Oh dear! Hils on Toast sounds a bit like a recipe.I wasn't immediately engaged by Toast, although I certainly related to the burnt toast in the opening line. Toast isn't really toast unless the whole flat is filled with thick, black, choking smoke [I have no sense of smell and a bad habit of wandering off to do something more interesting]. At first, the little chapters on food that is rather unexciting (Arctic Roll, Sherry Trifle…) was too much like snacks. You have one but it doesn't fill you up, so perhaps you have another, but never really feel satisfied. I must say, though, that little by little I got quite involved in the world Nigel Slater was creating (or recreating) and the life of this very lonely little boy, whose brothers were much older than him and whose mother died. I found some of the chapters very sad and moving such as the incontinent old auntie and the spaghetti and the game with the babysitting uncle. In fact, thinking back (it is about a fortnight since I finished reading the book), my major impression is that Slater used food principally, or maybe uniquely, to communicate sad memories. Was there any joyful food? The most I can remember is the farty noise made by the jelly and even that seems rather a sad sort of pleasure since it wasn't shared with playmates. How strange that a mother that couldn't cook and food so evocative of sadness it was almost palpable should lead Slater to the career he subsequently followed. Perhaps the fact that I don't cook and am not hugely interested in food as a subject is because my mum was (and is) a good cook, who makes delicious meals out of good, wholesome food and who knows what everyone likes and caters to them [I always get pate, Stilton cheese, fish and liver – all my favourites – but not all at once]. I associate many foods with happy occasions – bonfire toffee and parkin at the Guy Fawkes parties we had in our back garden, shrimps, mussels, cockles and whelks at the seaside, chips with mayonnaise on our days out in Holland. How terribly isolated this little boy was. In fact, how the family isolated itself with its airs and graces and notions of appropriate and inappropriate foods. I suppose the "better" food they ate (like grilled grapefruit!!!) was that time's equivalent of today's designer stuff. In fact, though I love things like lobster and champagne, some of the best foods are much plainer and more plebian – faggots, rabbit stew, Yorkshire pudding with treacle for afters. I thought the book was original and was a good attempt at recreating a past time which was both communal and personal. I was surprised by some of the foods that were obviously commonplace at the time but I had completely forgotten. Surprise Peas! I don't think I ever ate any, but I can certainly recall them, perhaps from advertisements. I seem to think they were freeze dried (or dehydrated?) and alarmingly chlorophyll green? Angel Delight! My mum says you can still get it, though I have never tasted it because it was made with milk. I thought Slater was quite successful in creating an atmosphere of the past, though there were one or two jarring moments. One I can recall was the expression 24/7, which I am sure was never heard before the 1990s. The book was so dependent on its readers relating to its particular time frame that I think it risks being almost inaccessible to younger readers. The book had its own charm and I enjoyed it. I must confess I had never even heard of Nigel Slater, so I had no preconceptions. I thought his book well written, quite original and worth reading. And sad. It made me feel terribly sad. Finally, I must say I think the little boy on the cover of the book is delicious. He reminds me so much of my brother who had the same sticky-out ears, freckles and bashful look. I think that was part of the sadness I felt because we've all grown up and we are old now!
