Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

People who know I love children's books often ask me for recommendations. I love to tell them about the latest Peter Brown, Jon Klassen, or David Wiesner. There are some fantastic children's books being written right now and I want to spread the word about these modern masters. Eventually though, the conversation gets around to what was my favorite picture book as a child. And that's an easy one. I loved Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs by Judi and Ron Barrett with a passion. I read the heck out of that book. Even before I got back into reading children's books (gave myself permission), I owned a copy of Cloudy. It was the first children's masterpiece I ever read.

Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs starts with a grandfather making pancakes for his grandchildren. That night he tells them the story of the tiny town of Chewandswallow. The town is just your average small town except for the weather. The only thing that falls from the sky is food. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are forecast the same way rain and snow are in our world. And the people of the town eat whatever the weather provides: pancakes, hamburgers, soup, and even "brussel sprouts and peanut butter with mayonnaise". Over time though, the weather starts to get worse. The food becomes larger and more extreme. It starts to cause damage to buildings and even injure people. So the townspeople are finally forced to build boats of giant sandwiches and abandon the town of Chewandswallow to settle across the sea. It's a wonderful little tale.

The first thing that drew me into the book originally were Ron Barrett's illustrations. As you look at the pea soup fog, storm of hamburgers, the giant pickle, or the pancake flattening the elementary school, you realize how incredibly effective simple ink lines can be in creating something realistic. The food looks good. All of it. And all it takes was the use of black ink hatched lines and a touch of color. Ron Barrett made that city, and its meals, come alive for me. The people have a lovely caricature quality to them but all the food looked real. As things get worse in the town, the illustrations become more and more elaborate. The situations are wacky but somehow the illustrations never look over the top. The palette is muted except for one very bright tomato soup tornado. The illustrations have an almost old-fashioned feel, but in just the right way. I remember marveling over each page, finding new details I'd missed before. Tiny moments of humor, all surrounding tasty food. I may even have drooled a little on it.

But over the years I've realized that while the pictures drew me in initially, it's the tone of the book that has kept me coming back. It wasn't until Sony Pictures made their terrible movie that I understood completely what I love so much about this book. It's the tone. Judi Barrett offers such an understated narrative for this strange and wacky book. The story is meant to be a tale told to grandchildren but it never sounds like a tall tale. It sounds like it could really happen the way the narrator tells it. It's almost like a documentary. The situation is stated as fact, even as the story gets more and more wild. "By the time they woke up in the morning, breakfast was coming down. After a brief show of orange juice, low clouds of sunny-side eggs moved in followed by pieces of toast." It almost sounds like a weather report. Sometimes it's the quiet stories that have the greatest impact. For me, growing up, this book sounded like it was real. And for a child who wanted to believe in magical places, it was just the invitation I needed to dream. The movie went for wacky, but what I loved was the understated tone of the book. So subtle, so quiet, so perfect.

I've loved a lot of picture books in my life. Some from when I was a child and some as an adult coming back to children's books. I'm constantly enchanted by new work. But so far, no book, not one, has taken the place of Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs in my heart. When people ask me what my favorite picture book is, I hand them this quiet little gem and wait for them to fall in love.

Gator Gumbo

I’ve read tons of Little Red Hen variations but none with quite the enjoyable flair of Gator Gumbo, written by Candace Fleming and illustrated by Sally Anne Lambert. The story follows Monsieur Gator, an alligator living down in the Bayou who can never find enough to eat. He’s gotten too old to hunt and because of that he is teased by the local critters. One day Monsieur Gator gets tired of the teasing. He decide to cook up some gumbo like his mother used to make. So he asks the critters who will help him gather water and no one will help. Then he asks about catching crawdads and again no one will help. The picking of okra, the grinding of spices, and the adding of rice is the same story. No one will help. But when Monsieur Gator asks who will help eat the gumbo all the critters rush towards the pot. But the gator sends them back saying that he cooked so he’ll be the one to eat. When they beg for one single taste he finally relents and they end up with far more than they bargained for.

