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The Year of Miracles: Recipes About Love + Grief + Growing Things
A DELICIOUS MAGAZINE BEST COOKBOOK OF THE YEAR * A GLOBE AND MAIL TOP 10 COOKBOOK OF THE YEAR
Shortlisted for the Andre Simon Best Cookbook Award 2022
From the author of Midnight Chicken , a month-by-month chronicle of writing and recipes that explores joy and healing through food.
"A gift to readers and cooks alike ... wise and tender, a reminder that however gloomy your situation, the world abounds in beauty, should you choose to see it.” ― The Washington Post
"Exuberant, unstoppable, and triumphantly on the side of love and life in the face of death and loss and grief." ― Vox
This cookbook is about a year in the kitchen (and in the garden under the fire-escape steps). A year of grief and hope and change; of cardamom-cinnamon chicken rice, chimichurri courgettes, quadruple carb soup, blackberry miso birthday cake, and sticky toffee Guinness brownie pudding. A year of loss, and every kind of romance, and fried jam sandwiches. A year of seedlings and pancakes. A year of falling in love. A year of recipes. A year, in other words, of minor miracles.
In Ella Risbridger's first book Midnight Chicken, she showed readers how food can serve as a light in our darkest days. Now, in The Year of Miracles, Ella shares her story of recovering from loss with the help of good food and good friends. The book celebrates making a fancy dinner even if you’re just eating it with a spoon in front of the tv; having people over to dinner without overthinking it; finding late night snacks to ease you to sleep; and having seconds--of everything. Above all, it a powerful testament to how cooking can help us get up and start again in the face of unimaginable hurt.
With tender vulnerability, mesmerizing prose, and delectable recipes, The Year of Miracles is a touching, unforgettable book on finding hope through food.
Shortlisted for the Andre Simon Best Cookbook Award 2022
From the author of Midnight Chicken , a month-by-month chronicle of writing and recipes that explores joy and healing through food.
"A gift to readers and cooks alike ... wise and tender, a reminder that however gloomy your situation, the world abounds in beauty, should you choose to see it.” ― The Washington Post
"Exuberant, unstoppable, and triumphantly on the side of love and life in the face of death and loss and grief." ― Vox
This cookbook is about a year in the kitchen (and in the garden under the fire-escape steps). A year of grief and hope and change; of cardamom-cinnamon chicken rice, chimichurri courgettes, quadruple carb soup, blackberry miso birthday cake, and sticky toffee Guinness brownie pudding. A year of loss, and every kind of romance, and fried jam sandwiches. A year of seedlings and pancakes. A year of falling in love. A year of recipes. A year, in other words, of minor miracles.
In Ella Risbridger's first book Midnight Chicken, she showed readers how food can serve as a light in our darkest days. Now, in The Year of Miracles, Ella shares her story of recovering from loss with the help of good food and good friends. The book celebrates making a fancy dinner even if you’re just eating it with a spoon in front of the tv; having people over to dinner without overthinking it; finding late night snacks to ease you to sleep; and having seconds--of everything. Above all, it a powerful testament to how cooking can help us get up and start again in the face of unimaginable hurt.
With tender vulnerability, mesmerizing prose, and delectable recipes, The Year of Miracles is a touching, unforgettable book on finding hope through food.
288 pages, Hardcover
First published July 26, 2022
74 people are currently reading
2344 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 89 reviews
May 27, 2022
Oh look, it’s me, crying at a cookbook, again
June 30, 2022
The people criticising the recipes in this are missing the point – and that’s absolutely fine. It’s not for them. This is a memoir and a self-help book baked into an unbridled celebration of the emotional importance of food, and its power to heal or (at least) see you through darker times. Whether you’re cooking up rice at 3am, making the world’s best birthday cake, or making a towering summer sandwich with your home-baked bread for your grateful friends, this has something for every big and tiny moment in a modern life shaped by relationships, loss, and discovery.
It’s beautiful. Simple, personal, moving and powerful with stories that resonate, regardless of whether you’ve lost someone in the way that Ella lost someone. Compiled over lockdown – a period in which we all “lost” someone, or some people, or some things, in one way or another – it’s a love note to friendship, and to the modern definition of family, read out loud across a plate or a picnic blanket or a sofa or a garden fence.
It’s beautiful. Simple, personal, moving and powerful with stories that resonate, regardless of whether you’ve lost someone in the way that Ella lost someone. Compiled over lockdown – a period in which we all “lost” someone, or some people, or some things, in one way or another – it’s a love note to friendship, and to the modern definition of family, read out loud across a plate or a picnic blanket or a sofa or a garden fence.
March 26, 2022
DNF at 25%.
I feel so bad not finishing this, and I feel bad for the author having lost her partner, especially at such a young age, but I just can’t trudge through this anymore. It’s like random ramblings and musings. I think the writing was cathartic for her, which is wonderful, but it’s day-to-day stuff and thoughts that are boring for the reader, and the recipes are for food that seems quite odd to me. I am sure they will resonate better with the UK audience.
Thank you NetGalley and Bloomsbury for providing me with this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
I feel so bad not finishing this, and I feel bad for the author having lost her partner, especially at such a young age, but I just can’t trudge through this anymore. It’s like random ramblings and musings. I think the writing was cathartic for her, which is wonderful, but it’s day-to-day stuff and thoughts that are boring for the reader, and the recipes are for food that seems quite odd to me. I am sure they will resonate better with the UK audience.
Thank you NetGalley and Bloomsbury for providing me with this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
March 23, 2022
Disclosure: I received an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
3/5 as a memoir. I suppose most of this book's intended audience will read it for the personal anecdotes rather than its culinary worth. If that's you, you will not be disappointed. They're a bit manic pixie dream girl for me but I don't think I'm the intended audience. The writing is very green. I'm not sure if this was meant to be aimed at Young Adults.
