Cooking With Ideas

Eric Ripert - Vegetables!

Eric Ripert has fans in my household. Two. And there are (only) two of us in the household (unless you count the new dog). He just seems. . . nice. And wow can he cook and talk about food and . . . all those things. 

I don't really know why - we just like him. 

And so, when his newest cookbook came out on vegetables, my partner immediately ordered it. And, I am glad she did.Its simple, true. And it is beautiful. True. And, she has cooked from it - which is high praise for the very reason that I order the darn things sometimes and spend more time reading them than I do cooking from them. In this case, I have indeed spent most of my time with it perusing it - and seeing somewhat better versions of things I either cook - or used to cook - including braised belgian endives. We used to love them - carries of butter and beef broth from, I think, The Joy of Cooking. And now another version. One day I will have a veggies attack and . . . out will come this beautiful book. 

I have not cooked from the book, but  my partner has who has always made great clafoutis but now is making even better clafoutis based on Ripert's recipe for Cherry Clafooutis in the book! 

The book title is Vegetable Simple: A Cookbook published by Random House. With a cover which simply pictures some asparagus twined together for steaming . . . the book too, is beautiful and simple. 

 

The General's Cook

I do like historical fiction. While once upon a time I might have been tempted into a disquisition on the ways the oxymoron I just used was itself meaningful and included in that a few remarks regarding the ways narrative tropes shape our history telling, the ways history disguises as much as it tells, and the ways fiction often tells remarkable truths, I will simply allude to those notions as I have here and move on. 

In The General's Cook by Ramin Ganeshram, the weaving of history and assumption and fiction together into a narrative that is both moving and educative is exactly what I hoped for when I purchased the book. (And I did indeed purchase the book - I love the actual feel of them sometimes!) I knew nothing about the cook to George Washington and little about the relation of Washington to slavery - and all this despite having grown up (as I sometimes say) trapped between Valley Forge and Gettysburg. My privilege - and the ways history was taught - elided much of the entanglement of the revolution and its "hero's" with much less honorable matters, including the enslavement of human beings. These moments of the history of enslavement - and the drive to freedom - were utterly obscured by the history I learned. 

For the foodie in me, this was also a great read. Somehow the historic enslaved chef who worked so hard to both conceive of liberty and find it was entrancing - and a bit frightening. The temptation to think that because one was in a better position than other enslaved person revealed the nature of temptations through comparisons to others "beneath" one or in worse circumstances than one. That is, it revealed the risk of thinking oneself better than others.And, the painful decisions about the liberty of others - including one's loved ones . . . 

And, of course, the risks and rewards of knowing how - learning how - to read. And, literacy's role in both freedom and hope. 

I am hoping to read more about Hercules Posey, the enslaved chef who cooked for Washington. And, to always remember to think through the lens of both hope and disgust with historical and current racism. 

I give this novel an A+ for both entrancing me and teaching me to think anew. 

For more on Ramin Ganeshram, click here, to learn about her work as journalist and historian and, as importantly, as a chef! She is also a cookbook author as noted here. And, for a terrific piece she has written re story telling and food, try here. (I enjoyed the essay!) There is indeed controversy about a children's book she authored. I don't know what to make of that. 

On Hercules Posey, click here or here. Hmmm. 

Finally, and probably obviously, all of this reminds us that the US was indeed founded in a completely broken covenant with freedom for some and injustice for many. The work continues, 

Caught Bread Handed

 (with thanks to lavenderandlovage.com for the picture) 

 

Caught Bread Handed by Ellie Alexander was a fun romp in a genre I  - and we at Cooking with Ideas - know well. It is cozy mystery with a female amateur sleuth who works in the food-related business (in this case bakeshop that focuses on bread) and has a romantic interest (a husband but a complex potential commuting situation) in a small-is town with a tourist industry (Ashland, Oregon with a Shakespeare Festival). Yep, a genre. It comes complete with recipes at the end. 

