Toast: The Story of a Boy's Hunger [Paperback]

'Acutely observed, poignant and beautifully written…Slater tells his heartbreaking story with great subtlety. The theme of food and love is a fascinating one and I have never seen it better handled.' Daily Telegraph

'He recreates with moving honesty and laugh-out-loud comedy the hopes and fears of boyhood. Remarkable.' Observer

'”Toast” connects emotions, memory and taste buds. Genius.' Lynne Truss, Sunday Times

'A talent for prose as simple and pleasurable as his recipes.’ Sunday Telegraph

'Exquisitely written…You read this remarkable memoir partly cringing, partly marvelling at Slater’s hallucinogenic retrieval of times past. He is the Proust of the Nesquik era.' Independent

'It achieves a remarkable freshness…[and] reveals a gift for doleful, Alan Bennett-like comedy.' Guardian

‘This touching memoir proves [Slater] is more than a cookery writer. Its emotional impact will touch a chord with many.’ Sunday Mirror

‘Wonderful, precise…extraordinary.’ Matthew Fort

‘It’s bitter-sweet, it’s a book to be consumed in a single sitting, a book that slips down really nicely. However you want to put it, “Toast” is delicious.’ The Oldie

'This book should be treasured for its prose…and for its vision of a world seen through the senses.' Independent on Sunday

'[A] touching odyssey through childhood tastes, treats and tortures.' Sunday Times

'Toast is served up with seasoning and flair…Vivid and moving.' Observer

'Acutely observed, poignant and beautifully written!Slater tells his heartbreaking story with great subtlety. The theme of food and love is a fascinating one and I have never seen it better handled.' Daily Telegraph 'He recreates with moving honesty and laugh-out-loud comedy the hopes and fears of boyhood. Remarkable.' Observer '"Toast" connects emotions, memory and taste buds. Genius.' Lynne Truss, Sunday Times 'A talent for prose as simple and pleasurable as his recipes.' Sunday Telegraph 'Exquisitely written!You read this remarkable memoir partly cringing, partly marvelling at Slater's hallucinogenic retrieval of times past. He is the Proust of the Nesquik era.' Independent 'It achieves a remarkable freshness![and] reveals a gift for doleful, Alan Bennett-like comedy.' Guardian 'This touching memoir proves [Slater] is more than a cookery writer. Its emotional impact will touch a chord with many.' Sunday Mirror 'Wonderful, precise!extraordinary.' Matthew Fort 'It's bitter-sweet, it's a book to be consumed in a single sitting, a book that slips down really nicely. However you want to put it, "Toast" is delicious.' The Oldie 'This book should be treasured for its prose!and for its vision of a world seen through the senses.' Independent on Sunday '[A] touching odyssey through childhood tastes, treats and tortures.' Sunday Times 'Toast is served up with seasoning and flair!Vivid and moving.' Observer

"Moving, funny and finely crafted, this is a true gem."

"...achieves a remarkable freshness...and [Nigel Slater]also reveals a gift for doleful, Alan Bennet-like comedy."

'Toast is a magnificent reminder of...food in family life.' Lynne Truss, Sunday Times

'Wonderful...he bridges the gap between cook book and biography in this oven-hot creation'.

'Moving, funny and finely crafted, it's a real gem.'

'I loved Toast. I read it on the train from Corwall to London and couldn’t put it down.'

‘My mother is scraping a piece of burned toast out of the kitchen window, a crease of annoyance across her forehead. This is not an occasional occurrence. My mother burns the toast as surely as the sun rises each morning.’

‘Toast’ is Nigel Slater’s award-winning biography of a childhood remembered through food. Whether recalling his mother’s surprisingly good rice pudding, his father’s bold foray into spaghetti and his dreaded Boxing Day stew, or such culinary highlights as Arctic Roll and Grilled Grapefruit (then considered something of a status symbol in Wolverhampton), this remarkable memoir vividly recreates daily life in 1960s suburban England.

Likes and dislikes, aversions and sweet-toothed weaknesses form a fascinating backdrop to Nigel Slater’s incredibly moving and deliciously evocative portrait of childhood, adolescence and sexual awakening.

His writing ...put you in mind of Nick Hornby, Martin Armis and Philip Larkin all at the same time. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

'Toast is a magnificent reminder of...food in family life.' Lynne Truss, Sunday Times

'Moving, funny and finely crafted, it's a real gem' Independent

Nigel Slater is Britain’s top food writer. His hugely popular columns and books have won him an enormous following for his direct, up-to-the-minute and delicious approach to food. He has written six books, has an award-winning column in the Observer and a regular column in Sainsbury’s Magazine.

There were only three of us at school whose house wasn’t joined to the one next door. Number 67 Sandringham Road, always referred to as ‘York House,’ had mock-Tudor wooden beams, a double garage of which one half doubled as a garden shed and repository for my brothers’ canoes, and a large and crumbling greenhouse. I was also the only one to have tasted Arctic Roll. While my friends made do with the pink, white and brown stripes of a Nalitan ice-cream brick, my father would bring out this newfangled frozen gourmet dessert. Arctic Roll was a sponge-covered tube of vanilla ice-cream, its USP being the wrapping of wet sponge and ring of red jam so thin it could have been drawn on with an architect’s pen.

In Wolverhampton, Arctic Roll was considered to be something of a status symbol. It contained mysteries too. Why, for instance, does the ice cream not melt when the sponge defrosts? How is it possible to spread the jam so thin? How come it was made from sponge cake, jam and ice cream yet managed to taste of old cardboard? And most importantly, how come cold cardboard tasted so good?

As treats go, this was the big one, bigger even than a Cadbury’s MiniRoll. This wasn’t a holiday or celebration treat like trifle. This was a treat for no obvious occasion. Its appearance had nothing to do with being good, having done well in a school test, having been kind and thoughtful. It was just a treat, served with as much pomp as if it were a roasted swan at a Tudor banquet. I think it was a subtle reminder to the assembled family and friends of how well my father’s business was doing. Whatever, there was no food that received such an ovation in our house. Quite an achievement for something I always thought tasted like a frozen carpet. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.