1/5 for the recipes. I do not belive the writer tests or tastes her recipes as well as she should for a professionally published cookbook. Her judgment and taste seems to rely on her own personal preference with little regard to balancing flavours or anyone else's palate. She just seems to write recipes in accordance with satisfying cravings i.e. 'I want something sweet therefore I'll just create this really sweet thing.' That's why you end up with recipes like the Fried Jam Sandwiches which were just a sickly explosion of sugar in the mouth. Quite childish. You're either the type of person who eats Fried Jam Sandwiches or you're not. If you are you don't need a cookbook to make them. For the more complex recipes, she is obviously a 'fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants' cook rather than a professional chef but if you are not as confident a homecook as the author, that approach is likely to fill you with anxiety.
I was asked to look at the recipes and that's what I did. I'm afraid, I wasn't impressed. I do not believe these recipes will do well with American audiences.
3/5 as a memoir. I suppose most of this book's intended audience will read it for the personal anecdotes rather than its culinary worth. If that's you, you will not be disappointed. They're a bit manic pixie dream girl for me but I don't think I'm the intended audience. The writing is very green. I'm not sure if this was meant to be aimed at Young Adults.
1/5 for the recipes. I do not belive the writer tests or tastes her recipes as well as she should for a professionally published cookbook. Her judgment and taste seems to rely on her own personal preference with little regard to balancing flavours or anyone else's palate. She just seems to write recipes in accordance with satisfying cravings i.e. 'I want something sweet therefore I'll just create this really sweet thing.' That's why you end up with recipes like the Fried Jam Sandwiches which were just a sickly explosion of sugar in the mouth. Quite childish. You're either the type of person who eats Fried Jam Sandwiches or you're not. If you are you don't need a cookbook to make them. For the more complex recipes, she is obviously a 'fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants' cook rather than a professional chef but if you are not as confident a homecook as the author, that approach is likely to fill you with anxiety.
I was asked to look at the recipes and that's what I did. I'm afraid, I wasn't impressed. I do not believe these recipes will do well with American audiences.
July 15, 2022
So much of this I loved, and I care about anyone's story of grief and learning to live with it and if cooking is involved, all the better. But the tweeness of this out-twees even Midnight Chicken, which was already pushing my twee tolerance levels. I believe she's also a children's author and this has a distinctly children's/young adult feel to it.
The recipes are so-so. I made a coconut rice with soy, lime, and tahini vegetables this week while reading it which wasn't anything revolutionary and is already pretty much in my repertoire as is, but reminded me how much I love coconut rice and I liked her mixing of dishes in this section. I think more than anything I liked being inspired by her relaxed way about the kitchen, the "it'll be fine" attitude (although it gets repetitive, especially being the second book of it).
The "iron soup", Turkish eggs, savory scones, miso egg mayo, quadruple carb soup, and a simple twist on savoy cabbage sound good too. That's all I had marked up though, the rest either didn't appeal or were too involved. The recipes are written oddly, they're very long due to a lot of extra chatty text in each (4 paragraphs over 2 pages to make scrambled eggs with butter, those are the only two ingredients besides toast. I think this is meant more as a memoir / chronicle of learning to love life and falling in love again after grief but amidst a global pandemic than as a cookbook).
But at the same time, as much as I complain about it, I still looked forward to reading this. I had an advance copy PDF that I read on my work computer while taking breaks and I couldn't wait to do that each day, so there's a lot to be delighted about and heartwarmed by here. Or really, to commiserate with. I loved when she really delved into the dark places! More of this, please! Because she has a great way of tying those things into the reality of life and the balance of it all. The relentless cutesiness otherwise was just too much.
Also the watercolor illustrations, by the same illustrator who did Midnight Chicken, are stunning. I marked a couple that I'd love to have prints of.
So if you need something reassuring and heartwarming it works, it's just also sickly sweet and treacly and the writing feels completely unedited, just plucked from a journal. I have a feeling others won't be as bothered by any of this though, especially if you're well under 30 + the type to hold hands with your adult friends. I love my friends too but I don't want to hold hands with any of them while at a picnic so if this seems less than idyllic to you too you may not get much out of this.
The recipes are so-so. I made a coconut rice with soy, lime, and tahini vegetables this week while reading it which wasn't anything revolutionary and is already pretty much in my repertoire as is, but reminded me how much I love coconut rice and I liked her mixing of dishes in this section. I think more than anything I liked being inspired by her relaxed way about the kitchen, the "it'll be fine" attitude (although it gets repetitive, especially being the second book of it).
The "iron soup", Turkish eggs, savory scones, miso egg mayo, quadruple carb soup, and a simple twist on savoy cabbage sound good too. That's all I had marked up though, the rest either didn't appeal or were too involved. The recipes are written oddly, they're very long due to a lot of extra chatty text in each (4 paragraphs over 2 pages to make scrambled eggs with butter, those are the only two ingredients besides toast. I think this is meant more as a memoir / chronicle of learning to love life and falling in love again after grief but amidst a global pandemic than as a cookbook).
But at the same time, as much as I complain about it, I still looked forward to reading this. I had an advance copy PDF that I read on my work computer while taking breaks and I couldn't wait to do that each day, so there's a lot to be delighted about and heartwarmed by here. Or really, to commiserate with. I loved when she really delved into the dark places! More of this, please! Because she has a great way of tying those things into the reality of life and the balance of it all. The relentless cutesiness otherwise was just too much.
Also the watercolor illustrations, by the same illustrator who did Midnight Chicken, are stunning. I marked a couple that I'd love to have prints of.
So if you need something reassuring and heartwarming it works, it's just also sickly sweet and treacly and the writing feels completely unedited, just plucked from a journal. I have a feeling others won't be as bothered by any of this though, especially if you're well under 30 + the type to hold hands with your adult friends. I love my friends too but I don't want to hold hands with any of them while at a picnic so if this seems less than idyllic to you too you may not get much out of this.
