Cooking With Ideas

Do You Have Gluten Free Friends?

Over the years, we have had friends who eat gluten free or gluten free plus soy free plus. . . dairy free and sugar free and. . .  We learn new terms like celiac disease (see here). And we love our friends -- so we try to cook without killing them or making them feel ill. Cakes with oat flour and a whole range of desserts that move well beyond -- hey, you have a bowl of fruit and we'll have. . . chocolate cake or some other decadent delight. So, when my favorite free-in-the-mail place, Andrews McMeel Publishing sent along Robert Landolphi's Gluten Free Every Day Cookbook I was pleased. It has macaroni and cheese, coffee cake, chocolate chip banana bread, and all sorts of things. Ingredients include: sorghum flour, xanthan gum, rice flour, tapioca flour, and prepared products like brown rice noodles. It could be more useful these days, since our principle gluten free pal is also sugar free, because there is a lot of sugar in the recipes included here. But hey, it's a start for some desserts. And there are other things included. Maybe we can substitute honey! 

My main questions though, on reading this were two: (a) what is sorghum flour and (b) what is xanthan gum?  

Sorghum flour is also called jowar flour or milo flour and I had no idea what it is other than a grain, even with extensive googling. Why?  An industry that seems to be capitalizing on the rise of gluten free diets. (See here.) Eventually I put sorghum and wikipedia in and voila! Here's an article on the grass that is a cross over from what has typically been an animal fodder, used in the production of booze, and in sorghum molasses. Aha. A gluten free flour -- alongside rice flour, tapioca flour. . . . 

Xanthan gum, it turns out, is weird. And not so weird.

"Despite its rather alien-sounding name, xanthan gum is as natural as any other fermented corn sugar polysaccharide you can name. Corn syrup, anyone?" It is the principle volume enhancer used by gluten free types when baking, is a kind of longish sugar, and its name is derived from some ugly sounding bacteria. It is sort of like cornstarch and if you, like I, start reading the ingredients in things you eat, you are likely to consume a lot of it. (Yep, it's in dairy products and all sorts of lovely things. Ice cream. . .for example.)  Typically derived from corn, it is yet another way the monocultural of corn sneaks in when you are not looking.  (Anyway, see http://www.wisegeek.com/what-is-xanthan-gum.htm )

So, a gluten free but not a sugar free cookbook. Complete with some directions on how to cook in this fashion, which is not always as easy as one to one substitutions. The book is not something I am likely to use much but. . . . Chef Robert Landolphi's wife has celiac disease and he's sharing his response. . . a gluten free cookbook. And, on the mailing from the publisher I even learned more -- that there is such a thing as gluten free beer. Who knew?  

For another blog-y review, click here. 

Tessa Kiros: Falling Cloudberries

Author of a variety of cookbooks (Apples for Jam, Venezia, Twelve: A Tuscan Cookbook, for example), Tessa Kiros has, in Falling Cloudberries entered the genre of memoir via recipes. (well, I do not know if this is where she enters the genre, not having seen her prior books!) Collected here are recipes and memories, subtitled quite aptly "a world of family recipes." This "Gourmet Book Club Selection" (which came free in the mail because publishers increasingly see blogs like this as free advertising, but I am still grateful) is, like many of their selections, beautiful. Even the end papers are beautiful. While I am not a big fan of books which feature the author's family photographs (trust me, mine are wonderful -- you don't care), the food photography is amazing -- and her family background does provide a rationale for this cookbook with its eclectic array of recipes.

The book's very first page says "My mother's name is Sirpa Tuula Kertuu Peiponen. My father's name is George." when I first read it, I thought: I have no idea what ethnicity this book will feature. The cloudberries, I admit, I thought were associated with Scandinavia --having once been brought a bottle of cloudberry liqueur (which was, I have to say, not my favorite) and thus assuming all things cloudberry originated somewhere in that vicinity. Somehow I missed the "world" in the book's subtitle. This matters because Kiros is indeed writing about her family -- a Cypriot grandmother, who drew on South African and Scottish recipes, a Finnish (aha) grandfather and grandmother who brings to mind gravlax and mustard, a Cypriot grandfather who brings to mind souvlaki, a peripatetic life involving South Africa, Italy, and a housekeeper from Peru. The recipes are divided geographically. All this makes for a sort of collage-y cookbook/memoir, with pretty darn incredible pictures by Manos Chatzikonstantis (alas, his/her site is under construction), styling by Michael Touros, and art direction by Lisa Greenberg. As I said, I am not entirely sure why people think that their own family photographs are entrancing for others (I like sorting through them sometimes in antique stores and imagining stories to go along with them and I also like those cards which feature old fifties-ish photographs with new oddball captions, but really -- I am not sure I think they should grace the pages of every memoir and cookbook). despite this, Kiros' family tree had led to an interesting array of recipes. 

