"Is there a recipe for the perfect man?"
Reviewed by Sharon Salituro
Posted December 20, 2014
Women's Fiction Contemporary | Romance Contemporary
Becca knows her life needs a change. The first thing she
does is quit
her job and decides that she should enroll in college.
After being in school for a few days, Becca realizes that
school is not for her. The only thing that she has going
for her is that she loves to bake.
Becca's best friend Dez tells her that she should start
her
own business. After thinking it over, Becca decides what
does she have to lose. With the help of her neighbor Sal,
Becca starts out by going to an office and selling pastry
to
the employee's. Becca meets some really good people there
who love her baking. Becca also meets Jeff who doesn't
work in the building but is there to assist Jennifer who
does work there.
Becca feels that Jeff might just be the man that she wants
in her life. The only problem is that he is not just
working with Jennifer, but dating her. With everyone
loving her baking soon her one office job is turning into
several office jobs.
Becca also has to deal with the office politics. Who is
seeing who? Who shouldn't be seeing who? Becca also has
to fight her feelings for Jeff. If only she knew HOW TO
BAKE A MAN as easily as she bakes pastry.
HOW TO BAKE A MAN by Jessica Barksdale Inclan is pretty
funny. Who would
think that a person who bakes would have to go though all
the office politics that people in an office have to deal
with. At times I found myself remembering what it was like
to work in a big office where everyone likes to gossip
about
the other employees. I for one don't miss this at all.
The other thing that I really liked about HOW TO BAKE A
MAN as I do
with so many other books, is that the author includes most
of the
recipes that are talked about in the book. HOW TO BAKE A
MAN is a quick read, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
SUMMARY
When Becca Muchmore drops out of grad school, all she has
left to fall back on is her
baking. Ignoring her mother's usual barrage of
disapproval
and disappointment, she decides
to start a small business hand-delivering her wares. A
friend introduces her to an office of
hungry lawyers, who agree to give her a try. Her lizard-
booted neighbor Sal is happy to help
out when he can, and almost before she knows it, Becca's
Best is up and running. Before she can settle into a routine, things get
complicated. The office ogress could easily
be Becca's sister and has absolutely no patience with
cookies or other frivolities. Even
worse, her boyfriend is the man of Becca's dreams--kind,
funny, successful, and brain-
meltingly gorgeous. As the dark undercurrents threaten to
pull her down, Becca swiftly finds
herself neck-deep in office politics, clandestine
romance,
and flour. Saving her business
(and finding true love) is going to take everything she's
got, and more. Packed with charm, sparkling humor, and a genuinely
unforgettable cast, this delicious tale
of a woman struggling to find her path might just be
Jessica Barksdale Inclán's finest novel
to date.
Excerpt“You cannot really be thinking about doing this!” my
mother says. “I don’t understand why you quit that
perfectly reasonable job at Grommer’s in the first place.
But at least you were going back to finish your
education.”“Mom, I sat in a small office working the books for five
years. It’s a miracle I don’t have a hunchback. It was an
okay job, but I might have killed myself after another
year. Hari kari with a letter opener.” If I’d stayed and
done that, then who would you bitch at? I sigh, look around the kitchen. The snickerdoodles are
already baked and put into plastic bags and frozen for
some event or another. I had one and a half glasses of
wine before I called my mother, and now I can see I’ll
have to finish the second glass just to get through this
conversation. “So you don’t want to go back to Grommer’s. And you don’t
want to go to school. You want what?” she says, her voice
raising even higher. “Start up,” I say. I cough, sip wine, cough some more.
“To buy a better mixer. One of those commercial kinds.
Packaging. I have to make business cards. Probably get a
license or two. Register with the city. Get bonded.
Undergo some kind of bureaucratic thing. Buy insurance.
Put up pages on Facebook and all those other ones.
Pinterest. You know. Maybe have a full body scan.
Hopefully no body cavity search. I don’t know, but you
know what I mean.” “I certainly do not know what you mean about anything. I
don’t know word one about this at all. You’re going to
pass out food in buildings?” “It’s not like I’m giving out rations, Mom. It would be a
business. Professional. Sort of a dessert business. I’m
thinking I’ll call it The Salubrious Palate.” My mother lets out a sound that might be a sigh but is
really an admonition. “What in heavens does that mean?