This book brought back childhood memories. Not that I was into hard-to-pronounce food names when I was growing up but reading the book made me think back of how it was when I was growing up in Quezon. There is a part in Nigel's memory as a boy when he kept on discussing the odor of their house or the people in it. Did our house in Quezon have an odor? Maybe the odor of the sand (as our house had no cement flooring then), beer and smoke (as my father had those vices), copra (just like the last time I visited), sea breeze (as our town is in an island) or combination of all? Maybe people who are good cooks have special nose just like Nigel. I could not remember the odor of our house so that should explain the reason why I am not a good cook.One of my most favorite boyhood memoirs is ANGELA'S ASHES by the late (he died last month) Frank McCourt. It was a poignant sad story of being dirt-poor in Ireland. This book, TOAST: THE STORY OF A BOY'S HUNGER is somewhat opposite as it is not just about being poor. In Philippine standard of poor, the foods that Nigel was having, e.g., sherry tifle, jam tarts, spaghetti bolognese, etc. were fit for the rich and famous. Back in Quezon, when I was growing up, I remember having to divide an apple one Christmas day with my siblings (this was before the import liberalization in the 80s) and my mother making macaroni salad and chilling it inside a styrofoam with lots of ice because there was no electricity then in Quezon so there was no refrigerator. The first time I had a Magnolia pinipig cruch was when I was already in my third year high school (1979) and I had to eat it right away because it had to come from Gumaca that was 45-minute motorboat ride from Quezon.Nigel being a neglected battered son when he was small added a bit of drama to the story. I am sorry for him and I am glad that he was able to get over it and find happiness now that he is an adult. The story ended abruptly but with finesse and it is an unconventional ending. It reminded me of how John Steinbeck decided to end his famous novel, THE GRAPES OF WRATH: the breast-feeding scene. Nigel Slater ended this book with this conversation: "There will be someone who'll ask you if you want a bed for the night soon enough." "What, just like that?" I asked. "Yes, son," he smiled. "You'll be fine, you'll just be fine."It's just simply clever. Just like telling that everything will be all right in the end without having to put a lot of drama just to deliver the message just like how Nicholas Sparks would end his novels. I read that Nigel is a famous celebrity chef but he knows how to write. No wonder this novel won the British Book Awards Biography of the Year. I highly recommend this book to all food lovers who at the same time enjoy reading biographies.
Do You like book Toast (2005)?
I really enjoyed the book but thought Slater, perhaps unintentionally, revealed himself to be something of a 'nasty piece of work'. His insinuation that his father was masturbating in the shed and his insistence that his step mother was trying to 'feed' his father to death (unlikely at best) were just two examples of 'memories' that reflected badly on the author. Following his fathers death he recounts the following in relation to his step mother:'Joan fussed over me all week, making steak for my tea and calling me 'son'. A sign, some said cruelly, that Dad's will had yet to be read. But then she needn't have worried, for, as anyone knows, there is nothing that quite turns an old man's attention in your direction like an offer of sex and home-made cake.'Who I wonder are these 'some' who cruelly think this, my guess is Slater himself, and 'Toast' is peppered with similar character assassinations. Given it's a memoir, and as such written entirely from Slater's point of view, it's unusual to feel so strongly that you are dealing with an unreliable narrator.It is though well written, often funny and a wonderful trip down memory lane, for those who grew up in the '60's & 70's, conjuring up the culinary 'delights' of yesteryear. Surprise peas, Frey Bentos pies, Angel Delight and many more are vividly evoked, the author may be petulant and bitchy but he's good literary company nonetheless.
—Caroline Roberts
I really wanted to like this book - I really did - as I generally like Slater as a food writer and presenter. But 'Toast' left a bitter taste - not what you want from a food-based memoir. The nostalgia felt heavy-handed, the humour (for instance the used condom incident) felt forced and cynical and Nigel - as portrayed by himself - came across unsympathetic and a little bit self-pitying. I also wondered at some of the memories he chose to share as, often, I felt he went well past the mark. I don't want to know what his dad got up to in the greenhouse and we all know teenage boys masturbate, do we need so many descriptions of specific incidents? It felt as though Slater went out of his way to share the lewd and the tawdry memories, to offer a perverse view of childhood. Even the happy memories are offered as cold, emotionless descriptions. It's all very readable - you'd expect no less from Slater - but a lack of emotional depth and insight is glossed over with a sheen of sensationalism and whimsy.
—Lynne Norman
Delicious coming-of-age story. Early childhood with delightful working atypical mom, who died young. Full of surprises, suspense, colorful characters, sex, perversion, evil step-mother, clueless father who feared his son was gay. All they had in common, other than love for the mother, was their sweet tooth. Way too much detail about candy bars. I just read a The New Yorker article by Ian Parker about Edward St. Aublyn that there is such a glut on the publishing market in Britain about memoirs from people who've been traumatized in early childhood that there are now Painful Lives sections in many bookstores.This could be categorized as such. His traumas were not of molestation, but of the coldness of his peculiar father and bizarre stepmother, and his severe isolation, lack of stimulation and mind-numbing boredom.His recall is impeccable for details, his emotions and thoughts during that period.His writing is excellent, descriptive, filled with humor, honesty. Each chapter seems to work as a short-storyHow he turned out to be so mentally healthy, well adjusted, successful, is astonishing.I'm not interested in books by chefs, as I'm not a foodie; but glad I read this.
—Sutter Lee