The first part of the cookbook is devoted to Finnish recipes. Most expected _- herring and gravlax and stroganoff. Less expected, cranberry sorbet. (If you want to explore Finnish cooking more generally, try this site.) This section of Falling Cloudberries (actually the part featuring that subtitle)is followed by the section on Greece. The opening page says "oregano, oranges, olive groves." One of the pictures in this section -- a close up (or sort of narrowly focused piece) of a snow white building -- is remarkable in its evocativeness. The recipes -- dolmades, tzatziki, taramasalata, for example -- evoke Greek restaurants that meant celebration when I was in graduate school -- and are followed by less familiar (to me) recipes focusing on octopus and calamari, as well as a whole fish in salt and (returning to the more familiar) a leg of lamb with lemon and potatoes that I so hope meets expectations. And, there is a baklava with nuts and dried apricots (and a variety of other dessert-y treats) that make me think I might try my hand, once again, at dessert. There is even a recipe for halva; I am not a fan, really, but I know someone who is, and for whom it provokes a remarkable nostalgia. 

From Greece, we go to Cyprus (with its complex historical entanglements with Turkey and Greece), in a section of the book subtitled "cinnamon, roses."  (For a site on Cyprus's food and drink, click here or perhaps even here.) And then to South Africa, subtitled "monkey's wedding." (For one site on South African food, click here.) I know some South Africans, who make curries, for example, and I drink a South African wine once in a while, but it's here where there is the biggest surprise for someone from upstate New York in Falling Cloudberries: a recipe for chicekn wings with blue cheese dressing (page 229). Of course there is much more;no curries but lots of cakes What next? Italy, subtitled "washing lines, wishing wells." Somewhat more familiar for me. And the ending section: a suitcase full of recipes. Lovely title. A bit of Thai, a salmon ceviche, a chicken curry, Desserts -- ice creams, for example, abound. 

Of all these places, Finland is, as I noted, the one subtitled "falling cloudberries." And while that title clearly has a literal significance for the author -- and a nostalgic one embedded in family and food -- for me it simply is a metaphor with no referent, filled (oddly) with light. And yet, it is the perfect accompaniment to the book's final statement:

There are some things that don't change much. I find the smell of a dish, or the way a certain spice is crushed, or just a quick look at hte way something has been put on a plate, can pull me back to another place and time. I love those memories that seem so far away; yet you can hold them and carry them with you, even forget them, and then, with a single taste or hint of a smell, be chaperoned back to a beautiful moment. (p. 387)

For an interview with Tessa Kiros (complete with swell pictures of birds), click here. For another one, in the Guardian, click here. Her own site, alas is "under construction" but if you want to drop by, here it is. And if you want to know even more, including a bit about her photographer, stylist, etcetera, click here for an interview around the time of hte publication of her book Venezia. Or even here for a review of Falling Cloudberries (and a few recipes shared by the author).

The Scandinavian Cookbook

Trina Hahnemann's new cookbook, with photographs by Lars Ranek , is simply titled, and beautifully done. The cover, as you can see, combines luscious food, visuals from Scandanavia conjoining sky and sea, and homey saucers and cups. So does the book itself, with the pictures alongside a range of recipes I have never seen before.  As her website says: "this is her first but not last cookbook in English" and, more entertainingly, "Trina sees no reason at all why rodgrod med flode' should not be as popular a dessert as 'tiramisu' all over the world." (Ok, in the dessert she names, the letter o should have a slash through it. I have no idea how to do that. Somehow there must be a way to temporarily get a Danish keyboard but that's above my level of technical capacity.) Well, if this is going to happen, this might just be the way to do it --create a cookbook that is startlingly anti-stereotype, filled with the expected (herring is what I imagined) and offerings that are in-your-face foodie delights. 