June 1, 2022
I was sent this book by the publisher, Bloomsbury, at no cost. It's out now; $44.99.
The memoir / cookbook genre is not one I knew I needed, but it turns out I do. When it's done well, anyway. Looking over other food-type books I realise I do own a couple. I think I hope it accrues even more examples, and that they will be as well written as this.
Firstly, this book is gorgeous. The front cover there gives a sense of the illustrations - watercolours, I think? - that appear throughout the whole book. It's a memoir of a year, and each month is a chapter and the first page of each gets a lovely, representative image; so do most of the recipes, and the headings for each get a band of colour. It's the sort of book that's a delight to literally flick through as pops of colour jump out.
Also: it has a ribbon. All cookbooks, and indeed every hardback, should come with a ribbon. It's a fact; I don't make the rules.
I haven't read the first of Risbridger's memoir/cookbooks (but watch me watch out for it now) so I don't know about her life as described there, beyond what you glean from this one. But the prologue explains that her partner died a couple of years before, and at the start of 2020 (oh, what a phrase that is just resonant now) she has moved into a new house with one of her best friends to try and start anew. And then, you know. 2020 happens. But as we also know, life continues, and continued. Friends still exist and people still need to eat and plants can be planted, and love still exists. And this is really what the book is: a meditation on all those things. Risbridger reflects on grief and love, and coming to terms with the messy realities of how people affect us for good and ill - and how even when we love people we can resent doing things for or with them but simultaneously not resent it thanks to that love. Risbridger seems very honest in these pages. Memoirs are not my natural reading fodder but this one, I enjoyed.
The other aspect is the food, of course, and reading the recipes was also a delight. I am not the person who reads recipes for fun, as a rule, but these ones I did because Risbridger brings a chatty style even to her instructions. That won't be to everyone's taste, I'm sure, but I enjoyed it a lot. On making pie pastry: "Try not to work it too hard, but honestly? You're probably fine. You're making your own pastry" (p10). [Note: I was not entirely fine, but that's probably because I didn't have enough Parmesan in the pastry. Also, I've never grated butter for pastry; it's messy but also a whole lot easier than trying to cube it.] The recipes are a glorious range from three-ingredient brownies (hint: a LOT of Nutella) to chicken pie, with dumplings and several soups and various condiments along the way. I have made the pie - chicken and mushroom and miso (I have bought miso! I've never used miso!), and it's fantastic; her sour cherry and chocolate chip biscuits, which are meant to have marzipan but a) I didn't have any and b) the other person wouldn't enjoy them (burnt butter! what an idea!); and "Theo's chicken", which also has miso, and ketchup and ginger and garlic and sesame oil. You cook it super hot at first and then a bit lower, and the marinade basically burns; I didn't love that part quite so much but overall it tasted fantastic. There are definitely other recipes in here that I'll be trying, too.
This is a delight of a book.
The memoir / cookbook genre is not one I knew I needed, but it turns out I do. When it's done well, anyway. Looking over other food-type books I realise I do own a couple. I think I hope it accrues even more examples, and that they will be as well written as this.
Firstly, this book is gorgeous. The front cover there gives a sense of the illustrations - watercolours, I think? - that appear throughout the whole book. It's a memoir of a year, and each month is a chapter and the first page of each gets a lovely, representative image; so do most of the recipes, and the headings for each get a band of colour. It's the sort of book that's a delight to literally flick through as pops of colour jump out.
Also: it has a ribbon. All cookbooks, and indeed every hardback, should come with a ribbon. It's a fact; I don't make the rules.
I haven't read the first of Risbridger's memoir/cookbooks (but watch me watch out for it now) so I don't know about her life as described there, beyond what you glean from this one. But the prologue explains that her partner died a couple of years before, and at the start of 2020 (oh, what a phrase that is just resonant now) she has moved into a new house with one of her best friends to try and start anew. And then, you know. 2020 happens. But as we also know, life continues, and continued. Friends still exist and people still need to eat and plants can be planted, and love still exists. And this is really what the book is: a meditation on all those things. Risbridger reflects on grief and love, and coming to terms with the messy realities of how people affect us for good and ill - and how even when we love people we can resent doing things for or with them but simultaneously not resent it thanks to that love. Risbridger seems very honest in these pages. Memoirs are not my natural reading fodder but this one, I enjoyed.
The other aspect is the food, of course, and reading the recipes was also a delight. I am not the person who reads recipes for fun, as a rule, but these ones I did because Risbridger brings a chatty style even to her instructions. That won't be to everyone's taste, I'm sure, but I enjoyed it a lot. On making pie pastry: "Try not to work it too hard, but honestly? You're probably fine. You're making your own pastry" (p10). [Note: I was not entirely fine, but that's probably because I didn't have enough Parmesan in the pastry. Also, I've never grated butter for pastry; it's messy but also a whole lot easier than trying to cube it.] The recipes are a glorious range from three-ingredient brownies (hint: a LOT of Nutella) to chicken pie, with dumplings and several soups and various condiments along the way. I have made the pie - chicken and mushroom and miso (I have bought miso! I've never used miso!), and it's fantastic; her sour cherry and chocolate chip biscuits, which are meant to have marzipan but a) I didn't have any and b) the other person wouldn't enjoy them (burnt butter! what an idea!); and "Theo's chicken", which also has miso, and ketchup and ginger and garlic and sesame oil. You cook it super hot at first and then a bit lower, and the marinade basically burns; I didn't love that part quite so much but overall it tasted fantastic. There are definitely other recipes in here that I'll be trying, too.
This is a delight of a book.
June 9, 2022
Honestly, I love Ella Risbridger since Midnight Chicken with all my heart. If she writes anything concerning food I will buy it and I will pester all my people to buy it too (true story I single handedly made at least 4 of my friends devoted followers). Also, why wouldn't you like the books of someone who actually responds on Instagram if you have questions about her recipes? Ella is a great person and we love her.
