Bon Appetit

I’ll admit: I rolled my eyes at the premise. *Another* American in Paris? But *Bon Appétit* disarmed me within chapters. Lexi isn’t here for a cute meet-cute with a beret-wearing love interest (though, yes, there’s a very compelling one). She’s here to *work*, and Byrd doesn’t shy away from the ugly parts—like the scene where Lexi’s hands shake so badly she ruins a batch of *pâte à choux*, or the way her French classmates’ side-eye feels like a physical blow. Amoss’s narration sells it; she gives Lexi a voice that’s equal parts brittle determination and exhausted humor, like a woman who’s two espressos away from a breakdown but refuses to cry in front of the *chef de cuisine*. The romance, when it arrives, is a slow simmer—more stolen glances over a shared *tarte tatin* than grand gestures. (Thank god. I’m so over grand gestures.) But the real love story is between Lexi and her own ambition, and that’s where the audiobook shines. My only critique? The subplot with Lexi’s ex back home occasionally feels like a contrived tug-of-war, and Amoss’s male voices (particularly the love interest’s) sometimes dip into caricature. That said, the production is otherwise flawless—crisp audio, seamless transitions between French and English—and the kitchen scenes are so vivid, I could *smell* the caramelizing sugar. If you’ve ever fantasized about quitting everything for a passion project (or just really love food memoirs with a side of heart), this is your audiobook. Just maybe don’t listen while hungry.