Jill Damatac blends memoir, food writing, and colonial history as she cooks her way through recipes from her native-born Philippines and shares stories of her undocumented family in America.
Unblinking ... Makes no effort to lull the reader into complicity ...
This is not an easy memoir, nor should it be. Damatac writes, she says, 'to document myself into existence.' And, as she says of some of her recipes, it will serve many.
It can be emotionally challenging to read about the author's complex trauma ... Though harrowing at times, this memoir is recommended to readers of Elaine Castillo, Stephanie Foo, Qian Julie Wang, and Tara Westover. It showcases the survival of the spirit and the sustaining power of heritage.
Rather than relying on the tried-and-true formula—featuring recipes as scrumptious segues into fond memories of belonging and home—Damatac does the opposite. She uses the preparation of signature Filipino dishes like sisig na baboy (pork cooked three ways) and adobong manok (chicken adobo) as a gateway to highlighting generational trauma and what it means to be undocumented in America today ... The fear, frustration and anger she must have felt as she came of age, isolated and alone—about the injustices her family faced, about the deteriorating effects their situation had on their well-being—rain down on every page ... Of particular import are the sections in which she describes her relationship with her father, a mercurial man who drank heavily ... Damatac’s memoir isn’t merely a laundry list of all the terrible things that happened to her after moving to America ... Her debut book isn’t perfect—the decision to sprinkle recipe instructions and sections about the Philippines’ history throughout chapters devoted to her personal narrative might feel too disruptive to some readers ... But overall, Dirty Kitchen is a fiercely honest, eye-opening view of one undocumented family’s experiences trying to start over in a new world.