The most delightful looking recipe, and one I intend to make, is for rhubarb cordial (see p. 88), a drink in a delightful shade of pink. But there are loads of recipes here I yearn to try; baked trout with new potatoes and smoked-cheese cream, glogg (this time I am missing an umlaut), venison with anise and papper, potato-celery root gratin and brussel sprouts. I look for the recipes with less of a focus on caraway (which seems a regular in Danish cooking), since this is not one of my favorites and some i know are allergic. Organized by month, and filled with visuals for which there is no other word than beautiful, the book is mouthwatering. And it is not just the food pictures --the photographs of Christmas trees, of buildings along water in the fall light, of herbs growing and Copenhagen sunshine, of snow on a church spire, all seem like sharpened angles into hope. 

And what do I hope? I hope to cook from this one day and have the food taste as beautiful as it looks. I hope to see Denmark one day. I hope that you too will find a moment of hope in your world today. 

For a recipe from the book, click here. 

For a more substantial review, click here. And for a review that mentions Minnesota, try here. For one more, where I learned that Hahnemann's cafe is in the Danish House of Parliament, use that little clicker again right here. 

Do You Have a Child Who Wants to Cook?

I love free things in the mail. And I get some. I really do. Most recently, I received the cookbook pictured here, entitled Ready, Steady, Spaghetti. You guessed it, this rhyme-y title has a subtitle that involves the word "kids." This is a cookbook for those who cook with kids. The cover, as you can see, looks just like what I make for myself when no one is looking: a heap of pasta. Written by Lucy Broadhurst, this sizable pink tome has sections entitled "little food," "dinnertime," "eat your greens," "sticky treats," "cookies, cakes and sweets," and "let's party." Recipes include stuffed peppers, bubble and squeak, and more mysterious items like san choy bau and one of my faves, pavlova. I am tempted to keep this because some of the pictures are scrumptious-looking (yes, especially that pavlova). I am even tempted by the very very simply how-to-make-a-pavlova pictures. But the sun is shining and so I thought I would see what would happen if I suggested a random-ish act of sharing: if you want this book, enter a recipe in the comments section. If I get a few, I will pick one and send along the book to you. 

For a review of this cookbook, click here. Or here. Or here. 

Better yet, click comment and pass along your favorite recipe. Get others to, and maybe you will be the lucky recipient of this pink pleasure. 

Mrs. Darwin has a First Name -- and a Recipe Book

Yes, there was a "Mrs. Darwin." She was his cousin, and her name was Emma. (Who was he? Charles Darwin, author of the famous 1859 or so (was it 1858?) book entitled The Origin of Species, a major source of controversy to this very day. Yes, think evolution. Think running away from home on a boat named the Beagle. Think . . . well, his diary from that trip, available here. 

Emma too wrote, and in her case, this included writing about food -- at least in the form of recipes (aka receipts in her era and place). Both Charles and Emma were the grandchildren of Josiah Wedgwood, of pottery fame and fortune, and thus not impoverished. (No, she is not the same Emma Darwin who writes mysteries; yes, that one is a descendant of the one at issue here and her site is just a click away, here.) The historical Emma's diaries have been published, as have her letters. A biography of her has been written. (For a review of the biography, click here.) And now, selections from her recipe book have been published, suitably attempted and presented in this book reframed to enable us to make them today. It is a beautiful book, with lovely botanicals and facsimiles of Emma's hand written recipes. And there is an introduction from Nach Waxman of bookstore fame (click here for an interview and info on teh bookstore as well) -- and from the editors, a briefish introduction. 

Begin, though, with this site, where you can see the source of this published book. Then go to Dusha Bateson and Weslie Janeway's volume, Mrs. Charles Darwin's Recipe Book: Revived and Illustrated. The recipes are for fairly "plain" items; and the commentary insightful and not too heavy. I learned, for example, what a posset is, and nesselrode pudding. (The picture is much much better in the book.) I was reminded of Charles Darwin's poor digestion, of the value of rice pudding and of the shifting politics (and availability) of sugar. And, I loved the illustrations whether botanical or, once in a while, of the lovely Wedgwood design the Darwin's used. (Love Wedgwood? Here's their site.) The book -- a dandy, not too demanding, addition to this year's Darwin-mania.  

In the Land of the Amish

The Finger Lakes does, in fact, have a substantial presence of Amish and Mennonites, including plain folk. Yes, that's what the yellow road signs with a horse and buggy on them are telling you -- you may indeed see such vehicles along Route 96, clip clopping along. And yes, in Ovid right there at the intersection of 414 and 96, you might see what for modernity-loving, gas-guzzling folks is the oddity of a horse drawn buggy pulling up right beside a gas station. (For information on the Amish, click here or here. Or even here, for FAQs. For the Mennonites, try here, for example. Or, if you are interested in gay/lesbian issues and Mennonites, click here.) 

