The problem was, he said, “Dudes don’t know when to leave the block alone.”
The first thing you need to know about “The Cook Up” is found on its cover: Watkins himself is in shadow, on the bleakest of stoops, near a doorway covered in plywood. An inexplicable feeling of electricity, then, screams that what you’re about to read is going to be raw, and it’s right.
With a fascinating tone that sometimes seems impassioned, almost matter-of-fact, Watkins writes about childhoods spent in poverty—his, and that of his friends—and the things it led them to do to survive. Read further, however, and you’ll see that his quiet voice almost quivers with righteous anger and anguish as Watkins’ story progresses to an ending that feels happy and perfect and depressing, all at the same time.
(“The Cook Up: A Crack Rock Memoir” by D. Watkins, c.2017, Grand Central, $14.99 /262 pages.)
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