The author (as described on her site, linked above) is a Pacific Northwest native (which shows) and is on #13 of her Bakeshop mysteries (yes, this is one of many). Like many such authors of series fiction, she writes several other series as well. 

I like this one - though I have not binged the series. A few items that made me like it:

1. While there is the usual somewhat tiresome romantic subplot, this one is not run of the mill (at least at this point in the series): it involves a married couple (with the woman as the amateur sleuth) who were together on a cruise ship for some years but are now struggling with whether they will stay apart of both move to Ashland or return to the ship together. 
2. I like the lead character, Jules Capshaw, and the ways she is connected to the foodie world through female friendship (yes, another trope of the genre but done well here) as she goes to a baking class and then connects strongly to the woman whose bread shop is key to the tale. The notion that the character is learning baking bread rather than an expert helps avoid the didacticism that sometimes appears in the food-related aspects of foodie mysteries. 
3. Of course, I am a sucker for a punny title. 
4. I like it that the professional law enforcement in the novel is NOT the amateur sleuth's soon-to-be boyfriend. Nope. This time the character - who is well drawn but not intrusive into the story - is dating Jules' mother. 
5. While the trope of newcomer to town with a business that jars the town's culture is not novel (see what I did there?), it is done well in this version, including being not as obvious a red herring as some red herrings can be.

Those are fairly general comments. What about the mystery itself? Well, this one kept me hanging - though you know I am not always good at figuring out the puzzle - and I was pleasantly surprised by it. 

 

Ok, I should say more, but you could click here or here for a different kind of review. 

 

Is Boredom a Form of Violence? Reposting for the COVID Era

Most books about food are fascinating to me. Not this one: Oxford Food: An Anthology. "What?" you gasp. An academic who is bored by a book? By a book with a prestigious institution like Oxford in its title? A foodie bored by a food book?

Yes, that's me. Bored. I am returning the book to the library without reading much of it. Even though it says Ashmolean Museum and Bodleian Library on the cover. Even though it offers menus and recipes for various collleges. Even though. . . . .

Somehow, it just doesn't do it for me. So, I am letting this book fly free, back to the library here on my own home campus. Maybe it'll find a kinder reader -- or a more interested one at least.

I just don't care, it turns out, about who ate an elegant dinner at the Warden of New College in December of 1774. Perhaps I should. But. . . I don't.

What don't you care about today?

 

EDIT: Originally posted in 2006 - which seems like a century ago, the question is a new one in the era of COVID. Perhaps what was once boring is now exciting? Perhaps we are more patient with everything - or more frazzled and frustrated. Perhaps the very real violence - violence that is in no way a metaphor - that exists in the worlds in which we live ought push this sort of metaphoric construction out of bounds? What do you think now? 

Consider the Fork: Reposting!

Some books, one reads and forgets. It is hard to acknowledge that, but it is true. Sometimes, I cannot even remember if I have read a book, let alone its contents. Some of that is me. It may be my age or my reading speed, or the ways I am distracted by the life I lead or the work I do. 

Other books are memorable. And, in the case in point, it is not about me, it is about the book, Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat by Bee Wilson. (Here is the site associated with the book.) She also wrote another book I truly loved, The Hive, subtitled The Story of the Honeybee and Us. In both cases, the writing is/was swell -- and the topics covered in ways that others addressing related themes do not. (Now that I know she is a recovering academic who now writes, I am a different combination of jealous and admiring.) Click here for my review of The HIve. 

Anyway: some reflections. First: the word technology sometimes means, today, computers and digital worlds as in "I hate technology" coming from someone who writes with a fountain pen or spends afternons on the telephone or loves her (or his) motorcycle. Wilson reminds us that we all use technologies, that they come from somewhere (and someone) and that they are historically interesting ways into the wider question of who we are (not to mention what and how we eat). A long fork, turniing roasts by hand, but very low level kitchen servants, in front of very hot fires, and with high risk of hte flames meets the lovely forks of a different class and different era. Pits and pans. Toasters (interestingly in a chapter on fire). The role of tongs and the place of ice. All parts of this wonderful book. 