When The Year of Miracles became available for pre-order, my friend Berta and I we both clicked that button instantly. When it arrived upon publication, I devoured it in two sittings and I have already made the coffee bergamot banana bread and the focaccia. On a more serious note though, this is a tough memoir about grief and all that comes with that. Sometimes it is not easy to read and sometimes it is very painful. But all the time, Ella tells her story honestly, without trying to hide the ugly truths of her experiences. Death is painful and hard to reconcile. The most beautiful part here is that the new beginning, her blossoming as a person post-tragedy is during, as she calls it, a small apocalypse that happened to all of us. She talks lockdown and love and friendships and the ugly and beautiful truths we encounter in this world and it is the most relatable and vulnerable miracle of all. Her narrative has whimsy and is full of impressions and I love how three of her friends wanted to be named Zelda. I think we all need friends who want to be Zelda. I probably am a Zelda.
The reasons it is a four star for me is the accessibility of the recipes and the somehow less concise narrative. As an Eastern-European, I find there are many recipes here that have some ingredients that are not as easy or cheap for me to get as it would be ideal. I accept this, it basically almost always happens with cookbooks, so this is kind of a generic note on my side. On the narrative side, I felt like sometimes the telling lost its goal and only came back after some roundabouts that did not make as much sense as others. I fully respect the decision to take this route, I just felt like some parts might have needed a bit more editing.
That aside, which are both minor issues on my part, this is one of the most beautiful cookbooks I have ever seen and reading it is like a warm hug of self-discovery and telling yourself everything will be alright in the end. And it is alright.
When The Year of Miracles became available for pre-order, my friend Berta and I we both clicked that button instantly. When it arrived upon publication, I devoured it in two sittings and I have already made the coffee bergamot banana bread and the focaccia. On a more serious note though, this is a tough memoir about grief and all that comes with that. Sometimes it is not easy to read and sometimes it is very painful. But all the time, Ella tells her story honestly, without trying to hide the ugly truths of her experiences. Death is painful and hard to reconcile. The most beautiful part here is that the new beginning, her blossoming as a person post-tragedy is during, as she calls it, a small apocalypse that happened to all of us. She talks lockdown and love and friendships and the ugly and beautiful truths we encounter in this world and it is the most relatable and vulnerable miracle of all. Her narrative has whimsy and is full of impressions and I love how three of her friends wanted to be named Zelda. I think we all need friends who want to be Zelda. I probably am a Zelda.
The reasons it is a four star for me is the accessibility of the recipes and the somehow less concise narrative. As an Eastern-European, I find there are many recipes here that have some ingredients that are not as easy or cheap for me to get as it would be ideal. I accept this, it basically almost always happens with cookbooks, so this is kind of a generic note on my side. On the narrative side, I felt like sometimes the telling lost its goal and only came back after some roundabouts that did not make as much sense as others. I fully respect the decision to take this route, I just felt like some parts might have needed a bit more editing.
That aside, which are both minor issues on my part, this is one of the most beautiful cookbooks I have ever seen and reading it is like a warm hug of self-discovery and telling yourself everything will be alright in the end. And it is alright.
February 1, 2024
This book is a work of art and unfinished therapy all rolled into one. If you have grieved; If grief has hidden away while you moved forward with life- this book will knock it out of the corners and stand it on its feet. But then you might start cooking again. So that will be ok.
September 14, 2022
I bought this book because I used to follow Ella's ex-partner John Underwood on Twitter and became captivated by his charm and good-humor while fighting cancer. The first thing that really put me off this book was the fact that John's name has been changed. I know Ella said on her social media that she did this because it was easier to write this way.
Ok, but why not change it back for publication? I get changing other people's names, they're still alive, but since you can Gooogle who Ella's ex-partner was really easily, why change his name in the final book? It feels really disrespectful. Before he died he was way more famous than Ella. The fact that her partner got cancer is the only reason this girl gets to write books.
The food in this book is ok, not great. If you're used to American soul-food, you'll find the recipes are mediocre. They're also very basic. In the book she's like - you can make mistakes or make it up, it doesn't matter. Ok, then why do I need a recipe? It actually got a little infuriating to the end.
I follow Ella on social media because I miss John's presence, and to be perfectly honest, she doesn't come across as that nice a person. The book just reinforced this entirely. She comes across as very spoilt and completely unaware of her own privilege. She's very immature and this book reads like it was written for a fragile Victorian child. The tone of the book is so folksy, it's almost sickening.
Also, even though her partner died and that's very sad, she wasn't left destitute by it. My family were almost made homeless by our father's death because the insurance company didn't want to pay out the life insurance. I don't think they would have done that to a white family. My father died with four children under the age of twelve. Dying young with young children is a much worst situation for everyone involved. This book is written like Ella is the only one who has ever experienced grief. Like this is somethig that's only ever happened to her.
I miss John, but I really think Ella's needs way, way more editing. Her writing is so immature and folksy it's almost unreadable at times. So I'm glad she wrote the book, she's got a new boyfriend and she's doing much better. I actually blame the publishing company for the book being so immature. It really needed more editing.
Ok, but why not change it back for publication? I get changing other people's names, they're still alive, but since you can Gooogle who Ella's ex-partner was really easily, why change his name in the final book? It feels really disrespectful. Before he died he was way more famous than Ella. The fact that her partner got cancer is the only reason this girl gets to write books.
The food in this book is ok, not great. If you're used to American soul-food, you'll find the recipes are mediocre. They're also very basic. In the book she's like - you can make mistakes or make it up, it doesn't matter. Ok, then why do I need a recipe? It actually got a little infuriating to the end.
I follow Ella on social media because I miss John's presence, and to be perfectly honest, she doesn't come across as that nice a person. The book just reinforced this entirely. She comes across as very spoilt and completely unaware of her own privilege. She's very immature and this book reads like it was written for a fragile Victorian child. The tone of the book is so folksy, it's almost sickening.
