It recently occurred to me that I don’t often mention books here, which is kind of weird, since I am pretty fond of them. I’m almost as fond of them, in fact, as I am of food, which is saying quite a bit. Then again, I have an almost pathologically bad memory for plot, so I’m not sure what I would say about books anyway. The other day, I was talking with a friend about Persepolis, by Marjane Satrapi, which I read a few weeks ago and loved dearly, and I realized that, aside from a scene about the main character’s grandmother removing her bra and flower petals falling from its cups, I could hardly remember a thing about it.…

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