There are some books which you hear the names of and you think, okay, this is going to be one delicious, lip-smacking book about some delicious, lip-smacking food. Instead, it turns out to be about something else altogether – a headily intriguing mix of the sweetness of the little joys in life, the bitterness of harsh reality, the sourness of anger, the saltiness of sorrow, the bland taste of helplessness, that spicy tang of enthusiastic motivation – and it fills you up with not only emotions, but also with the reiterated knowledge that the world is way more complicated and intricately connected than we think it is. And Hot Stew is one such book.
The Melodramatic Bookworm 