Also, even though her partner died and that's very sad, she wasn't left destitute by it. My family were almost made homeless by our father's death because the insurance company didn't want to pay out the life insurance. I don't think they would have done that to a white family. My father died with four children under the age of twelve. Dying young with young children is a much worst situation for everyone involved. This book is written like Ella is the only one who has ever experienced grief. Like this is somethig that's only ever happened to her.
I miss John, but I really think Ella's needs way, way more editing. Her writing is so immature and folksy it's almost unreadable at times. So I'm glad she wrote the book, she's got a new boyfriend and she's doing much better. I actually blame the publishing company for the book being so immature. It really needed more editing.
July 31, 2022
The many characters were confusing to keep up with and I couldn’t relate, really, at all. Then got to the end and saw that the author has changed everyone’s names, but then put their real names in the acknowledgments at the end? I don’t understand what is the point? I loved midnight chicken, it’s one of my favourites, but this book was so disappointing. It perhaps seems more suited to young (20s) single people, I didn’t find the recipes inspiring and they seemed very desperate and the recipes repetitively saying “you know how to do this”, “you know what to do”, so why include it?
January 14, 2023
read a cookbook from cover to cover. cried a lot about it. very heartwarming and sweet.
January 14, 2025
Written with such heart and emotion, this book (and the recipes in it) are a beautiful tribute to the author's grieving process after losing her partner. Food can be a profound way to reconnect with our physical selves in times of numbness or dissociated grief, which the author illustrates wonderfully through her sensorial, almost poetic, short chapters. How she finds her way to each particular recipe is written with such admirable tenderness and self-care.
I only rate this a 3 because I couldn't quite connect with the characters or recipes as much as it seemed the author did. This book seemed to be cathartic for her to write and it is obvious that the people and foods included mean a lot to her. I'm truly happy for her ability to find an external source to assist with her process, but as a reader (particularly a cookbook reader) I'll doubtfully return for recipe ideas.
I only rate this a 3 because I couldn't quite connect with the characters or recipes as much as it seemed the author did. This book seemed to be cathartic for her to write and it is obvious that the people and foods included mean a lot to her. I'm truly happy for her ability to find an external source to assist with her process, but as a reader (particularly a cookbook reader) I'll doubtfully return for recipe ideas.
September 27, 2022
This book was given to me as I have recently lost both my parents. I was also a carer for my father who had early-onset dementia. I was told that this book was 'heartwarming' and 'life-affirming' and that the author shared some of my experiences as a carer, but I was actually shocked by the lack of self-awareness and the overall tone of the book.
The book looks great. That much is true. Others have mentioned that the book is immature and 'twee' (it's so disgustingly twee - blergh!) but that's not the problem. The author is utterly self-centered and conceited in the worst possible way. At one point she even says something along the lines of 'The doctors look straight past me to my boyfriend.' Yes, darling, that's because your boyfriend was the one DYING OF CANCER. Of course doctors were looking at the their patient, the one with cancer. If you don't like it, love, you get cancer and you can have a go…
The author hints at a very good point then never expands on it. Carers are treated quite badly and dismissly by people like consultants etc. That was my experience too, but this author just mentions it briefly then talks about how she's the real victim in all this. The entire time my father was struggling with dementia, I never thought that I was in any way the victim. It was very clear who the disease was happening to and it wasn't me. There is a lot to be written about being a carer in a better, deeper, more mature way. It's hard to be on the periphery of something like that. It's not happening to you, but your whole life is consumed by it. Being a carer sucks up your identity and then you have to rediscover it. I think that's what she wanted to say but it just gets lost in her own narcissism.
If this is what Bloomsbury thinks this is what passes for 'heartwarming' - good grief!
The book looks great. That much is true. Others have mentioned that the book is immature and 'twee' (it's so disgustingly twee - blergh!) but that's not the problem. The author is utterly self-centered and conceited in the worst possible way. At one point she even says something along the lines of 'The doctors look straight past me to my boyfriend.' Yes, darling, that's because your boyfriend was the one DYING OF CANCER. Of course doctors were looking at the their patient, the one with cancer. If you don't like it, love, you get cancer and you can have a go…
The author hints at a very good point then never expands on it. Carers are treated quite badly and dismissly by people like consultants etc. That was my experience too, but this author just mentions it briefly then talks about how she's the real victim in all this. The entire time my father was struggling with dementia, I never thought that I was in any way the victim. It was very clear who the disease was happening to and it wasn't me. There is a lot to be written about being a carer in a better, deeper, more mature way. It's hard to be on the periphery of something like that. It's not happening to you, but your whole life is consumed by it. Being a carer sucks up your identity and then you have to rediscover it. I think that's what she wanted to say but it just gets lost in her own narcissism.
If this is what Bloomsbury thinks this is what passes for 'heartwarming' - good grief!
March 24, 2022
#NetGalley #TheYearofMiracles
This book reads like a guide book for comfort, love, and loss. It is gorgeous and heartbreaking. The recipes range from cardamom buns, poached eggs, and pistachio pie, to Storm at Sea Scones, apricot almond salad, and Anchovy Toast with Lacy Eggs to make for an outdoor cat. I've highlighted many recipes and passages and will be buying the hard copy as well. Full of little gems like,"I've learned to cultivate happiness in absence, and to love an empty space where something used to be in the quiet hope that it won't be wasted: something always turns up to be loved, a fox, a star, a courgette. A cat. A home. A person." Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for my honest review.
This book reads like a guide book for comfort, love, and loss. It is gorgeous and heartbreaking. The recipes range from cardamom buns, poached eggs, and pistachio pie, to Storm at Sea Scones, apricot almond salad, and Anchovy Toast with Lacy Eggs to make for an outdoor cat. I've highlighted many recipes and passages and will be buying the hard copy as well. Full of little gems like,"I've learned to cultivate happiness in absence, and to love an empty space where something used to be in the quiet hope that it won't be wasted: something always turns up to be loved, a fox, a star, a courgette. A cat. A home. A person." Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for my honest review.