And before you go off on some vocabulary whim, can’t we
discuss why you would throw away a perfectly good MBA for
cookies? This is really all about Da?” “Mom,” I say, hoping to stop her. One Danny conversation
a day is one too many. But I don’t have to say more than
that. She quiets, the sound of the television in the
background almost loud enough for me to follow the plot. There’s no way I can tell my mother about the feeling I
had yesterday in the classroom. I don’t want to tell her
I swiped her skirt, for one, and the sort of
fear/loneliness/anxiety thing that gripped me as
Professor Conklin read the roster is nothing she wants to
hear. Trust me. I know this. My mother doesn’t do extreme
emotions. And any emotion that is extreme is quickly
converted into a desire to clean closets or go to Macy’s
for the spectacular one day sale. I’ve only seen her cry
about three times in my entire life and those moments
passed so quickly, I didn’t even have time to hand her a
tissue. “You know how I love to bake, Mom. I know you don’t think
it’s worthwhile, but I do,” I say, taking the last sip of
my wine. “I need to try this before I get my MBA.” “You’ll never go back,” she says. I can hear the
television blast wide open into full drama in the
background, the agrieved lull soap opera voices in my
ear. My mouth opens to argue. I know what to say. All I have
to do is give her a time frame, tell her I will do this
for four months, and if it’s a total joke, I’ll enroll in
the spring semester. I could even tell her I’d go to
school and give this business thing a go at the same
time, but I can’t. My mouth won’t move to form anything.
So I say nothing, knowing that nothing has always been
better for my mother than something that sounds wrong. “What about Becca’s Best?” she says finally. “The
Salubrious Palate indeed.” She sighs. “How much will you
need?” she says without waiting for me to comment. “I’ll
transfer it now. * * * I woke up early and spent 6.5 hours downtown. After
fumbling around online, I ended up going in and applying
for a business permit. Then I went to the Department of
Public Health to apply for a permit to operate. Next I
took the bus over to CoCo’s Cookware and Wholesale Supply
and bought a Kitchen Aid mixer that looks like it could
mix up asphalt. I bought cookie cutters and scone pans
and a rolling pin that would subdue any mugger. I hauled the load back to my apartment on the bus and
then headed back out to the bank to set up a business
account with the money my mom had indeed transferred in
the night before. When I got home, I got online and
dropped out of all my classes, starting first with the
strategy class. Click! Out of there. Goodbye, Mr. Tweed
Jerk-Wad Docker Pants. Then I called Admissions and was
able to get a refund for all my tuition and fees and put
my MBA on hold for one semester. I had four months to do
something with Becca’s Best. Four months to prove to my
mother I could make a go of it. Four months to prove it
to myself that I don’t need an MBA or a Danny to be
happy. Then with the little creativity left in me, I set up all
the necessary pages, trying to get my current “friends”
to like Becca’s Best Bakery. I sat there waiting, one
like and then two, shutting off my computer when I
reached ten. Now, I’m out again, this time at Macy’s in Stonestown.
I’ve paid for my purchases and am walking out into the
evening light with my bag full of pants that actually fit
me. Two blouses, three T-shirts. A pair of cute but
trendy flats, good shoes for pushing a cart around office
building floors. The sky is gray, turning to black. Venus hangs on the
edge of the horizon like a broken promise. When I get
home, I’m going to start planning out the businesses to
email and call. Luckily, Dez has left a message, giving
me the number of a San Francisco colleague of Nick’s. “For god’s sake call him first. He’ll say yes, I know
it,” she said, the peaceful sound of no babies in the
background. “Good luck.” I have good luck and a new mixer. I have five thousand
dollars from my mother in my bank account. I have ten
friends and counting. I have my grandmother’s recipes and
something I can barely recognize floating in my chest.
The last time I felt it was back when I first met Danny,
back when I thought things might be possible between us.
I think it’s hope. For a second, I’m almost happy. Maybe I am happy. I’m not
sure. It’s been a long time since I’ve had enough
happiness to know what it feels like. But I’m tired and
full of ideas and plans. And tomorrow I start baking.
What do you think about this review?
Comments
No comments posted.
Registered users may leave comments.
Log in or register now!
|
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy