Anger pours forth from every page ... The sommelier has sour grapes. And she names names ... Even comparatively minor violations do not go unmentioned ... Selinger’s story is bitter without the sweet ... But readers aren’t picking up this book for Selinger’s farfalle with mushroom-cognac sauce, as delicious as it sounds. They’re reading it for catharsis — sometimes served raw, sometimes scalding, but tender in the end.
Selinger’s writing is just as irresistible as the allure of the restaurants that sucked her into their pull from the early to mid 2000s, which makes her clear-eyed rebukes of the industry that much more compelling ... Selinger writes thoughtfully about the nature of labor, especially the unseen variety behind a charismatic figurehead, and the dire personal sacrifices that too many jobs require of their workers.
Howling ... Petty and mean ... Selinger opens her book pre-aggrieved. In fact, the book seems to have sprung like Zeus from the loins of titanic anger ... There’s a thin line between brutal honesty and glib brutality.
Often reads like a therapy session. Ms. Selinger calls her experience in the industry traumatic ... Devotes an exhausting amount of time to noting slights and settling scores.
