Sass by the Glass: Grape Expectations

My latest read, The Summer Job, was yet another recommendation from my favorite librarian, Ellie.  This debut novel by Lizzie Dent is the story of Birdy, a loser Londoner who decides to impersonate her bestie as a world-class sommelier for the summer.  Despite being unable to tell a citrus note from a Shasta, Birdy plans to wield her wine goblets at Loch Dorn, a sleepy hotel-slash-restaurant tucked into the Scottish countryside.  It'll be an adventure -- and best of all for suddenly homeless Birdy, rent free.  But things go, ahem, sideways once she realizes that the so-called hole-in-the-wall B&B is actually a posh spot helmed by a Michelin-starred chef.  High profile and demanding, her role as resident grape guru instantly gives her something to worry -- and, yes, wine -- about.  One cringeworthy incident after another tempts her to cork the Chablis and hightail it back to London.  But the quiet charms of a certain chef (not the Michelin man; he's a wanker) paired with her newfound need to succeed keep her as rooted as the cuckooflower for which she and the kitchen staff forage.  Soon, secrets at Loch Dorn and from the home front have Birdy working overtime on more than the wine list, making The Summer Job a classic tale of a screw-up (or, in this case, a screw-top wine aficionado) stepping up to save the day.

This book was the perfect palate cleanser after Nicholas Sparks's beautiful but emotionally draining The Wish.  It made me think of silly stuff like wine o' clock somewhere merch, UB40's "Red Wine," and, of course, Step Brothers's Catalina Wine Mixer, even though I don't drink wine -- or anything fermented.  It's one of those books that's fun to read but would be a trial to live.  At least for me.  Pretending to be a wine expert, or really, any hospitality professional, is at the top of my list of nightmare jobs, right under Uber driver and phlebotomist.  The stress!  The lies!  The hangovers!  It's no wonder poor Birdy didn't go into cardiac arrest and fall headfirst into a glass of Merlot -- even if she did just that metaphorically, as illustrated on the cover.  Indeed, the high-jinks alone are enough to make this novel into a hilarious movie.  I see Phoebe Waller-Bridge as Birdy, partly because Dent sort of looks like her but mostly because of her brand of over-the-top, elegant irreverence.  (Apparently, this was no accident; in the author discussion at the back of the book, Dent shares that Birdy was partially inspired by Fleabag's title character.  Even if Dent did go on to say that she'd choose Gillian Jacobs to play Birdy in a screen adaptation.  No disrespect to you, Gillian -- I loved you in Community -- but no one other than Phoebe Fleabag herself should rakishly don Birdy's apron.)  As for the fetching foodie, Kit Harrington would do very nicely.  His sensitive intensity is just what this recipe requires, even if I'm drawing more upon his performance in Modern Love than Game of Thrones.

But enough fantasy director league chatter.  The point is that The Summer Job serves up a grape escape.  

No doubt about it; Dent's debut goes down easy.   

Notebook Hook: Forever a Fan of Catastrophe Mastery

Not too long ago, I was bubbling over with enthusiasm for The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.  Since then, I've enjoyed many a return cruise down the Amazon, streaming entertainment as easily as if I'd rolled up to a drive-thru and yelled, "I'll take two dystopian life-after-deaths, one bag of bite-sized love stories, one round of Russian roulette, one middle-aged shotgun wedding, and one woman called a kind of motel who likes to break the fourth wall."  

Each show has its charms.  And although they're all different, they're also sweet and salty by turns, not unlike McDonald's French fries.  Here's a lightning fast food round sound bite for each:

Upload: What happens after we die with a twist. 

Forever: What happens after married people die with a twist.

Modern Love: Kind of sappy but kind of nice.

The Romanoffs: Kind of creepy but kind of great.

Catastrophe: Brit wit buffering bad romance.

Fleabag: A woman who tries not to be awful.  

I like them all, but it's this quote from Catastrophe that sticks with me:

Sharon Morris (Sharon Horgan) and Rob Norris (Rob Delaney) (they of the bad romance) on downsizing:

Sharon: "I'm a simple person.  I'm from Ireland."

Rob: "You're not a simple person.  You're a clothes fiend who moved from Ireland to London because it has more shopping."

This speaks to me because, clothes.  Yet in terms of the deep stuff, i.e., the meaning of life and human relationships, it's Upload and Forever that I find the most thought provoking.  Also confusing.  But then, thought provoking things usually are.  And that, of course, is why we (I?) watch TV.  To be enlightened (also to escape, but that's a rant for another post).  Not the way we're enlightened by books.  Because books don't have product placement or opportunities for us to exclaim, hey, wasn't the main guy the stepbrother in that movie about the halfway house for hoarders?  But the way we're included in a world of walking, talking people thoughtfully mapped out for us.  