What does all this have to do with Cooking with Ideas? Well, my reflections were spurred by one of my surprises in the mail: a cookbook by Lovinda Eicher with Kevin Williams entitled The Amish Cook at Home: Simple Pleasures of Food, Family, and Faith. The book is a 2008 publication from Andrews McMeel and has pictures by Betsy Blanton. The book is connected to the story of "the Amish Cook," a column which Lovinda Eicher inherited from her mother (Elizabeth Coblentz), and which ran (and runs, I think) in various newspapers (yep, around 130 of them). The column was a sort of odd collaboration, as far as I can tell, between an Amish woman and a non-Amish young man (the young man is the co-author of this cookbook) -- represented in all its oddity, for example in this web site. Yep, an Amish web site. Weird. 

The book itself is a delightful blend of recipes and reflection, including seasonally organized entries on Amish life, discussion of faith and religion, and related tidbits. (A word that seems to appear a lot on the Amish Cook web site.) I particularly like the discussions of faith and also, I'll be honest, the buggy. I have a sort of fantasy (well, not exactly sort of, I have a total fantasy) of rendering life more simple which is simply not what is described here. Simplifying does not mean, in this instance, less work. It simply means a different sort of busy life, perhaps more seasonally organized, closer to the earth, with closer ties between farm and food. Yes, I romanticize it a bit. 

Here's part of the book which I really like: "Most buggies are black and made of sturdy oak or hickory. There are exceptions, though. An Amish community in MIfflin Count, Pennsylvania uses yellow- and white-topped buggies. In addition to the Old Order Amish, Old Order Mennonites in Ontario, Canada, and Virginia, and some Old Order German Baptist Brethren near Delphi, Indiana, use buggies." (p. 72) This section on buggies goes on . . . But why do I like it? Its a reminder of diversity within these folks -- something I don't always think about. And besides, it appears right beside a beautiful photograph of a horse drawing a buggy (taken from the interior of the buggy). 

What else? The food ranges - from home-made vegetable juices to pie dough and sour dough bread, from peanut brittle and popcorn balls to sausage and noodle dinner. I admit it, though, the best part is the bits between -- whether pictures or tidbits, they illumine a way of life that makes me reflect on my own. So, whether I cook from it or not, this surprise in the mail brought a moment of grace. Thanks. 

50 Great Appetizers

The mail again brought along a new book: 50 great appetizers by Pamela Sheldon Johns. It is a small little book, a mere 110 pages including the index. Not fancy. Dips. Bites. Wraps. Skewers. Menus at the front in case you want to do thematic sorts of hors d'oeuvre nights -- Mexican, Italian, Vegetarian, Pacific rim, Mediterranean, whatever. I don't have much to say about the book really except I intend to make lemon chicken escabeche one of these days. And, I did make one dish from the book, just because I was feeling a bit obstreperous. Here we are, all saying "SEASONAL FOOD IS BETTER" in our loudest, trendiest, most politically righteous, environmentally and economically  responsible tones of voice and along comes a dish called "four-seasons frittata." 

No, the four seasons in the label does not reference a famous eatery. At the top the author says: "the four seasons are represented by the vegetables in this dish."  No further details are offered. So they are? Asparagus (spring?).  And, well, more than 3 more: onions, potatoes, red bell pepper, mushrooms. (Maybe the onion does not count. Certainly, they were not counting the parley?). 

Anyway, I made the frittata -- well, 2/3 of it since I had 6 rather than 8 eggs. I did indeed slice my potato into 1/4 inch slices and blanch. I did indeed blanch some asparagus in 3 inch lengths. I almost never do this before making a frittata -- and in this case it did help the potatoes and asparagus a lot. So, I learned a lot. And, I did fry up very well diced onion with thinly sliced mushrooms which for some reason tasted better than ever. Finally, I did put all this on top of my 6 egg fritatta and then thoroughly cover all that with grated parmesan. The result: tasty but it did tend to fall apart. There was a sort of oddly sweet tone to it all -- as it carried the parmesan to my lips. 

Most importantly: I discovered that thinly slice, blanched potatoes with parmesan cheese liberally sprinkled on top of them, when broiled, make an absolutely incredible snack. Less importantly, but well, swell, (what can be more important than discovering a new form of degenerate snacking?), I learned that Pamela Sheldon Johns runs foodie events, including cooking workshops in Tuscany. Not that I will ever get there, but there is always fantasy. Click here to take an imaginary trip right after you eat a real frittata.   

