This is a semi-stream-of-consciousness written tapestry, squeezed out by a profoundly apprehensive overthinker who's doing their best to unapologetically stop apologising. (It's funnier than it sounds.)
Every now and then, when the planets align in just the right way, a book comes along that changes everything. An author sweats and toils to birth a tome with such colossal cultural impact, it has the power to retune the entire world to a whole new frequency. This is absolutely not one of those books. Not even close. And actually, that all sounds a bit much really, doesn't it?
Rhys Nicholson is a multi-award winning comedian, writer and busy mum with an anxiety disorder, a complicated relationship with food and a book deal. In Dish, a debut whack at writing an entire book, Nicholson is reaching out to get some stuff straight in their head. Through a series of revealing stories, intrusive thoughts and a recipe here and there, they're hoping to ruminate, gossip and generally have a deeply private, wide-ranging conversation with themselves about a whole bunch of life's smaller questions. What do you do if you think you might have an underwear fetish? How long do you roast a chicken for? Does everyone hate you? Why did no one bring up how hard it is to write a book? What's going on with heterosexual men, and are they ok?
