The latest installment by chef and blogger Lebovitz (My Paris Kitchen) is a memoir/cookbook hybrid. For the memoir portion, the author details his misadventures as an expat in France searching for an apartment to buy and renovate. Cultures clash as he tries to explain the appeal of large appliances, open-plan kitchens, and commercial ovens to those who find cooking odors wafting into the living room distasteful. A significant part of the book outlines his ongoing battles with a less than stellar contractor whose questionable workmanship cost him time and money. Interspersed with this recounting of renovation gone wrong are recipes loosely connected to themes in the narrative. The recipes presented, ranging from a three-ingredient ham sandwich to a daunting vanilla eclair made from scratch, are updates on classic French dishes, refreshing drinks and desserts, and treats that remind the author of his American roots, such as marshmallow creme fudge. The complexity, both in terms of ingredient list and preparation, varies wildly. VERDICT For fans of Lebovitz's writing and culinary work as well as those interested in humorous expat memoirs.-Rebecca Brody, Westfield State Univ., MA © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

The tale of an acclaimed chef who decided he wanted to live in Parisat any cost.In Lebovitz's last two books about Paris (My Paris Kitchen: Recipes and Stories, 2014, etc.), it was clear that there was more about the City of Lights sweetly simmering just below the surface ready to be served up. Written in a lighthearted style with healthy dashes of satire, wit, and humor, this book goes into detail about his experience purchasing an apartment in Paris. He had already been renting there, but he simply had to have his own place. Having previously lived in San Franciscohe worked for 13 years at Chez PanisseLebovitz felt somewhat prepared since the two cities have much in common. They're both "famously expensive" to live in and feature "a collection of small villages bundled together," and the residents love to talk food and dine. With the assistance of his French partner and interpreter, Romain, the author took the plunge. From the start, he knew this would be far more complicated than he realized. First, there were the medical screenings. As his banker told him, "we don't want you to die." After deciding where he wanted to live based on markets, bakeries, and restaurants, Lebovitz scoured newspaper listings, met with agents, and talked to owners (that is how most sales occur). After finally finding a place and making an offer, he had to go through a morass of legal and financial paperwork. Nearly a year later, it was his, but much expensive renovation work was still to come, including, of course, a better kitchen and oven. "In addition to my shirt, I had nearly lost my mind," he writes. Scattered throughout are French recipes, from dandelion flatbread to chocolate souffl: "Although I have my share of regrets, using good chocolate to make a souffl isn't one of them." Lebovitz tells us much more than we really need to know, but this is still an engaging, entertaining, and delicious divertissement. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Lebovitz's first home in Paris was a doublesize version of one of those top-floor garrets to which hardworking maids were once relegated. "L'Appart" is a smartly arch account of this American chef's hunt for a larger home in which to indulge his passions. Nothing titillatingly perverse, if you're wondering. "Every time I pulled open those doors," Lebovitz writes, gazing fondly into the glacial abyss of his preferred supersize refrigerator, "I felt like I was opening a new chapter of my life in Paris." To each his own. The book's chief device is to end every episode in the author's pursuit of apartment heaven with a recipe that adds a sting - or sugardrop - to its tail. So a startling account of Lebovitz's attempt to urinate into a flimsy paper cup (Prench banks seek reassurance about the health of clients to whom they're about to extend a loan) artfully concludes with his recommended ingredients for pizza aux pissenlits (dandelion flatbread). The satisfaction of cherry-picking his ideal Prench realtor - sassy Catherine, on her scooter - is more appetizingly celebrated with far aux cerises (a boldly original cherry flan). The matching of subjects with moods that (because of soaring repair costs and fiendishly manipulative workmen) are often "un peu triste" proves to be the highlight of a book that might have entertained more if pruned to half its length. Despite my best efforts to empathize with Lebovitz's travails - how much concern can anyone summon for the precise distance a dishwasher stands from a sink? - I didn't weep when the second, more professional work team commented on the first crew's efforts to modernize Lebovitz's new appart by predicting its owner's imminent demise by electrocution or carbondioxide poisoning. "You're going to die." He doesn't. Instead, "regardless of a few bad pommes" along the way, the newly housed chef lives on to share his hard-won wisdom. The quest has brought a profound insight, one he's eager to share. Ready? "Paris was always Paris, and the Prench were ... well, the Prench." MIRANDA SEYMOUR'S next book, "In Byron's Wake: The Turbulent Lives of Lady Byron and Ada Lovelace," will be published later this year.

Living in Paris has been many Americans' goal since the days of Franklin and Jefferson. Lebovitz (The Sweet Life in Paris, 2009), a very accomplished culinary professional and baker, continues his ruminations on life in the French capital, committing to buying and renovating an apartment in Paris' gentrifying eleventh arrondissement. He learns to navigate French bureaucracy and deal with French real-estate agents, who aren't above outright deception. Then comes the heavy lifting: contractors who seem to follow their own calendars and their own rules. Furnishing this apartment with appliances to satisfy his professional requirements and to meet his more quotidian needs, such as laundry, leads him into a muddle of differences of terminology and operation between French and American versions. Francophile Americans will learn plenty here about Parisian French's often mystifying idioms. Recipes conclude chapters and range from simple chocolate cookies to complex kouign-amman, Brittany's ultrarich, caramelized version of a croissant.--Knoblauch, Mark Copyright 2017 Booklist

Lebovitz's tale of the miseries and woes of buying and renovating a home in Paris will most likely send anyone thinking of doing the same running the other way. After living for 10 years in a small rented apartment, Lebovitz (My Paris Kitchen) decides to buy his own place. His adventures in home hunting include finding the right neighborhood, the right real estate agent, and, of course, just the right l'appart. But it's only after he locates his ideal apartment that his adventures truly begin. Despite his partner Romain's misgivings about the apartment, Lebovitz offers the asking price even before the apartment is inspected by an architect friend. During the inspection, the architect determines that the place needs extensive, costly renovations. Lebovitz plunges in, hiring a contractor and workers who turn out to be unscrupulous, never completing any work on time and so badly installing plumbing, flooring, and wiring that the apartment needs to be redone completely. In spite of his attempts to convince readers how much he still loves Paris-when describing being able to run down the street for a freshly made baguette or getting to know the ruggedly handsome man at the little café close by, for example-Lebovitz peels off the plaster to reveal a Paris beyond tourism. Lebovitz's stories shimmer with despair, distress, and regret, but he nevertheless embraces life with all its flaws in the city he loves. (Nov.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.