Secrets of the Red Lantern

Secrets of the Red Lantern is subtitled Stories and Vietnamese Recipes from the Heart and my reading of the memoir/essay portions of the book reveals just that: this is a book not only from the heart but with heart. It tells the tale of war refugees, of hope and desperation and success, alongside tales of that same trauma shaping parents who make life difficult for their children growing up as immigrants. In this case, the war is an American one, and the refugees arrive in Australia. They are, in some ways, quite lucky -- a more or less intact family that survives the war, escape from Vietnam via a self-constructed boat, and the creation of new lives in a new country. The memoir offers reminders of the globally awful response to the end of the Vietnam War and the ways that tracing of the movement of food can be, simultaneously, tracing of the pathways of tragedy, of hope, of politics. Written by Pauline Nguyen with recipes by Luke Nyguyen (her brother) and Mark Jensen (her partner), this beautiful book offers poignant glimpses of family life and global politics through the eyes of an individual's life and family. The pictures range from recent ones taken in Australia (and on a return trip to Vietnam)  to the photographs takes in the 1950s in Vietnam, of the author, her siblings, her parents. The book's design brings together food photography of high quality with family photographs as well.  And, here and there are reproductions of letters and official government documents. The settings range from their current restaurant to refugee camps and Vietnam prior to the end of the war. 

Like the pictures, the words bridge genres. The stories, too,  range across time and space -- from boats built for escape and navigated across nearly unknown seas to refugee camps to Surry Hills. And the tone of the memoir (or are they more stories?)  fluctuates -- from peculiarly personal feeling to the point of seeming to be way too much or overblown or weirdly intrusive for the reader  to very distant (and this despite the matters described which sometimes seem quite intimate and often horrifying), from evocative of strong emotions to flatter depictions of (equally emotionally laden) events and personal entanglements. Along with the essays which form the backbone of the story aspect of the book, the recipes themselves (and there are many and they are beautifully tempting in both word and picture) are often preceded by italicized sentences -- in large lovely font -- from Pauline, Luke or Mark setting the recipe itself in some sort of context. "I first ate this type of seafood in this context," for example ,or "this type of ingredient is best used in this way." Each offers an additional glimpse of the link of food and family, life and culture. Here are a few of my favorites, first, focused on ingredients. You'll have to get the book to read the little tales from Luke and Mark which render a bit more literal the analogy between the making of the book -- and of family  -- as a collective endeavor:

From Luke Nyugen (on page 242): Bamboo shoots are canes harvested to eat before they are two weeks old. And, on page 214: "I am the only member of my family who is not in love with sau tieng (durian). I totally  understand why airlines and hotels forbid this "king of fruits -- its strong aroma really packs a punch.  . . " 

There is, indeed, a bit of a collage tone to it all both literally in the many juxtapositions of pictures and of ingredients organized beautifully into recipes as well as less literally in the jumbly mumbly feeling that emerged when I read the memoir/stories from start to finish. I like the book. And I look forward to cooking from it. The recipes are quite evidently meant to be followed; and they are tempting. There is a vegetarian version of dipping sauce (sans fish sauce), not to mention lemon cured scallops and numerous sorts of rice paper wrapped rolls. Also, there are clear directions in the beginning of he book on how to translate from Australian measurements to US (I had no idea the "tablespoons used there are slightly larger than American tablespoons." Did you?); and there is a lovely and functional set of substitutions, glossary and additonal resources (including links to, e.g., www.vietworldkitchen.com 

Let's cook! Or, let's wander the web! 

On the connection of restaurants and war/revolution, click here.

For reviews of the Red Lantern restaurant in Surry Hills, -- yes, that;s Australia --  click here or here.   

Or, try here for their official site. 

Do You Dione Lucas?

