Cinnamon and Gunpowder

Our Flag Means Death is back, which means I am back, to suddenly loving piracy.

Chef Owen Wedgewood is minding his (high strung, but passionate) business, cooking up elaborate delicacies for his wealthy shareholder boss. Said boss is almost immediately murdered by Hannah Mabbot, a pirate captain who then takes Owen captive, having heard good things about his culinary skills.

Mabbot tells Wedgewood she will continue to spare his life if he cooks her a meal once a week. If she likes the meal, he can survive another week. Wedgewood asks for some scraps of paper to write down recipes, and instead begins journaling about his horrific predicament. His journal entries comprise Cinnamon and Gunpowder.

There was a lot I liked about this. Owen's narration is first person, but flowery and misguided. He recounts action-packed scenes like a time traveling historian determined to jot down every detail while hiding behind a table in the corner sobbing (I am not exaggerating). He does not seem to feel shame over his fear, failure, or weakness. It was oddly refreshing to see this from an adult male protagonist.

I like how Owen learns from the pirates, who he assumes to be barbaric and sinful. Time and again the pirates are tender-hearted and accepting in ways Owen can hardly comprehend, let alone match. At one point he quite literally accuses someone of bestiality when they are getting yarn to knit. The pirates open his eyes to the horrors of colonialism, imperialism, and forced Christianity. He (oh so) slowly learns to stop condemning things just because they are unfamiliar to him.

Similarly, things he once considered lies about his employer gradually morph into damning evidence. I like stories where the villains make compelling points about whether heroes deserve to be uncritically revered.

And last but not least, I liked how much this little guy loved to cook. He was so inventive and reverent. This is high praise, but he rivaled Remy in Ratatouille. Given the cost of groceries these days, I greatly admired his ability to turn trash into elegant meals.

The main issue I have is something that I cannot come up with a name for other than Men. I like when books have stakes, but what I don't like is when men realize the obvious or have a long overdue change of heart only after something(s) like: • A pregnant woman dying• The love interest's son dying• The love interest dying.

We veered into fridging territory, which I find lazy and gross. I get that Wedgewood is supposed to be obtuse, but come on. Still, it has an excellent cover:

Chef's kiss (do you guys get it? because he's a chef). Alright bye.