I recently discovered a fascinating cookbook: Rufus Estes’ Good Things To Eat. Written in 1911, this cookbook is the first ever written by an African-American chef. Born a slave, Estes triumphed over unimaginable odds to become one of Chicago’s finest chefs.
For two days, I fight the story welling up in me, denying the itch of the burn, the angry redness biting at my skin. And then I wake up the third day and say to myself, “My mom was raped when she was my age. When she was twenty-seven.”
Even before a lending library copy of The Adderall Diaries arrived in my mailbox some time in the summer of 2009, I knew I’d be hooked. A colleague had recommended it, saying it was a gripping memoir that interwove threads of an edgy personal narrative and a murder trial.