How I Gave My Heart to the Restaurant Business

When Slav the astrologer pronounces her ""born to eat, born to cook,"" and an occasionally alcoholic neighbor claims to see God in her kitchen, Kitterina Kittridge--Kitchie, to her friends--decides to leave off all efforts to pursue the parentally chosen vocation of artist, choosing instead to toil in the restaurant trenches. Her goal: to cook in a modest establishment of her own one day. While climbing the professional foodie ladder, however, she meets and falls for Gunnar Gunnarson, whose own dreams for Kitchie's future involve a franchise. Allison's debut attempt to join the swelling ranks of too-cute books involving women and food is as substantial as a fallen souffle. The narrative is awkward (""Our conversation was harsh compared to the language of love that was our dinner""); the homespun aphorisms are downright false (""No lock on the front door. It swung wide open like a democracy, letting anyone in""). Gunnar's overdone Russian-Finnish accent is both improbable and annoying, clanging in the reader's ear like an aural equivalent of a false mustache. And the stop-and-go pace, with long, amateurish passages detailing the life history of minor characters, provides more filler than genuine storytelling. (Apr.)