In the increasingly homogenized world of food writing, where Instagram aesthetics often trump substance, Besha Rodell’s memoir “Hunger Like a Thirst” arrives like an unexpectedly perfect meal at an unassuming roadside diner. It’s honest, unpretentious, and leaves you feeling both nourished and contemplative long after the final page is turned.
Rodell’s narrative voice is refreshingly direct – sometimes uncomfortably so – as she charts her journey from a displaced Australian teenager in America to becoming one of the world’s most respected (and stubbornly anonymous) restaurant critics. What elevates this memoir above the crowded shelf of food-adjacent memoirs is Rodell’s refusal to romanticize the often toxic restaurant culture that both shaped and nearly broke her.
The Outsider’s Perspective That Defined a Career
Born in a bungalow on an Australian farm aptly named “Narnia,” Rodell’s life story reads almost like fiction in its unlikely trajectory. Her first formative food experience wasn’t at some Michelin-starred temple of gastronomy but at Melbourne’s grandest restaurant, Stephanie’s, where she was taken as a nine-year-old by a friend’s father. This early glimpse into the world of high-end dining planted a seed of fascination with not just the food, but the theater of restaurants themselves.
When her mother relocated the family to America when Rodell was fourteen, that outsider perspective became both a burden and eventually her greatest asset. She writes with searing honesty about how this displacement shaped her identity:
“Leaving is the key event of your life—you spend all the time after trying to reconcile the person you were when you belonged somewhere with the displaced person you’ve become.”
This sense of never quite belonging allowed Rodell to observe restaurant culture with a critical eye that those born into it might lack. Her depictions of working at “Goldie’s” (a stand-in for a real restaurant in North Carolina) capture the intoxicating energy, casual misogyny, and often predatory dynamics of restaurant work in the late 1990s with unflinching clarity.
Beyond the Michelin Stars: A History Lesson Served on the Side
What distinguishes “Hunger Like a Thirst” from typical food memoirs is Rodell’s intellectual curiosity about the deeper currents shaping American dining culture. Between chapters of personal narrative, she weaves in fascinating historical context about:
- The development of cafeterias as working-class dining options
- How Howard Johnson’s pioneered the “comfort of sameness” that defines American chain restaurants
- The cultural shifts that transformed cocktails from sophisticated adult beverages to sugary, sexual-innuendo-laden concoctions
- The evolution of service styles across different cultures
These sections elevate the memoir beyond personal reminiscence into something more substantial – a thoughtful examination of how dining culture reflects broader societal values and changes. When Rodell observes that “dining out was never something I took for granted; every meal felt like a pilgrimage to a temple belonging to a religion not my own but to which I aspired,” she’s articulating how food becomes intertwined with class aspiration and cultural belonging.
The Gender Question That Pervades the Industry
Throughout the book, Rodell confronts the gendered expectations that shaped her career. As a woman in the predominantly male worlds of both restaurant kitchens and food criticism, she learned to adopt a certain toughness:
“I have taken a fair amount of pleasure from this distinction and harbored a sense of pride that I was tough enough, that I could roll with the inappropriate humor and pirate ship mentality.”
Yet she grapples honestly with how this adaptation ultimately reinforces the very systems that make the industry so inhospitable to many women. Her friendship with Michelle, the intimidating pastry chef from Goldie’s who later opens her own café in San Francisco, provides a poignant case study. Despite Michelle’s talent and drive to create a more humane workplace, the ingrained toxicity of restaurant culture proves nearly impossible to escape.
Rodell writes with particular insight about how women in authority positions face double standards: “If you are a woman in the restaurant industry, or any industry, the expectation is that you will be soft. You’re not allowed to have the hard edges and straightforward mannerisms of the men in the same position.”
The Critic’s Journey: From Alt-Weekly to The New York Times
The narrative of how Rodell established herself as a critic makes for compelling reading, especially for those interested in the changing landscape of food media. Her start at the alternative weekly Creative Loafing in Atlanta, followed by her replacement of Jonathan Gold at LA Weekly, and eventual work for The New York Times showcases both her determination and the precarious nature of journalism careers.
Her observations about the role of a critic feel especially relevant in today’s influencer-dominated landscape. She articulates a philosophy that prizes cultural context over mere gustatory pleasure:
“I’m looking for a sense of place, experiences that could only be had in a particular country or city. I’m looking for the food that you might travel across the world to get.”
Finding Home: The Return to Australia
What gives the memoir its emotional center is Rodell’s eventual return to Australia, a homecoming complicated by the illness and death of her father and the struggle of her husband and son to adapt to a new country. The Food & Wine assignment that sends her traveling around the world to compile a list of the best restaurants becomes both a professional triumph and a personal reckoning with what matters most.
In these sections, Rodell’s writing achieves a vulnerable quality that contrasts with the tougher persona she cultivated earlier in her career. Her description of a moment with her son Felix on a trampoline in Los Angeles – “It was the best moment of my life. Nothing else will ever come close” – reveals the tender heart beneath the critic’s necessarily tough exterior.
Where the Narrative Occasionally Falters
For all its strengths, the memoir isn’t without flaws:
- The middle sections sometimes meander, with anecdotes that, while interesting, don’t always advance the overall narrative
- Rodell’s focus on certain influential men in her life (Jonathan Gold, Anthony Bourdain) occasionally overshadows her own story
- Some of the industry commentary feels slightly dated in the post-#MeToo era
- The chronology can be confusing, with jumps between time periods that sometimes require re-orientation
However, these are minor criticisms of what is overall a remarkably candid and insightful account of one woman’s journey through the food world.
The Final Course: A Meditation on Loss and Pleasure
Rodell ends her memoir with a reflection on the death of Anthony Bourdain, whose influence on her work and the entire food world is undeniable. Her connection of personal grief (symbolized by a heart-shaped bruise from a fall the night of his death) to broader questions about the pursuit of pleasure in a painful world provides a moving conclusion.
“Writing is painful. Life is f*cking painful. And darkly, wickedly comical. And because of that, the pursuit of connection and pleasure, be it at a table or in the pages of a book or over a glass of whiskey, is vital.”
This sentiment encapsulates what makes “Hunger Like a Thirst” so compelling. It’s not just about food or restaurants or criticism. It’s about how we construct meaning and find connection in a world that can be both brutally harsh and unexpectedly beautiful – sometimes in the same moment, like a heart-shaped bruise.
Who Should Read This Book?
“Hunger Like a Thirst” will appeal to several audiences:
- Food industry professionals who’ll recognize their own experiences in Rodell’s unflinching portrayal
- Readers interested in food writing and criticism as cultural commentary
- Anyone fascinated by the evolution of American dining culture
- Those grappling with questions of home, belonging, and identity
- Fans of memoirs that balance personal narrative with intellectual exploration
While it shares DNA with Anthony Bourdain’s “Kitchen Confidential” and Ruth Reichl’s “Garlic and Sapphires,” Rodell’s memoir carves out its own distinct territory. It’s less swaggering than Bourdain’s work and more culturally inquisitive than Reichl’s, offering a woman’s perspective on an industry and cultural arena that has historically privileged male voices.
The Verdict:
Besha Rodell has written a memoir that, like the best restaurant experiences, offers substance beyond mere pleasure. It challenges as it satisfies, making you think differently about the institutions we take for granted. Though occasionally meandering and sometimes too focused on the famous men in her orbit, “Hunger Like a Thirst” succeeds brilliantly as both personal narrative and cultural history.
For readers hungry for a food memoir with intellectual heft and emotional honesty, Rodell has prepared a feast worth savoring.