This could have been a simple Little Red Hen story but Fleming decides to give the story a little more spice. First there is the obvious Southern dialect that Fleming uses. Monsieur Gator answer the critters after they say they won’t help, “Then I’ll be doin’ it myself”. This dialect is subtle but adds just the right amount of flavor to the story. I enjoyed how Fleming takes a character that we probably shouldn’t like (alligators tend to be villains in other stories) and makes him devious but lovable. We see the other critters (possum, skunk, and otter) as the more despicable characters. That makes the ending more bearable for young children. By that point we are rooting for Monsieur Gator and his tasty Gumbo. The book was a delight to read, mixing onomonepia words with each action. As Gator mixes in the rice that will thicken his gumbo we hear Pour! Scrape! Glop! And when he cuts up the okra to got into the pot it is Pluck! Slice! Pop! These added sound effects give the book just a little added flavor. This would be a wonderful read aloud.

Lambert creates beautiful watercolor illustrations that give the story emotion and highlight the action well. Monsieur Gator is portrayed with plenty of emotions. We see him at the beginning of the book as a sad and tormented creature, then angry, and finally the devious and determined reptile that will hatch a plan for his revenge. The other critters are presented as mean hooligans who think nothing of tossing eggs and rocks at our poor alligator. The backgrounds tend to be muted greens and browns and really capture the feeling of the swamp. The animals are dressed in bright colors and stand out nicely. In fact each critter wears a different color to make for some very colorful scenes when they are all together. I was particularly impressed with Lambert’s depiction of the cooking pot. The steam, the crawdads, the okra all sit at the top making for a very tasty looking meal. Finally when the animals beg for just a taste of the wonderful smelling stew, the look on their faces is of fake sincerity. And Monsieur Gator looks so sneaky when he finally gives in. The last line is a wonderful surprise. And be sure to read the cookbook lying on the ground next to the very happy alligator. A fun book, a great read aloud, and a spicy story.

Anatole

Almost 50 years before Pixar introduced us to a tiny mouse who wanted to cook in Ratatouille, Eve Titus introduced the world to another culinary mouse named Anatole. Anatole, like his animated cousin lives in Paris and becomes unhappy with the idea of stealing food. The stories are similar which is not surprising. Eve Titus’ story of a mouse who wants to give back has stood the test of time and has just returned to print for its fiftieth anniversary edition.

The story starts with Anatole heading out for his nightly rounds of food stealing with his friend. The two go out every evening together to the take food from the houses of the people. One night Anatole overhears people talking about how terrible it the stealing is. He decides that he doesn’t want to steal food ever again. So the next night, Anatole leaves his friend behind and instead sneaks to a cheese factory in the city. He samples each of the cheeses and then heads home with an idea. He writes up little cards and then returns to the factory that night. He samples the cheeses and offers suggestions for how to improve them. The factory take his suggestions seriously and suddenly their sales start going up rapidly. The factory owner tries hard to meet Anatole to thank him for the new success. When Anatole refuses to meet them he gives the mouse a job as official taster with the perk of getting to bring home as much cheese as he wants. And Anatole never has to steal cheese again.

The story is such a quiet endearing little tale that I’m not surprised that it has stood the test of time. The character of Anatole, with his little beret and bicycle, is charming and grown-up in a way that is unusual as a children’s story. It seems such a grown-up story and theme. Titus is clearly not talking down to her audience. She uses language that is more adult than what we often see in children’s books. One of my favorite exchanges between Anatole and his friend Gaston illustrates this well. “It is horrible to feel scorned and unwanted! Where is my self-respect? My pride? My honor?” Gaston shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “Resign yourself, Anatole. Cest la vie!” Using this more advanced language, Titus creates characters that are intelligent and likable. Paul Galdrone, the illustrator, creates wonderful scenes really bringing the little mouse and his Paris to life. The illustrations are mix of black and white drawings, watercolor images, and full paint washes. The colors are deep and subdued (often blues) making this story sweet and quiet. In fact, this had to be one of the most quiet, thoughtful, and intelligent children’s stories I’ve read in a long time.