, both of which come together in a lot of what she writes.
Jessica grew up in a Cuban family in Miami and studied journalism at New York University before moving to London in 2004, where she trained in patisserie at Le Cordon Bleu and wrote a blog that became the basis for Craving London. To afford city rents—and restaurants—she has worked as a copywriter on everything from dessert ads to dating advice.
Her articles have appeared in The Times, The New York Times, The Guardian, Restaurant Magazine, and Men’s Health. She lives in Pennsylvania with her son and a cat named Peppa.
Jessica grew up in a Cuban family in Miami and studied journalism at New York University before moving to London in 2004, where she trained in patisserie at Le Cordon Bleu and wrote a blog that became the basis for Craving London. To afford city rents—and restaurants—she has worked as a copywriter on everything from dessert ads to dating advice.
Her articles have appeared in The Times, The New York Times, The Guardian, Restaurant Magazine, and Men’s Health. She lives in Pennsylvania with her son and a cat named Peppa.
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