While in New Hampshire, I wandered into a consignment shop in Amherst, NH and purchased Dione Lucas's The Cordon Bleu Cook Book (the front page says 1951, but it is copyright 1947, reprinted 1954. Who knows?). Complete with Phoebe Nicol's drawings, the book opens with the following words: "To most of us, the Blue Ribbon connotes outstanding achievement in many fields. We associate it, perhaps, with a beautiful painting in an exhibition, a prize-winning novel, or as reward to an individual for unusual merit in his sphere of work. The Blue Ribbon, or Cordon Bleu, is of special significance to those who know and enjoy good food. This diploma, highest award in Europe for cooking, is desired and cherished by all who work to earn it" (p. vii). The focus of the book, of course, is on classic French food; what was once a term focused on French noblemen is, now, of course, a term of approbation for food, chefs, cooking. (For a definition of cordon bleu, click here.) Dione Lucas is, in part, responsible for my knowing this --as an early-ish proponent of French food in the U.S. -- and of a cooking school which spread that word. Indeed, she came before Julia Child, who I always thought invented cooking shows on television --not to mention the idea of Americans creating French food in their own kitchens as classic French food. I have not cooked from this new addition to my old cookbooks shelf yet -- and may never, but I admit  to being attracted by a "Squash and Chestnut Soup" which reminds me of a delightful chestnut soup I had in Paris. And somehow, the idea of a recipe which translates as "Chicken with Cat's Teeth" just cheers me up -- and no, there are absolutely no parts of a cat's anatomy in the recipe. No cat gut (isn't that for stringed instruments?). No teeth at all. My suspicion: the almonds are the teeth! 

Organic Marin

What seems sometimes just yesterday but is actually years ago, I visited a friend who had moved to Marin County to work for/begin a restaurant consulting firm. I saw pictures from that trip recently in cleaning through boxes -- piles of oyster shells (and a memory of learning about oyster farming), bicycling on Angel Island, and flying (yes, I even had a moment when I was ostensibly maneuvering the plane) in a small plane over San Francisco Bay and Marin County). I remember the brown-y yellow of the dry hills and the sun.  All this came to mind when I opened the mail a while ago and found Organic Marin: Recipes from Land to Table by Tim Porter and Farina Wong Kingsley. With a cover beautifully depicting veggies in a basket (the radishes are particularly attractive), the hard back book opened immediately to a page (47) with other memories because of its short description of Cowgirl Creamery. Why is this memorable? On a much more recent trip to San Francisco, and the swell Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market, I discovered this excellent cheese, the Straus Family Creamery (depicted on p. 141) and McEvoy Olive Oil (p.67) , for example. And there's always Green Gulch Farm (see p. 110), the farm which is linked forever in my mind to the San Francisco Zen Center and to their restaurant, Greens. Photographer Tim Porter is described on the backleaf as having "an extensive background in newspaper and magazine journalism and as co-author of News, Improved: How America's Newspapers are Learning to Change. Farina Wong Kingsley  is described as "a culinary instructor at Tante Marie's Cooking School in San Francisco and a consulting chef for San Francisco's Center for Culinary Development" as well as a "contributor to numerous cookbooks." More information appears there, as well, on Marin Magazine, the book's producer.  Most crucial, perhaps, is the following statement from the front leaf of the book: 

proceeds of this book support Marin Organic's school lunch program which helps serve 12,000 lunches a week with food grown in Marin County. 

So: memories. An evocative book in many ways. But what about Organic Marin itself? It is filled with beautiful photographs and tempting recipes, along with snippets of thises and thats (see above) and a resource list in the back. Arranged seasonally, the focus is also very much on local foods, some of which will most definitely not be local for, say, those of us in the Finger Lakes. And yet, this is, the book claims, the original site of much of today's emphasis on local, on organic, on eco-friendly/sustainable agriculture, etcetera. The book uses the phrase "community of values" well --and makes the important point, too, that for a sustainable farm to be sustainable it needs income! Embedded in all this are what I think of as biographies (?) of organizations -- ranches and farms, honorign both the land and those who work with that land. (Honoring, indeed, both hard work and fun, as many of those quoted make evident.) The book also shares a vision we might all take up: linking organic farmers to government with an eventual goal of creating an organic county. Now there's a goal upstate NY might share; might Ontario County adopt a similar goal? 

Beyond all this, Organic Marin is certainly a book with tempting recipes for dishes from start to finish of a meal including, for example:

Blood Orange and Star Anise-Braised Pork

Gnocchi with Morels and Peas 

Braised Short Ribs with Candied Meyer Lemon Gremolata

Double Chocolate Bread Pudding

(Yes, I am on to comfort food today). The recipes come from restaurants from the San francisco Bay Area that support local organic farmers and ranchers. (Of course, not all ingredients are local even to Marin County.) And they definitely meet their stated goal: to inspire. 

For another review of this book, click here. For Marin Organic, the association of organic producers highlighted in the book, click away here. And for Marin Agricultural Land Trust, move your mouse here and click!