Like so many before her, Laurie Woolever is led to the hospitality industry by the piper’s song of those two sirens: care and feeding. What begins as a way out of her small-town upbringing becomes an all-consuming passion, which, as passions can do, leads toward other addictive and self-destructive behaviours.

In this sharp, funny and heartbreaking memoir, Woolever deftly weaves the pie lattice of early experiences (as private chef for the calorie-counting Smith family, culinary school days alongside frat boys, housewives and businessmen in mid-life crises), above a rich filling of her years spent as an editor, writer, chef and assistant to Mario Batali and Anthony Bourdain. Between food, marriage, parenthood, drugs and alcohol, Battali’s many transgressions, and the tragedy of Bourdain’s death, Woolever paints an unglamorous portrait of the industry and its insidious permissiveness; how hospitality culture rots from the head and leaves scars some can’t survive. Care and Feeding is not a call to action for an industry in crisis, it’s a witness statement, a confessional, and a reflection on how much we are capable of ignoring (or forgiving) when we’re just grateful to be fed and cared for.

While there are echoes of Bourdain, Woolever has her own unique and electric voice: laugh-out-loud funny, tight and descriptive, still sensual, but hold the testosterone. A blend of harsh wit, unselfconscious vulnerability, and self-aware reflection hard-won at the therapist’s office.

So, preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C) and get a poulet roti on (page 180, Les Halles, 2004, Woolever’s first writing job with Bourdain). Not just because Care and Feeding will leave you hungry (and it will), but because more than anything, this book will remind you that we all deserve tenderness, care, and somebody to make us roast chicken when we need some (even if that somebody has to be ourselves).