January 10, 2023
The soulful, conversational writing and the beautiful illustrations makes this a cookbook that you’ll want to read cover to cover. This is the author’s second memoir/cookbook that picks up after her partner, Jim, has died of cancer and she’s figuring out how to live her life. Each recipe is interwoven with the memoir part of the book, separated into recipes by month beginning in January. Not only are there amazing recipes it addresses loss, grief, depression, friends, found family and finding a way forward. I felt as it a dear friend was in the room talking to me. If you’re not interested in the recipes, you can read it like a memoir by reading only the intros to each recipe.
May 31, 2022
I’ve only just started this book, but love it. It’s a book to be savored, and truly felt. Ella Risbridger weaves her memoir of grief and healing together with her recipes in a wonderful way. She captures moments perfectly, and also stirs a desire to create the dishes she describes - to weave them into my own life and story. Or at the very least to truly slow down and think about the small acts of each day - the cooking, the cleaning, the things the living do* - and the meaning they carry.
*see the poem What the Living Do by Marie Howe (included at the beginning of this book)
*see the poem What the Living Do by Marie Howe (included at the beginning of this book)
December 29, 2022
This is a book to be handled - pages turned back, propped open using whatever's on the counter, sticky notes to mark great passages or great recipes. This is a book made to be passed on to loved ones, either through the food you make from it or via the book itself. This is a book to be loved, to be read again, so that you can keep getting that taste of something true, something vital, something we all think in the quiet moments while the world burns, or simply while the kettle boils.
August 11, 2022
Ella Risbridger writes words that hit me in heart & make me smile & make me sad. There’s so much feeling in her writing. It both ordinary & extraordinary. Her recipes are ones I want to cook immediately. I think her books are pretty much perfect.
September 23, 2022
Recipes are different measures than we use but the messages pertaining to living with grief and how important friends and cooking can be was the main message
January 18, 2023
This book…cookbook? I don’t know…anyway it had beautiful depth and was so personal and conversational! It was a delight to read!
May 11, 2023
This is not a cookbook. This is something much more and much better that made me laugh and cry and feel very British.
April 21, 2022
I received an ARC of The Year of Miracles by Ella Risbridger. This is a good story on love, loss, moving on, and cooking. There are great recipes in this book. We show are love by cooking, for those we love.
June 6, 2023
I really enjoyed this originally formatted book. I loved how despite her sadness , grief and loss, she found beauty in simple things - the smell , touch , texture , taste of food , the satisfaction of growing something, the seasons and most of all , her friends .
May 24, 2022
It's a beautiful book. It's not often that a cookbook speaks of all the emotions that go into cooking and baking. How the process help you find space and breath when life seems overwhelming and can allow moments of escape from intense emotions.
Like 'the midnight chicken' Ella's writing is stunning, beautiful and open. I haven't tried the recipes yet, as it was almost more like a page turner than a cookbook. She can definitely cook though, the seasonality of the recipes is really lovely. A beautiful read and I look forward to dipping into it when planning meals or itching for inspiration.
Like 'the midnight chicken' Ella's writing is stunning, beautiful and open. I haven't tried the recipes yet, as it was almost more like a page turner than a cookbook. She can definitely cook though, the seasonality of the recipes is really lovely. A beautiful read and I look forward to dipping into it when planning meals or itching for inspiration.
December 20, 2022
“To fall in love at the end of the world is a dangerous thing. To admit that you’re in love, at the end of the world, is more dangerous still.
Dangerous, because it turns out that the world is a hard thing to end; and apocalypses take time. They happen, and keep on happening. The world keeps turning; and it gets better, and then worse again… I should feel smug for having predicted it, but I don’t. Just afraid, and angry. Things already happened to me. I gave up so many years to the dying. Why must I now give more?”
Sometimes my grandma and I look at each other and say, apropos of nothing, “I can’t believe we lived through a pandemic,” meaning the experience of living during the height of it: the lockdown, the quarantine, the solitude, the boredom, the anxiety, the fury of trying to get an Instacart delivery, all of it. 2020 was an absolutely dreadful year that will go down in history, and it’s hard to believe that it’s about to be 2023, three years later. The pandemic changed everything, but also changed nothing at all. It hasn’t even ended; we’re all still living through it, trying our best to live our lives while avoiding an airborne, invisible pathogen.
Ella Risbridger’s memoir disguised as a cookbook is entirely about the year 2020, when she started a home with her best friend, attempted to recover from the trauma of her partner of many years passing away at a young age, and fell in love again. I find Ella’s writing incredibly moving; I loved her book Midnight Chicken, as well as her Substack newsletter, which also features personal essays disguised as recipes. I relate to her a lot, because I also get too in my feelings about the most innocuous of things; I also reflect on the past more than I maybe should. I love cooking and food, and Ella’s recipes, while they skew towards the British (i.e. measurements in metric, ingredients I would have no idea how to find in the U.S.), sound very delicious and more so than that, just /nourishing/ and /comforting/. Throughout the book, Ella encourages rest and reflection and giving love to your people through whatever your love language is, which in her case is cooking, and it is very affirming and lovely. (At the end, Ella gives a bowl of dressed-up ramen to her roommate/sister/soulmate and says “Is it okay that I only cooked ramen for dinner?” and her roommate says “You do know that we would all still love you even if you didn’t cook, right?” and that made me want to cry!!!!!!)
Anyway, Ella learned, through the hellish year of 2020 and the writing of this book, that life is a rollercoaster and you never know what’s coming next, but that you have to find people to rely on and they will hold you when you need them to. Everything you go through means something. A warm, home-cooked meal is a nourishing and comforting thing. Joy and love abound when you know where to look for them. And there’s hope even in the hardest of times.
