"I called my steer Bubbles," begins Max Watman's memoir, Harvest, as he recounts his attempt to "live as if I were on a farm but without the farm," producing his own food from spring to Thanksgiving. He ends with this observation: "Throughout my attempts at deep foodie DIY production, I have at times overdone it, gone too far, and ended up in the wilds or the weeds... slightly lost or overcome." What occurs in between is usually hilarious, often thoughtful and strangely compelling.
Each chapter follows a lovely narrative arc, whether Watman (Chasing the White Dog: An Amateur Outlaw's Adventures in Moonshine; Race Day) is writing about the purchase of a steer that must be housed and fed before it is eventually turned into food, the vulnerabilities of chickens ("Insects can beat a chicken in a fair fight if they get themselves organized") or the excitement of smuggling raw milk cheese out of France. Watman's writing is intimate--with entertaining asides to his wife and his readers throughout--making the reader feel like a close friend roped into another of Max's crazy culinary adventures. He shares his unfounded insecurities along with his dubious successes, expertly weaving his culinary influences from childhood to the present into the narrative. In the closing scenes at the Thanksgiving table, brimming with the bounty of his yearlong culinary experiment, the reader is a part of the scene, relishing the "braised short rib of Bubbles" and other delectable delights from the harvest, sad the journey must end. --Kristen Galles from Book Club Classics