Publisher Description

A fun contemporary middle-grade with a quirky voice and delicious humor about a sixth grade foodie writing as an undercover food critic."A scrumptious gem of a story!"-Jennifer A. Nielsen, New York Times bestselling author of The False PrinceMeet Gladys Gatsby- New York's toughest restaurant critic. (Just don't tell anyone that she's in sixth grade.)Gladys Gatsby has been cooking gourmet dishes since the age of seven, only her fast-food-loving parents have no idea! Now she's eleven, and after a cr me br lee accident (just a small fire), Gladys is cut off from the kitchen (and her allowance). She's devastated but soon finds just the right opportunity to pay her parents back when she's mistakenly contacted to write a restaurant review for one of the largest newspapers in the world.But in order to meet her deadline and keep her dream job, Gladys must cook her way into the heart of her sixth-grade archenemy and sneak into New York City-all while keeping her identity a secret! Easy as pie, right?

Author Biography

Tara Dairman is a playwright and recovering world traveler. She grew up in New York and received a B.A. in creative writing from Dartmouth College. She now lives with her husband in Colorado. This is her first novel.Visit her at and follow her on Twitter @taradairman

Review

"Younger readers will be amused by Gladys's reviews of her parents' horrible cooking and her plot to get to New York City without alerting any adults. The triumphant conclusion makes this a tasty read." --Publishers Weekly

"The characters are well drawn—the snob and her entourage; shy, quiet Gladys; her picky-eater friend, Sandy; the literal boy next door; and a teacher who brings out the best in her students. Give this one to your young foodies." --School Library Journal

"A preteen restaurant critic is born. [An] entertaining story about the joy of following one's bliss." --Kirkus Reviews

"Gladys is a lovable character with plenty of spunk and desire, and readers will happily cheer her on, while the fresh plot adds a delicious dimension to the host of stories set in sixth grade." --Booklist

Promotional

Gladys Gatsby has been cooking gourmet dishes since the age of seven. Now she's eleven, and after a cr me br lee accident (just a small fire), Gladys is cut off from the kitchen (and her allowance).

Review Quote

"Younger readers will be amused by Gladys's reviews of her parents' horrible cooking and her plot to get to New York City without alerting any adults. The triumphant conclusion makes this a tasty read." -- Publishers Weekly "The characters are well drawn-the snob and her entoura≥ shy, quiet Gladys; her picky-eater friend, Sandy; the literal boy next do∨ and a teacher who brings out the best in her students. Give this one to your young foodies." -- School Library Journal "A preteen restaurant critic is born. [An] entertaining story about the joy of following one's bliss." -- Kirkus Reviews "Gladys is a lovable character with plenty of spunk and desire, and readers will happily cheer her on, while the fresh plot adds a delicious dimension to the host of stories set in sixth grade." -- Booklist

Promotional "Headline"

Gladys Gatsby has been cooking gourmet dishes since the age of seven. Now she's eleven, and after a cr me br lee accident (just a small fire), Gladys is cut off from the kitchen (and her allowance).

