In 1845, Eliza Acton published a cookery book -Modern Cookery - that continues to inspire and influence well-known cooks today. Only the barest bones of her life are known. That she was born into a wealthy family reduced by the father's bankruptcy, such that she and her mother were forced to run a boarding house. Here it was that Eliza, born far too grand to lift a ladle, learnt not only to cook, but to be inspired by food, by recipes, by ingredients. Annabel Abbs has taken this bare biography and lifted into an engaging story in which she and her hired help Ann Kirby feed from each other's interest and developing talent to invent and refine dish after dish, faithfully recorded and eventually published. Read this book to get an idea of Victorian genteel poverty - Eliza's family: and actual grinding poverty - Ann Kirby's circumstances, translated into an engaging story about two women who between them revolutionised British cooking, thanks not directly to them, but to Mrs. Beeton, who poached their material (spoiler alert). ( )

An interesting book based on the lives of Eliza Acton and her kitchen maid, Ann Kirby. This book made me want to cook! The imagery made the book come alive- filling my senses with smells (some good, some bad)! Its illed with comradey and a yearning for independence. A definite must read! ( )

There's so much that I loved about this story but I think, overall, it fell a little short of its full potential. I started out feeling thankful that I'd stumbled on a rare historical fiction that wasn't contrived and full of smarminess---and I think it maintained that spirit to the end. Thank you, Author! I loved the atmosphere, as well as the attention to the interesting details coupled with avoidance of too much description of inconsequential things. I loved that there was so much allusion to real people and events that I spent an hour, and plan to spend longer, going through the suggested authors and reading list at the back of the book. I love it that Eliza Acton's original cookery book can be downloaded and printed---it's currently collecting on my printer tray---all 740ish pages of it.

There was a lot I struggled with, though. Since this book is about culinary arts, let me compare it to a delicacy. One may imagine a unique and beautifully executed story with all the special things that make it come together marvelously—one may even collect most of the ingredients to make it mix superbly. But if one tweaks an important element in the wrong way, the whole thing tastes a little off. One big issue was my difficulty with the supporting characters. Hatty starts off sort of bossy and keeps saying Ann must obey everything she says…but that doesn’t actually happen and the next lengthy scene concerning Hatty has her sympathizing with Ann and being kind. In the end, Hatty really never plays any significant part and the story could have been told just as well without her. Eliza's mother switches from kind to difficult to compassionate to snobby to hatefully revengeful in turns—I guess her one consistency is ridiculousness. Mr. Arnott seems intrigued by Eliza’s interest in how spices are used in cooking—even comments that it makes her unique and one gets the impression this is what attracts him to her; yet thereafter he makes it clear he expects her to be an ordinary Victorian ornamental wife. The whole thing with Eliza's sister, Mary, was completely unbelievable. Even the short time with the French chef is weird—he and Eliza butt heads but the next morning he suddenly has a change of heart and she’s suddenly lusting after him? All these shifts in character and story line might be ok if fleshed out a bit, but instead it just leaves me sad that this repetitive lack of character development mars an otherwise charming and well-written story. So many of these supporting characters are completely inconsequential.

The alluding to Eliza’s past goes on too long and random tragic events are thrown in with no foreshadowing. Sometimes really major events, like Eliza's breakup or the ending of Ann and Eliza’s friendship, are alluded to and then just skipped over like afterthoughts. Interesting “plot twists” are revealed far too late to be interesting. The seasoned reader has already discerned them. It's all just such a weird way to tell what could be a memorable story.

My opinion is probably not a popular one but I think Eliza acted selfishly to give up motherhood to chase her own interests. “Maybe I was not meant for motherhood," she says. Why? Because she has interests, hobbies, and dreams? So do I but God made me a mother—-so I fulfill that first and fit in the other things as I can. As someone whose mother left her family to go chasing greener pastures, this hits hard and leaves a bad taste. I lost a lot of respect for her there and I hope that's not her true story.

Ann’s memories of earlier days with her mother before the dementia made me sad. An attentive mother is priceless. I hope I don’t leave my children too soon.

The most memorable quote from this story was from a poem by Miss Letitia Elizabeth Landon called "The Widow's Mite": "Few save the poor feel for the poor: The rich know not how hard it is to be of needful food"

I'm planning to save this in my collection---and start adding to my antique cookery book collection much more regularly! ( )

Not quite as good as I'd hoped it would be, but maybe that's because it also felt a bit different that I expected. This is a fictional work based on the real life of Elizabeth Acton, author of what is considered to be one of the world’s most successful cookery writers, with Modern Cookery for Private Families first published in 1845 and was a best seller internationally for the next 90 years.

