32 Yolks - Book Review

Since 32 Yolks isn't a cookbook and is a memoir, I'm doing my review on this blog. The book has been covered at Eat Your Books and in The Cookbook Junkies group already.

Eric Ripert is a culinary celebrity and in 32 Yolks he shares his life's story and work through a poignant, gripping story.

The drive and dedication one needs to become a chef - and especially a chef of Ripert's caliber - is something that most of us would be hard pressed to continue to breathe life into.

Kudos to Ripert for sharing his self.

Thanks to Blogging for Books for this great opportunity and fascinating read.

Jenny Hartin
Cookbook Promotions Manager, Eat Your Books
Owner of The Cookbook Junkies

Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little ... Can barely stand on my feet

Why do I feel guilty about sharing my pain? I grow so exhausted reading everyone's request for prayers - my aunt has an ingrown toe nail her - send prayers. Yes, there are legitimate prayer requests out there - and those folks get my prayers - but there are people that post every day asking for someone to pray for their relative that has the sniffles --- I have no prayers left. I don't want to be one of those people. I have weak moments and I post that I am falling apart or empty and then I remove it - because who the hell really cares? Seriously? Is anyone going to lose sleep because I'm falling apart? No, and I don't expect them to but if I don't release some of this worry and pain at least through words I will surely crumble into a pile of dust and tears.

For the last decade - I have died a little each day. With Andrew's diagnosis - we take two steps forward and forty paces back it seems. The school wants to move him to another class in another city - with all special needs kids - his brilliance is being tampered by his outbursts. 

About a month ago - I received a call - "come to the school immediately" - they were evacuating two classrooms because Andrew couldn't stop cursing - he was so angry and I was the only one that could calm him down. We made medication changes and he was doing better. Yesterday he apparently had an eight minute (now they are timing them) cursing session and tried to go after another child - not in a way to hurt the child but in the way our dog - acts like he is Cujo but really is Lassie.

As I am drafting this - I received a call from the school - he had another meltdown - cursing, pushing three students - I had to rush there.The faces of the office staff as I walk in - dear Lord - I wish I could disappear. I thank God, the same God who seems to be not listening to my prayers, that no one was hurt.

We have given up the fight - we are going forward with moving him to the other school. We have no choice. His mental illness is killing all of us, one day at a time. The school official and I agree it is like he almost blacks out when he has these outbursts -- that he immediately feels horrible about them but can't remember all the details. I remember the details. They haunt me day and night. 

I am not a religious fanatic. I believe in God. I pray and pray and pray and nothing changes.If he can't help Andrew's mental illness, autism and other issues - at least can he throw me the lotto numbers? 


Lord what you're doing to me 
I have spent all my years in believing you

We grew up way too fast...And now there's nothing to believe...And reruns all become our history

I am empty.

I am broken.

I don't have anything left to give anyone and yet little by little I allow people to chip away at what is left. That is my bad. 

I wake up in fear.

Between 5 and 6 a.m. I wake up in a state of panic...how will the day go -will Andrew be frantic and swinging. Will I get breakfast fast enough so I can give him his meds? The moments until the jumping stops and the meds kick in - will I be patient? Will breakfast be okay - nothing soggy or floppy or smells bad? Dear God, let the pancakes be adequate. Will this be the day that I lose it? I don't want to lose it. There is nothing left to lose.

Did I count his meds correctly? I doubt everything and everyone. I doubt myself.

I face the morning- I get Jim out the door and Andrew to school, I do my errands and come home to quiet.

Blissful quiet.

I glance at the clock every twenty minutes- only so many minutes left. Tick. Tick. Tick. Enjoy them.  Clean.  Bake.  Cook.  Laundry.  Write.  Review.  Post.  Try to figure out how to make a career out of nothing.  I need something.

11:30 a.m. hits like a surprise rain -- unprepared and drowning my time is up - I have 15 minutes before I need to pick Andrew up for meds and a lunch break.  Will he come down when I need to take him back to school.  Will he be upset - and screaming and go back in a bad mood and then get himself in trouble? Please don't let the phone ring - please don't let it be a 303 number, the school.

Dear Lord please make him have a successful time with whatever obsession he is buried in - whatever game - whatever fucking clan. Always the fucking games. The iPad will it lag? Oh God, don't let it lag. We limit the time on the games but he loves them. 

6:30 Jim will be coming home soon. Will Andrew act up - will there be screaming.  Will I scream? How many hours until it is time for bed?

Sleep -- bed.  It doesn't come easy. I delay sleep.  With sleep comes the morning and I hate the morning.