Excerpt from Book

Chapter 1 A GREAT, BIG, FAT AMOUNT OF TROUBLE GLADYS GATSBY STOOD AT THE COUNTER with the spout of her father''s heavy blowtorch poised over the ceramic cup. Her finger hovered over the trigger button that was supposed to turn her plain little custards into crunchy, tasty treats. That''s when she heard a car door slam outside. She froze for a second, but then checked the clock. It was 5:16--still a good forty-four minutes before her parents were due home from work, and they were never early. It''s probably just the neighbors, she told herself, and turned back to her project. Gladys knew her torch wasn''t the right kind for making desserts--it was a lot bigger than the one pictured in her cookbook, for starters, plus there was that huge DANGER: EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE label on its side. But she never abandoned a cooking experiment just because her parents didn''t have the right kitchen equipment. Just last week she''d rolled out pie dough with the stick of a broken umbrella, and it had turned out great. Still, she thought as she repositioned the torch''s nozzle, it would''ve been nice if they''d given me the minitorch I wanted for my eleventh birthday instead of that stupid tablet computer. But they hadn''t, so she was stuck with this old clunker from the garage. Oh well, she thought, and crossing her toes for luck inside her sneakers (her hands were kind of full), she took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. Several things happened at once. With a pop, a blue flame quite a few inches longer than she''d expected shot out of the blowtorch, passing clear over the far edge of the first custard cup. With a whoosh, the wintery wind outside changed direction and began to blow in through the kitchen window, setting the gauzy blue-and-white curtains aflutter. And with a jingle and a grinding noise and finally a click, someone turned a key in the Gatsbys'' front door. A moment later, she heard her parents'' footsteps in the hall. "Gladdy!" her dad called. "We''ve got pizza!" Fudge! Gladys thought. She tried to release the trigger on the blowtorch, but to her horror, the spout kept shooting flame. She pumped it desperately with her finger, but that only seemed to make the flame bigger. Their footsteps were getting louder. Gripping the torch firmly, Gladys did her best to direct the now-enormous flame off the countertop and back over her cluster of custards. The tops turned brown from the heat almost immediately. She pumped the trigger again and, miraculously, this time heard a click as it released against her finger. The long blue flame started to retreat back into the torch''s nozzle. But then, at the exact moment her mom and dad stepped into the kitchen--the exact moment that Gladys was about to spin around and explain that she had the situation perfectly under control--the fluttering kitchen curtains crossed paths with the dying blowtorch flame and promptly caught on fire. The flames couldn''t have traveled up the blue-and-white fabric faster if it had been soaked in gasoline. Gladys staggered backward, and in an instant her whole secret cooking life flashed before her eyes. She saw herself as a little kid, playing chef by mixing things in the giant ceramic bowl her parents had received as a housewarming present and never used. She saw herself reading her first cookbook at the age of eight, and riding home from her first solo trip to Mr. Eng''s Gourmet Grocery, her bike basket stuffed with ingredients for pasta primavera. Nine. Ten. Eleven. She saw herself stewing tomatoes and steaming mussels, tossing spring salads and grilling steaks, rolling her own sushi and whipping her own whipped cream. She saw herself opening windows to air out the smell of her cooking and taking out trash bags full of eggshells and vegetable peels. She saw herself stashing leftovers in the rusty old fridge in the garage that no one else used anymore judging from the contents (two dented soda cans and a dried-up tube of superglue). It was during one of those garage trips that she had first noticed the blowtorch, neglected in the corner . . . The sound of the smoke alarm shocked Gladys back to the present. Her dad''s briefcase clattered to the floor as he grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the window. Her mom''s hair flew out of its bun as she ripped the fire extinguisher from the wall. White powder filled the air all around them as she sprayed the kitchen, and Gladys knew one thing for sure: Today would not be remembered as the day she proved what a great cook she was and earned more kitchen privileges. No, today would forever be the day Gladys Gatsby set the house on fire . . . and, if her family survived, the day she got into a great, big, fat amount of trouble. Chapter 2 GLADYS GETS GRILLED TEN MINUTES LATER, GLADYS SAT ON the living room sofa, staring down at her sneakers. They''d been tomato red earlier, but were now more of a salmon color, thanks to the white extinguisher powder smudged across the canvas. Gladys didn''t normally get into trouble, so she didn''t know a lot about punishments other than what she''d read in books. Would she be grounded? Assigned to do backbreaking chores? Forced to live in a cupboard under the stairs? She snuck a glance at her parents, who stood a few feet away, talking quietly. Her mom''s stockings were ripped, and wisps of her dark brown hair stuck out at crazy angles. Her dad''s glasses balanced awkwardly on his beaky nose, and a streak of soot darkened one arm of his dress shirt. Neither of them looked very happy. Not wanting to catch their attention, Gladys quickly shifted her gaze to the Christmas tree in the corner. Its lights blinked on and off, illuminating the ornaments her aunt Lydia had sent her over the years. Her favorite one--a hot pepper with her name engraved on it--blazed to life, then fell back into darkness. "Gladdy?" Gladys jumped. Her stomach began to churn queasily, like it did after eating the greasy takeout her parents brought home most nights from Sticky Burger or Fred''s Fried Fowl. "Yes?" she said as bravely as she could. Her father knelt down beside the sofa. "Let''s start at the beginning," he said. "Can you explain to us what, exactly, you were doing in the kitchen?" Gladys told the truth. "I was making cr

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