The other day, I went to lunch at the university art museum cafe with two of my coworkers and friends, two middle-aged goofy and very smart men. Afterward, one of them emailed us to say thanks for the afternoon, and the other signed off an email reply by saying “More food, art, and conviviality in the new year!” and that made me so happy because yes, that’s it, that’s what I always want! More food, more art, more books, more love, more fun, more joy!! More and more and then more of it, as Ella repeatedly quotes the poet Marie Howe in her book. I was very moved by this book, and I really loved it. It’s what I needed to read at the end of this year, I think. :’)
Dangerous, because it turns out that the world is a hard thing to end; and apocalypses take time. They happen, and keep on happening. The world keeps turning; and it gets better, and then worse again… I should feel smug for having predicted it, but I don’t. Just afraid, and angry. Things already happened to me. I gave up so many years to the dying. Why must I now give more?”
Sometimes my grandma and I look at each other and say, apropos of nothing, “I can’t believe we lived through a pandemic,” meaning the experience of living during the height of it: the lockdown, the quarantine, the solitude, the boredom, the anxiety, the fury of trying to get an Instacart delivery, all of it. 2020 was an absolutely dreadful year that will go down in history, and it’s hard to believe that it’s about to be 2023, three years later. The pandemic changed everything, but also changed nothing at all. It hasn’t even ended; we’re all still living through it, trying our best to live our lives while avoiding an airborne, invisible pathogen.
Ella Risbridger’s memoir disguised as a cookbook is entirely about the year 2020, when she started a home with her best friend, attempted to recover from the trauma of her partner of many years passing away at a young age, and fell in love again. I find Ella’s writing incredibly moving; I loved her book Midnight Chicken, as well as her Substack newsletter, which also features personal essays disguised as recipes. I relate to her a lot, because I also get too in my feelings about the most innocuous of things; I also reflect on the past more than I maybe should. I love cooking and food, and Ella’s recipes, while they skew towards the British (i.e. measurements in metric, ingredients I would have no idea how to find in the U.S.), sound very delicious and more so than that, just /nourishing/ and /comforting/. Throughout the book, Ella encourages rest and reflection and giving love to your people through whatever your love language is, which in her case is cooking, and it is very affirming and lovely. (At the end, Ella gives a bowl of dressed-up ramen to her roommate/sister/soulmate and says “Is it okay that I only cooked ramen for dinner?” and her roommate says “You do know that we would all still love you even if you didn’t cook, right?” and that made me want to cry!!!!!!)
Anyway, Ella learned, through the hellish year of 2020 and the writing of this book, that life is a rollercoaster and you never know what’s coming next, but that you have to find people to rely on and they will hold you when you need them to. Everything you go through means something. A warm, home-cooked meal is a nourishing and comforting thing. Joy and love abound when you know where to look for them. And there’s hope even in the hardest of times.
The other day, I went to lunch at the university art museum cafe with two of my coworkers and friends, two middle-aged goofy and very smart men. Afterward, one of them emailed us to say thanks for the afternoon, and the other signed off an email reply by saying “More food, art, and conviviality in the new year!” and that made me so happy because yes, that’s it, that’s what I always want! More food, more art, more books, more love, more fun, more joy!! More and more and then more of it, as Ella repeatedly quotes the poet Marie Howe in her book. I was very moved by this book, and I really loved it. It’s what I needed to read at the end of this year, I think. :’)
February 3, 2024
"I'm reading a cookbook about grief," I tried to explain as I toted this watercolor-strewn book around campus.
"This cookbook has the best summary of cultural appropriation vs cultural appreciation I've ever read." I told my roommate one night.
(The Zhoug entry, which is far too lengthy for me to type out in its entirely here.)
"This cookbook is so pretty." To my lunch table, showing them the watercolor illustrations.
"This book is so strikingly plain and beautiful." To myself, repeatedly, as passage after passage resonated with me. Like the ending, when she reflects on the Year of Miracles, all the little moments that have kept her life worth living after tremendous personal loss, and global pandemic:
"The world is still there. Changed, sure, but it's always changing. This has looked like a story about grief, but really, it's been a story about change. Grief transforms you, as cooking transforms, as writing transforms, as reading transforms. As love transforms."
"This cookbook has the best summary of cultural appropriation vs cultural appreciation I've ever read." I told my roommate one night.
(The Zhoug entry, which is far too lengthy for me to type out in its entirely here.)
"This cookbook is so pretty." To my lunch table, showing them the watercolor illustrations.
"This book is so strikingly plain and beautiful." To myself, repeatedly, as passage after passage resonated with me. Like the ending, when she reflects on the Year of Miracles, all the little moments that have kept her life worth living after tremendous personal loss, and global pandemic:
"The world is still there. Changed, sure, but it's always changing. This has looked like a story about grief, but really, it's been a story about change. Grief transforms you, as cooking transforms, as writing transforms, as reading transforms. As love transforms."
July 31, 2022
This book opens with a very moving poem by Marie Howe. Coincidentally, I have just heard Ms. Howe read some of her poems in a MasterClass. She has so much that is evocative to say as is surely the case in this introduction to The Year of Miracles.
This is a heartfelt cookbook that includes 67 recipes set over the course of a year. In January, there are Cardamom Buns for example, while February has a Pistachio Pie. March calls for Storm at Sea Scones and Crisis Cardamom Coffee. So it goes over the course of this year landing finally on Fried Jam Sandwiches and then Insanity Noodles in December. Following is a kind of PS Spring chapter with Love & Dumplings.
This is a cookbook that intersperses its recipes with a memoir about the author’s grief. Her life was changed when someone she loved became ill. There were the occasional miracles but also a sad inevitability. Through this experience came the writer’s conclusion that you have to make your own miracles. She shares some of how and what she did with these wonderful recipes.