Like all examinations of technology, this is really (also) a book about humanity and thus culture. My favorite is (I think) the comments on the mortar and pestle, how early its form was, and why it may be worth keeping (at least that is how I read it) despite the advent of one of the revolutionary things -- the cuisinart. I do so love chopping, despite knowing it can be done more quickly by electrical means. For me, in some ways, it is a luxury, not the demanding labor of an entire day to make curry pastes in India or to chop for a family of 20. And yet, while Wilson acknowledges the ways technology both eases - and does not ease -- labor, changes the role of servants (rendering some unemployed in dreadful ways), and links (for example) to enslavement, she informs without either sentimentalizing or pushing my guilt button. 

Plus: who would not want to learn about the history of the technologies associated with ice ceram. right? 

By considering the fork, we are considering much much more. And we owe it to Wilson. So: Thanks. A memorable, fun book, historically deeper than most who write to catch the foodie trend, 

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'Consider the Fork': uncovering the hidden history of the kitchen

Re-reading Magazines

This year, around the holidays, I went to the basement and exhumed (well, not literally but it felt like that) a whole raft of magazines dates the months of November and December. The initial impulse was a household desire to make cookies. And, I was witness to - and an occasional participant in - remarkable cookie making at our home. 

But what struck me was the other things I (re)learned by reading - and/or flipping through - those magazines. There were old Gourmet magazines (now defunct), Bon Appetit, an occasional Cooking Light and some copies of Saveur. And, though I/we found new-to-us recipes, we also found part of our history. We found recipes we have been making for years - most notably pears with gastrique - but pages stuck just a bit together from sloppy cooks, and memories. Oh so many memories. 

Among the cookies we baked (ok, ok, I was mainly a spectator) were mint/chocolate etc cookies that were described as a meet up of the Girl Scout Thin Mint with the NY favorite, the Black and White -- called indeed by Bon Appetit the Black and White and Green cookie. Here it is:

T
The most fun part was actually the part I did: taking bunches (and bunches) of fresh mint and whirring it up in a food processor with loads of butter. That is the entire source of green in the cookie - fresh mint! And yes, that is sanding sugar. 

The cookies were great. The making of them a joy. And, yes, the re-finding of old(er) magazines was delightful. I cannot say exactly why the reality of holding a magazine was a vast improvement on googling, despite my love for that as a route to recipes. 

What magazines have you read lately? 

Borders and Food

Food Across Borders edited by Matt Garcia, E. Melanie DuPuis, and Don Mitchell is one of those books that called to me from the Amazon algorithm for some time. Yes, it was partly the cover - a bright yellow with curving chili peppers in a reddish orange - calling to the vibrant flavors and colors of spices. But, it also called to me by reminding me to read about food not merely in the form of "junk" reading (a la junk food) but also in the deep seriousness of how food is and expresses and challenges our politics. And, of course, by evoking the notion of borders - the title accomplished a lot. As the back of the book notes, "The act of eating defines and redefines borders." And here, I suspected before purchasing and reading it were evocations of Mary Douglas, of Cherrie Moraga, and perhaps more. 

I was right. This is a fascinating book - which like only a very few collections these days, is more than the sum of its parts. It challenges any separation of individual and community, any simple notion of globalism or localism, and any solid expectation of where exactly the notion of borders -= and border crossings - matters. 

To exemplary instances:

The opening chapter, co-authored by the volume's editors, is a terrific overview of the themes raised in the book - including, I am very happy to say, reference to (and critique of) Mary Douglas. I love the notion of eating as boundary work - sorting out what is and what is not "me." And yes this takes right to the notion of "body politic" in which the movement of food and footways across the world both sets and challenges boundaries, national and otherwise. As we all know from the movement of potatoes to Ireland, chilis to the entire world, and etcetera, such movement is both a historical and a contemporary phenomenon. Loads of folks I know think the potato's origins were in Ireland (nope - South America) and the chili Indian (nope, also western hemisphere) and that curry is limited to Indian food (no, no, no.) As the chapter makes evident, food memories definitely play multiple roles - and they both expand and constrain horizons, literally and figuratively. 

