Johnny Tremain Did It Better

No joke, every time I hear the word "apprentice," I think of Johnny Tremain, this book I had to read in junior high about a silversmith's apprentice who accidentally pours hot silver over his hand and horribly disfigures himself. I don't remember what happens next, I think he and his crippled paw helped lead America to victory in the Revolutionary War or something, but he is eternally what I think of when I think of "apprentice." And sorry, Bill Buford, although you totally look like someone's cool grandpa in the jacket photo, you didn't come close to challenging that position.

I have a lot of respect for Ol' Bill. It takes balls to decide you love something and want to pursue it despite all logical and sane knowledge to the contrary, even if you do know in the back of your head a lucrative book deal is imminent. Bill Buford "gave up" his writing career to work in the kitchen of Mario Battali's famous restaurant, Babbo. For anybody who has ever eaten in a bustling restaurant, this is fascinating, this look behind the scenes. But then he goes off to Italy to learn how to make pasta from grandmas and how to butcher pigs from The Maestro and he totally lost me. Maybe it's the whole me-not-eating-meat thing that made these portions of the book less than...let's say, appetizing? I don't think that's what it is though. Sometimes, these special, life-altering experiences just don't translate to the outside world. The last 1/3 of this book is the equivalent of me describing to Sarah what it was like when I went to the Tony Awards when I was 13 but without the fun and/or danger of possibly losing an eye to an emphatic arm gesture.