Read this one in the way that works for you. It could be for the memoir or the illustrations or the recipes filled with practicality (although they did not all look so easy to me). I loved how the book’s readers/cooks were invited in.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Bloomsbury USA for this title. All opinions are my own.
This is a heartfelt cookbook that includes 67 recipes set over the course of a year. In January, there are Cardamom Buns for example, while February has a Pistachio Pie. March calls for Storm at Sea Scones and Crisis Cardamom Coffee. So it goes over the course of this year landing finally on Fried Jam Sandwiches and then Insanity Noodles in December. Following is a kind of PS Spring chapter with Love & Dumplings.
This is a cookbook that intersperses its recipes with a memoir about the author’s grief. Her life was changed when someone she loved became ill. There were the occasional miracles but also a sad inevitability. Through this experience came the writer’s conclusion that you have to make your own miracles. She shares some of how and what she did with these wonderful recipes.
Read this one in the way that works for you. It could be for the memoir or the illustrations or the recipes filled with practicality (although they did not all look so easy to me). I loved how the book’s readers/cooks were invited in.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Bloomsbury USA for this title. All opinions are my own.
August 6, 2022
I bought this book as soon as it came out. Midnight Chicken, Risbridger's first book, is the recipe book I would recommend to you if you made me choose only one recipe book and so getting this was a no brainer.
As soon as it arrived at work, I bought it. I started reading it in my break and five pages in, it made me cry. So I saved it to read in my own time.
This, emotionally speaking, starts where Midnight Chicken finishes. The Tall Man is dead, and Ella must find a way to grief and live. Each recipe here has the story of its birth. Each nudges life nearer to centre stage and finds a way to accommodate the dead. Each is about finding a way to nourish yourself in the best sense of the world. Not only does it provide delicious recipes, it asks: what do I like? What do I need? What can I do? How can I juggle the pain and joy of being alive? How do I feel?
It looks at hunger as a complex, emotional need as well as the ability to fill your belly.
I don't do it justice. I don't think I ever can. The recipes are solid little nuggets of joy and beauty in and of themselves. The writing about death and grief and what it means to be alive is the best I have read. It is beauty.
There is a letter from a reader to Maurice Sendak somewhere that says their child loved his book so much that they ate it. That's what I want to do with this.
As soon as it arrived at work, I bought it. I started reading it in my break and five pages in, it made me cry. So I saved it to read in my own time.
This, emotionally speaking, starts where Midnight Chicken finishes. The Tall Man is dead, and Ella must find a way to grief and live. Each recipe here has the story of its birth. Each nudges life nearer to centre stage and finds a way to accommodate the dead. Each is about finding a way to nourish yourself in the best sense of the world. Not only does it provide delicious recipes, it asks: what do I like? What do I need? What can I do? How can I juggle the pain and joy of being alive? How do I feel?
It looks at hunger as a complex, emotional need as well as the ability to fill your belly.
I don't do it justice. I don't think I ever can. The recipes are solid little nuggets of joy and beauty in and of themselves. The writing about death and grief and what it means to be alive is the best I have read. It is beauty.
There is a letter from a reader to Maurice Sendak somewhere that says their child loved his book so much that they ate it. That's what I want to do with this.
September 18, 2024
3.5/5 This is the most perfect book for readers who love to cook; read about food and the making of food; and for readers who want the back story to special recipes that have been indoctrinated into a family’s culture. It is also for fellow persons who want a concrete way to work through a loss of a loved one.
I’d like to try the author’s three-ingredient brownie at some stage. Makes 12 servings
300g + 50g Nutino (doesn’t contain palm oil)
1tbsp Sea salt (optional)
2 eggs
75 g Self-raising flour
1tblsp Espresso powder for depth (optional)
Preheat oven to 180*C. Line a small tray with baking paper. Grease with butter. In a food processor, beat the eggs until properly frothy then add 300g of the Nutino; a rubber spatula is invaluable here. Shake in the flour and the espresso powder if you are using it. Beat until lump-less and smooth. Pour into the baking tray. Bang the tray on the counter to help it settle evenly. Dollop the remaining 50g of Nutino on top and swirl through with the wrong end of a spoon. Scatter the flakes of salt on top if using it and bake for 20 mins to an halfway hour.
I’d like to try the author’s three-ingredient brownie at some stage. Makes 12 servings
300g + 50g Nutino (doesn’t contain palm oil)
1tbsp Sea salt (optional)
2 eggs
75 g Self-raising flour
1tblsp Espresso powder for depth (optional)
Preheat oven to 180*C. Line a small tray with baking paper. Grease with butter. In a food processor, beat the eggs until properly frothy then add 300g of the Nutino; a rubber spatula is invaluable here. Shake in the flour and the espresso powder if you are using it. Beat until lump-less and smooth. Pour into the baking tray. Bang the tray on the counter to help it settle evenly. Dollop the remaining 50g of Nutino on top and swirl through with the wrong end of a spoon. Scatter the flakes of salt on top if using it and bake for 20 mins to an halfway hour.
June 30, 2022
As a big fan of Midnight Chicken, I was thrilled to receive Risbridger's latest via NetGalley. Part memoir, part cookbook, The Year of Miracles is reminiscent of Joan Didion's Year of Magical Thinking, for our pandemic times. I adore her conversational style and invaluable side notes on the recipes. It feels like she's standing alongside you in the kitchen or sharing stories over coffee. Well-written and immersive narrative cookbooks have a special place in my heart, and this is one of the best I've read. The recipes range from simple, quick fare to more complex dishes that require attention, focus, and process. These recipes and Risbridger's writing are culinary self-care and a beautiful reminder of the ways food nurtures our spirit as well as our body, builds connection, and evokes a sense of place and time.
I received a digital galley of this book in exchange for an honest review, and loved this one so much that I plan to purchase a hardcover for my permanent collection upon its July publication.
I received a digital galley of this book in exchange for an honest review, and loved this one so much that I plan to purchase a hardcover for my permanent collection upon its July publication.
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