And, a chapter entitled "Bittersweet: Food, Gender and the State in the U.S. and Canadian Wests during World War I," intrigued me enough to have it reproduced and sent along to my partner who grew up in a nearby region of the Canadian West. I had not imagined WWI affecting boundaries in North America the way they did. Nor did I really imagine it was gendered, though once I gave it .05 seconds thought that was. . . obvious. The chapter made me think of various generations of mothers and grandmothers I have known - and their experiences of war, whether "at home" or elsewhere.

I suppose this all sounds vague. There are other chapters about Latino footways and Blackfeet, about the "global quinoa boom" (yes, I remember the before times), and about whiteness and Mexican cooking. Nothing about this book is, in fact, vague. The details tell a larger and dynamic story. And, it is worth a read. 

 

In Memory's Kitchen

Memory and food. We all know they are entangled - both in our own experiences and in the "literature" which has burgeoned over the years. Memoirs and cookbooks, novels and nonfiction - all have both reinscribed and rediscovered the ways past, present and future, memory and history connect. And, how together they keep us both metaphorically alive and connected - and more than metaphorically.

A major contribution to this which is both a historic document and a legacy of its own is In Memory's Kitchen. Edited by Cara De Silva, translated by Bianca Steiner Brown, with a foreword by Michael Berenbaum, this book's subtitle says everything: A Legacy from the Women of Terezin. This is, indeed, a cookbook like no other. 

First: what is Terezin? It was a town, a fortress and, in this reference, a concentration camp. Yes, wikipedia can illuminate the referent if you do not know. (Click here.) There is an extensive literature on this horrific history during the Shoah and this book is one aspect of that literature. It documents the survival tactic of some of the women imprisoned (and in many cases murdered) - through the use of memory and a focus on food even while starving. What survived was a copy of recipes - witness to both a demolished culture and, as or more importantly, to specific demolished lives. The survival of the manuscript itself is a testament to stubbornness - and the ways memory and food can do more than we might imagine in unimaginable - though very real and we must look directly at them - circumstances. 

This is a painful read. And, it is a worthwhile read. 

Culinary Extinction? Is That a Thing?

When I first saw the subtitle of Lost Feast: Culinary Extinction and the Future of Food, I thought, yes, there are some foods that ought to go extinct. They are disgusting or ugly or simply unappetizing. 

Yes, I missed the author's point. That is, until I read this amazingly interesting book - and understood not that certain foods ought go extinct - but that certain food obsessions can (inadvertently) cause the extinction of animals, plants, and, yes, foods. Lenore Newman, author of the book, interweaves the history of our relationship with foods (who knew that passenger pigeons' famous extinction had to do with food?) with what she calls "extinction dinners" - all in order to entice us into a certain kind of environmental knowledge. The knowledge: that our food obsessions are not only shaped by the marketing campaigns of others (yes, I knew about the rise of Pomm and its impact on pomegranates), but by the not-so-virtuous, actually verging on vicious, circles of fads driving certain foods to extinction. Predecessors of cows, for example. What Newman calls "the twilight of the mammoths" as a food-related extinction. I had no idea. (Ok, the phrase is not hers. It comes from a P.S. Martin and H.W. Greene book of the same title.)

Have I said extinction enough yet? We have to move, the author hints, beyond the things popular culture connects with extinction - dinosaurs and mammoths, for example - or even those we know are declining in numbers (e.g., bees). We must ask why - and we must look beyond the obvious. 

What I find particularly fascinating about this book is that it is not hatred or violence (per se) that drives things into extinction. It is love.

