In this years must-read food memoir (Los Angeles Times), chef and writer Zahra Tangorra chronicles the great meals and great loves of her life, reflecting on family, friendship, grief, and the solace that can be found through food.
Extra sauce is how I like my pizza and also how I fall in love. Extra sauce is for sopping, dunking, and licking off your plate. Licking off your fingers. It is a tiny demand for freedom and hedonism. Life has told you this is the amount of joy you get, and you say: That is simply not enough.
At twenty-two years old, Zahra Tangorra was trying on adulthood and attempting to find herself when a harrowing near-death experience stopped her in her tracks. It felt like a twisted version of a second chance. Who am I? she asked herself. What do I love? The answers started coming to her: Stuffed shells and giant meatballs at J&Js, the Italian red sauce joint of her Long Island childhood. Her mothers chocolate mousse pie and her fathers sweet and savory pea soup. The people, places, and experiences that made her her, the relationships both loving and fraughtthey were all, for better and sometimes worse, inextricably bound up with food.
In this memoir that celebrates both the delicious and the messy in life, Zahra reckons with the adrenaline-filled highs and devastating lows of opening cult-favorite Brooklyn restaurant Brucie and then closing it at the height of its popularity. From cooking her father his last meal and the unexpected yet beautiful things she found at the bottom of her grief to the relationships she couldnt save through cooking, like her fractured family and the lover she had to leave in Tuscany, Zahra writes about the immense courage it takes to allow ourselves to be loved, extra sauce and all.
Told with uproarious humor and tremendous insight, Extra Sauce is for anyone who yearns to embrace their whole self, who loves with abandon, and who eats with gusto.
Delicious . . . For Tangorra, food is an expression of her wild and mysterious inner world.The New York Times Book Review
A memoir that feeds both body and soul . . . lush, fearless, and tender.Ruth Reichl
