In her remarkably candid and vibrant debut memoir, Hunger Like a Thirst, Besha Rodell serves up a feast that goes far beyond typical food writing fare. Taking us through her extraordinary journey from a farm in Australia named Narnia to some of the most coveted restaurant critic positions in the world, Rodell reveals not just the glamour of professionally dining out, but the deeply human connection between food, identity, and belonging.
What makes this book so compelling is Rodell’s willingness to interrogate the restaurant industry with the same unflinching honesty she brings to her own life story. She doesn’t just catalog memorable meals; she unearths the messy, complicated relationships with the people, places, and plates that have shaped her. The result is a memoir that feels less like a tasting menu and more like a late-night conversation with your smartest, most insightful food-obsessed friend—the one who will tell you not just what’s delicious, but why it matters.
From Outsider to Insider: The Making of a Critic
Rodell’s memoir begins with her childhood in Australia and her formative experience dining at Melbourne’s grand restaurant Stephanie’s at age eight—an experience that sparked her lifelong fascination with dining as theater, as escape, as something almost magical. When her family relocates to America, teenage Besha finds herself adrift in a new country with different food cultures, where her accent and purple hair make her stand out in all the wrong ways.
The book traces her progression through various restaurant jobs—from barista to waitress to expediter—vividly portraying the chaotic, sometimes toxic restaurant environments of the 1990s and early 2000s. These sections shine with authenticity, capturing the adrenaline rush of dinner service, the camaraderie among staff, and the casual misogyny and substance abuse that once defined kitchen culture.
What emerges is an unlikely bildungsroman—Rodell’s evolution from troubled teenager to respected critic happens not in spite of the restaurant industry’s chaos, but because of her ability to navigate it while maintaining her own distinctive voice. Her journey includes stints at Creative Loafing in Atlanta, LA Weekly in Los Angeles, and ultimately a position at The New York Times in Australia, with a remarkable detour writing Food & Wine’s World’s Best Restaurants list that took her to 30 countries in a year.
The Deep Cut: Examining Restaurant Culture
One of the book’s greatest strengths is Rodell’s commitment to interrogating the industry she loves. She doesn’t hesitate to dissect the problematic aspects of restaurant culture, from the ways women in the industry must often assume masculine traits to survive, to the exploitation of immigrant labor, to the pretentiousness that can infect fine dining experiences.
Her explorations of American food history are particularly enlightening. In sections titled “We Are What We Eat” and “We Are What We Drink,” Rodell delves into the development of cafeterias, chain restaurants, and the American cocktail, revealing the cultural and historical factors that shaped our relationship with food and dining. These segments offer a fascinating counterpoint to her personal narrative, grounding her experiences in a larger social context.
The book also examines the evolution of restaurant criticism itself—once the domain of wealthy white men, now slowly diversifying—and Rodell’s own complicated relationship with anonymity as a critic. She captures the strange dance of trying to remain faceless in an age of social media and the psychological toll of creating dual identities.
The Emotional Core: Food as Connection
At its heart, however, Hunger Like a Thirst is about hunger for more than just food. It’s about the human longing for connection, belonging, and identity. Rodell’s relationship with her family—particularly her mother, who moves the family repeatedly across continents, and her father, whom she loses to illness—forms the emotional backbone of the narrative.
Her marriage to Ryan, a chef whose career consistently takes second place to her own, adds another dimension to the story, raising questions about sacrifice and partnership. And the portrait of her son Felix’s struggle when they move to Australia is heartbreaking—the very displacement Rodell experienced as a teenager repeating itself in her own child’s life.
Some of the most moving passages involve Rodell’s friendships with other industry figures, from her intimidating pastry chef mentor Michelle to her fellow critic and dear friend Bill Addison. In a world that can be cutthroat and competitive, these connections provide sanctuary and understanding.
Writing Style: Unflinchingly Honest, Darkly Humorous
Rodell’s prose is direct, conversational, and occasionally profane, mirroring the no-bullshit attitude of the restaurant workers she once counted herself among. She writes with a refreshing lack of pretension, describing $1,000 meals and dive bar nachos with equal enthusiasm. Her voice crackles with energy and wit, whether she’s eviscerating an overpriced, underwhelming restaurant or describing the transcendent experience of eating perfect pho in a tiny Vietnamese shop.
The narrative structure—organized like a meal, from amuse-bouche to dessert—provides a clever framework that never feels gimmicky. And the varied pace—from breathless accounts of kitchen chaos to contemplative meditations on belonging—keeps the momentum strong throughout.
Strengths and Weaknesses
What Works:
- Rodell’s unflinching honesty about herself, her industry, and her relationships
- The seamless integration of food history and cultural analysis with personal narrative
- Vivid characterizations of the colorful personalities throughout her career
- Insightful exploration of the immigrant experience and cross-cultural identity
- A refreshing lack of food snobbery despite her expertise
Where It Falls Short:
- Some sections feel rushed, particularly the account of her time writing for The New York Times
- The narrative occasionally meanders, with tangents that distract from the main storyline
- Readers hoping for more detailed food descriptions might be disappointed by Rodell’s focus on people and places over dishes
- The section on anonymity as a critic feels repetitive at times
Who Should Read This Book?
Hunger Like a Thirst will appeal to:
- Food industry professionals who will recognize their own experiences in Rodell’s candid account
- Avid restaurant-goers curious about what happens behind the scenes of restaurants and criticism
- Memoir enthusiasts drawn to unconventional coming-of-age stories
- Anyone interested in Australian-American cultural exchange and the immigrant experience
- Readers who enjoyed Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires, or Stephanie Danler’s Sweetbitter
Final Verdict: An Essential Addition to the Food Writing Canon
Rodell has created something special with Hunger Like a Thirst—a food memoir that transcends its genre to become a thoughtful meditation on identity, belonging, and the complicated relationship between pleasure and necessity. It’s also a valuable historical document, capturing a pivotal period in food culture from the unique perspective of someone who has observed it from multiple angles.
While some sections would benefit from deeper exploration and tighter editing, these are minor flaws in a book that otherwise succeeds brilliantly at blending personal narrative with cultural criticism. Rodell’s ability to be both participant and observer in the restaurant world gives her insights a rare authenticity and depth.
In the epilogue, Rodell poignantly reflects on the loss of Anthony Bourdain, whose Kitchen Confidential blazed a trail for books like hers. She acknowledges her work as both homage and response to his—and it’s in this dialogue between past and present, between different voices in food writing, that Hunger Like a Thirst finds its greatest strength. Rodell has not just added her voice to the conversation; she’s expanded what that conversation can include.
Like the perfect meal, Rodell’s memoir leaves you satisfied yet still wanting more—more of her sharp observations, more of her candid self-reflection, more of her unique perspective on the world of food and the people who create it. It’s a hunger that lingers long after the last page.