Abbs, condensed the 10 years Acton worked on the cookbook, along with her assistant/servant Ann Kirby, and imagined how the partnership might have worked. I think she did a great job, and I was enjoying it right up until the end, where it did so rather abruptly. Acton returns home from a visit to her sister's, full of enthusiasm, energy, and plans to add a chapter on bread, enters the kitchen to hear Ann humming, and BAM! The next page is the Epilogue. It was disorienting, to say the least.

Otherwise, it was an enjoyable, if not exactly riveting, read. I knew nothing about Acton (as I try never to cook), but by the time I finished this book, I planning on trawling the used book sites for a copy of Modern Cookery for Private Families, even though I have no plans to start cooking. I think it was the scene involving quince paste. I'm intrigued by quinces and would be willing to try my hand at paste. Anyway, a good read, with some great author notes at the end about what's accurate and what's story-telling. It's always a bonus when fiction can be educational too. ( )

Eliza Acton, a respectable brewer’s daughter, has brought a second volume of poems to her publisher, Longman of London, only to be told that ladies shouldn’t write poems. (Read: The first book didn’t sell.) Not only won’t Mr. Longman publish her manuscript, he asks for something almost as déclassé, a cookery book, and tells her not to bother him again until she’s finished it.

He’s supposing that Miss Acton wouldn’t actually cook from her own recipes, for the year is 1835, and as Abbs makes clear, middle-class women aren’t supposed to show appetites of any sort. Miss Acton’s poetry, though hardly risqué in any tangible sense, is about longing rather than daffodils, intense feelings rather than Christian uplift. How wanton!

Longman’s assuming that, as managers of respectable households, ladies maintain a staff of servants, and the cook and scullery maid do the real cooking. He never considers the result, inevitably awful, nor does anyone else — meat roasted to the consistency of leather, like as not curried, with half-cooked potatoes drowning in grease.

Except Eliza, who has spent time in France and knows what food should taste like. But her mother will not hear of her besmirching the family escutcheon. Daughter must not descend into the kitchen herself and sully her hands, educated for finer pursuits, with anything so coarse a task as satisfying human appetite.

Worse, the family escutcheon has already suffered — Papa’s business has gone belly-up, and he’s fled to France, leaving wife and children to fend for themselves and pretend to the world that he has died. Since two sisters of Eliza’s have become governesses, a comedown necessary to prevent further financial embarrassment, and a third has married and produced a house full of children, Eliza has no room to divert from the path chosen for her.

So it is that mother and daughter rent a large house in a town near a watering hole and prepare to take in boarders. But that’s such a comedown too that Mother schemes to have her spinster daughter, already in her thirties, married off — and if, perchance, a wealthy widower came to stay at the boardinghouse while taking the waters, why, that would be perfect.

Part of Miss Eliza’s English Kitchen involves the mother-daughter power struggle, and whether daughter will find her voice to resist. And it’s not sure she wants to, because she recognizes that marrying a rich man would solve a lot of problems. But the larger story revolves around her insistence that she do the cooking, so that she may prepare a book for Mr. Longman and satisfy the poetry she finds in food. To assist her, she hires Ann Kirby, a local girl, and when Eliza discovers that Ann too finds poetry in food, a friendship and collaboration develops despite the social gulf between them.

What a charming story, told alternately from Eliza’s and Ann’s points of view. I confess I have a soft spot for Eliza Acton, whose cookbook provided me years ago with historical evidence for my book on the social history of the potato. But aside from Acton’s significance, as the story of a middle-class woman’s choices in Victorian England (few) and moral and emotional dilemmas (many), the narrative flies off the page.

And she’s not the only point of focus, for Ann faces a set of problems far more complicated and harrowing than her employer’s, though cut from the same cloth. For instance, Ann’s mother suffers what we would now recognize as early-onset dementia, while her father is a disabled veteran.

Another pleasure of Miss Eliza’s English Kitchen is the prose, which conveys the place and time, yet also inner lives.

On the downside, I find Eliza’s mother wanting depth. I wish the narrative revealed her thwarted desires, so that she came across as more than a corseted autocrat obsessed with reputation. You also sense that Eliza has a secret, and I think Abbs might have revealed it earlier, allowing it to complicate the emotional narrative, instead of concealing it for shock value later. The plot point it eventually provides delivers less than promised, and at the expense of fuller character development, including the potential to deepen Mother’s.

All the same, Miss Eliza’s English Kitchen makes pleasant reading. ( )