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Fatima Ali made waves as a standout chef on Chopped and Top Chef before her rising culinary career was cut short by sarcoma. Her memoir, “Savor,” co-authored with Tarajia Morrell, traces her life before her rise to stardom and even before she was born, weaving in essays from both herself and her mother. As a result, even though the memoir centers on Ali’s perspective, she also uses her writing to examine Pakistani culture, queerness, religion, sexuality, trauma, and family through the eyes of both herself and her mother.
The voice and space given to Ali’s mother, Farezeh, stands out immediately in this memoir. Farezeh speaks at length about the small family in Pakistan Ali was born into and the intricacies of moving between countries and navigating a difficult divorce. When viewed alongside Ali’s own reflections on her childhood, this double perspective creates connections and contrasts that enrich the voices of both women.
At the end of the fifth chapter of her book, Ali presents a lyrical romanticization of her childhood, reflecting that “even the dark was only momentary, with the blackness interrupted by a star, a lantern, or a dream.” However, the writing soon cuts to Farezeh’s weary, matter of fact tone as she describes the breakdown of her marriage. Her more adult perspective highlights both the precious joy and unfortunate naivety of Ali’s childhood perspective.
This style of writing continues to allow for a secondary perspective absent in most memoirs. When Ali comes out to Farezeh, readers can gain insight into how Farezeh saw Ali’s sexuality as “a gaping void Ali was trying to fill” that could be “intimately undone by gossip,” giving Farezeh’s initial apprehension an emotional depth. As a result of showcasing both voices, the reader is able to understand the situation in a more nuanced way, even though the episode may feel as though it were presented from a more detached point of view than would be the case if only a single perspective were presented.
It is remarkable that even as chapters shift between Ali and Farezeh, the disjointed essays still remain undeniably compelling and connected. This is in part due to the raw honesty that raises the emotional stakes without ever veering into melodrama. Farezeh speaks candidly about her failing marriage, her father’s death, and her struggles with immigration, and does not shy away from criticizing parts of her native Pakistani culture. While the discussion of these struggles could easily devolve into a typical story of overcoming all odds, Farezeh humbly tempers her successes with her own admissions of failure, baldly stating, for example, that “liberation was terrifying because I quickly realized that there was a lot I did not know how to do.”
Likewise, looking back on her Chopped victory, Ali admits, “I craved the validation - even from the faceless masses telling me how talented and interesting I was. A predictable reaction to having a detached dad? Probably. Unsurprising from the daughter of a distracted mom? Possibly.”
Even when discussing her battle with cancer, Ali responds to the admiration of others by recognizing that she feels “like a fraud,” stripping away any perceived heroism and emphasizing that she is “just a human being who wants more life.” This keen self-awareness prevents Ali from falling into stereotypical narrative tropes.
Expectedly, a memoir about a chef dedicates significant space to food. However, the moments of this memoir when Ali and Farezeh discuss their experiences with food still manage to stand out. Their luscious prose imbues the memoir with a novelistic quality, while the rich language conveys their deep connections to food. For example, Farezeh describes “fresh pomfret” that “lay as flat and grey” as her “father’s daily newspaper,” adding that it was “as if God had pressed it under his palm.” Slightly disconcerting but undeniably vivid, the language viscerally intertwines her lived experience with her love for food, as evidenced by her keen attentiveness. Just like her mother, speaking to her sensitive palate and intense emotional connection with food, Ali describes the cider she drinks in Spain as “sour like something sweet had decayed […] like a cute little baby with fat cheeks who turns into a total bitch, but there’s still something sweet about her.” Partly humorous and wildly inventive, the language heaves to convey the experience of food in a way that remains captivating even after several readings. Food is not only something to be consumed or reduced to just its physical sensations — it touches the heart and mind in a more experiential way.
Moving from her childhood in Pakistan to her culinary training in New York and then to her rising career and burgeoning adulthood, the memoir hits its inevitable endpoint: Ali’s death to cancer. The last part of the book differs starkly in tone as Ali’s internal suffering takes center stage. The previous chapters echo throughout this ending as Ali reasons with her limited time. The uniqueness of this memoir lies in the way its ending sneaks up on the readers even when Ali’s death is anticipated.
It is heartbreaking to become so intimately invested in a life that must be cut short. “Savor” never short sells Ali’s potential in light of her battle with cancer. It is precisely this emphasis on all the momentum and energy Ali accumulates but never brings to fruition that makes “Savor” intensely moving. The reader cannot help but fall in love with Ali’s indomitable spirit, relentless ambition, and all that she stands for.
—Staff writer Sean Wang Zi-Ming can be reached at sean.wangzi-ming@thecrimson.com.