I like TV so much that every time I finish watching a series, I write the name of it in a notebook.  I also have notebooks for each movie I watch, each book I read, and each Pinterest board I create.  I started doing this in March, when I began quarantining, and I'm so glad I did.  It's nice to look back on what I've been doing and think about what I've learned.  Because fiction isn't just fun -- although it is fun, much more so than a pre-popcorn spin on the Tilt-A-Whirl -- it's a learning experience.  In the eighth grade, I got annoyed with this math whiz who said that novels are important only because they help people relax (yes, this is what nerd fights are).  She made reading sound as if it had as much value as playing mini golf.  I disagreed, insisting that reading isn't just a hobby but an important way for us to understand the world.  Or something like that.  Maybe I just called her an ass clown and stole her algebra homework; I don't know; it was twenty-five years ago.  The point is, I still believe that books are our greatest teachers.  And infinitely better than birdies.  

Hence, the notebooks.  And the devotion to, not just Amazon's books, but its programming on ye olde boob tube.  I guess you could say that I'm a collector -- no, make that hoarder -- of vicarious adventures.

Maybe there's a halfway house out there for that.     

Modern Love and 2000 Gushes

Unicorn Universe Necklace

Top: Vylette, Kohl's

Skirt: Tinseltown, Kohl's

Bag: B&B

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Belt: Marshalls

Barrettes: The Tote Trove

Tricolor and green spike bracelets: Amrita Singh, Zulily

Neon green bracelet: Cloud Nine

Rainbow, yellow, and pink bracelets: So, Kohl's

This post isn't about David Bowie.  But "Modern Love" is my favorite Bowie song (I know, I thought it would be "Ziggy Stardust," too), and it kind of fits here.  Even if I am using "love" loosely to cover both the romantic and sisterly kinds.

But upward and onward.  

What would Louisa May Alcott's Little Women be like if Jo was a journalist-turned-food-blogger in lust with a world-famous chef?  Or if Beth had lived and was an aspiring country singer?  Or if Pa March finally got his comeuppance for leaving Ma and his girls all alone?  Virginia Kantra answers these questions and others in Meg & Jo, a "contemporary retelling of Little Women" (just like it says on the cover).  

Set in modern-day North Carolina instead of Civil War Massachusetts, Meg & Jo showcases the timelessness of Alcott's treasured tour de force.  Because the more things change, the more they stay the same.  The story is still about the social dynamics at work among sisters, the little alliances and rivalries that bind and separate.  Due to birth order, Meg and Jo are besties, as are Beth and Amy.  But Jo references how Beth is her baby and how Amy is Meg's, revealing other alliances.  Finally, there's the friction between Jo and Amy.  On the surface, it seems to stem from them being so different -- Jo is the tomboy, Amy the porcelain doll -- or from vying for the affections of the boy next store.  But their issue is that they're too much alike.  They're both headstrong, passionate artists -- Jo a writer, Amy a designer -- who are (despite said boy) more interested in their own dreams than furthering men's.

But I don't mean to woman-splain Little Women to you.  You already know all of this. 

The main conflict in Meg & Jo is a big blow-up between Jo and her chef, which occurs when she posts his mother's pierogi recipe.  She hasn't told him about her blog because she doesn't want him to see her as an "idiot hipster food blogger."  But her secret is outed when her readers spot the tattoos on his arm in a picture, forcing her to confront her feelings.

"He thought I was using him.  Which . . . Okay, I had.  He'd served up his big heart on a plate, and I'd taken his passion to feed my own.  But I put myself out there, too, in my words, on my blog.  When I wrote about him, I revealed a piece of my heart.  And he didn't see.  Or maybe he didn't care.  He'd belittled my blog.  And that made me feel small.  I couldn't forgive that."  (267)

Kantra gives us the Jo that Alcott created: the tough girl with the gushy heart.  And although I don't think of myself as tough and am one of the girliest girls that I know, this is why Jo is my favorite.  To her, stories are everything.  She's guarded and prickly in person, but vulnerable where it counts -- on the page.  The man who understands and respects that is the one who gets to be in her life. 

Meg & Jo blends romance and feminism and wraps it up in that age-old theme of following your heart.  It both stands on its own and parallels its predecessor, making for textured reading.  I look forward to Kantra's sequel, Beth & Amy.

And now for a craft project report.  This Unicorn Universe Necklace has little to do with Meg & Jo or Little Women.  But its black unicorn head is a cross between edgy and enchanting, serving as a subtle reminder that being girly doesn't mean not being strong.  Also, unicorns, mythical though they may be, are supposed to be pretty powerful.

Just like the one in that Squatty Potty ad.  I bet they wish they had that in Little Women.