Had you ever heard of "pear madness"? (Not me. I knew about tulip mania kind of vaguely, but pear madness?) Did you know about the risk of losing bluefish? (I did, but not phrased quite this way, in quite this exquisitely painful a way.) The relevance of pollination to - everything - and more. 

Do you expect to run into names like Franz Boas in food-related books? Do you know what "cultivar loss" means? The book calls forward as many questions as you can imagine potentially extinct phenomena. 

For an enticing interview with Lenore Newman, click here. Or here where you can hear her on one of my favorite CBC shows: Quirks and Quarks. (Yes, Lenore Newman is Canadian.) Frankly, she sounds kind, smart, and Canadian. Plus, Lenore Newman can write - and she writes well. This is not always the case for fascinating books. It is here. 

As a post script: this book has the most interesting "suggested readings" I have encountered in ages. 

And, in case you did not guess it, the answer to the question in this blog entry's title is yes. Culinary extinction is a thing. And, we can be the perpetrators. We ought not be - perhaps. 

Lethal Licorice, Premeditated Peppermint and Toffee?

Ok, I admit it. I have not been writing for a while as I tried to adjust to the new normal. And, that has not been easy. I know it has not been easy for you either. But: we all need some non-work related activities, and this blog has been one for me over the years.

So: a voice from physically distant/socially responsible isolation/community building/together/alone. 

It's contradictory but it is what it is. And, I have a cliche for that!

So: one of the contradictions of my life these days is reading is usually a comfort and a soothing way to escape. And, I am having trouble reading right now. I can't focus for long and . . . . even junk seems intellectually challenging. And, a "hobby" which involves a screen, and kindling which involves a screen, well, it's bit much. 

However, all whining to the side, the title of this piece refers not simply to candy but to a new-to-me series of cozy mysteries featuring an Amish candy shop in a town called Harvest, Ohio in Holmes County. Written by Amanda Flower, the books in this series both fulfill and challenge the tropes of food-related cozy mystery series. Yes, punny titles (focused in this case on candies). Yes, amateur sleuth who has a romantic (possible) relationship with a law enforcement type. Yes, an amateur sleuth who has skills and moved to a small town bringing the clash of small town coziness and urban sharpness. Yes, murders and pets and recipes. Families and friends and sidekicks. And. . . 

Having said this, I liked the several of these I have now read - for exactly the balance of formula and challenges to formula. Here are some details:

I began with Lethal Licorice. I picked this - and it is the first I read, because I like food-related cozy mysteries and had not seen these and, weirdly, because I like licorice. Indeed, I have loved licorice in various forms all my life; including the licorice pipes that my father used to buy us, the ones my partner got me at a gas station in Medicine Hat, and the all sorts that I pick through happily when someone who knows me well treats me. And, it turned out that buying the book at a used bookstore on one of the last moments before physical distance (which still feels to me like social isolation but I understand why the rhetoric must change). 

In this one, I "met" the presumedly fictional town of Harvest, Ohio in the very real Holmes County, Ohio. (For a tourist view of the county, click here. For the county government site, click here.) As is the case with many such mysteries, the small town ambience combined with some rural features to fit just those aspects fo the formula fiction which characterizes the cozy mystery genre.

I also "met" Bailey King, the central amateur sleuth, returned to Harvest, where she spent summers with her grandparents. She has returned because her beloved grandfather (Daadi) has died and her grandmother (Clara) and she are now running the family candy shop.  A chocolatier in NYC, she fulfills the formula of returning to small town life after adventures elsewhere aspect of these cozies - and the candy shop is the reason for the recipe at the end of the book(s). I never imagined making licorice!

As is often the case (and is in this series), there are eccentric characters (including a potbellied polka dot pig),  the mirage of learning (in this case a smattering of Pennsylvania Dutch and Amish ways), and humor alongside the mystery. I already know what the term Englischer meant in this context. Not to mention rumspringa. Do you?) And, as also often the case, this mystery is set at a time when tourists come to town: the Amish Confectionery Competition. 

As for the mystery itself: SPOILER yes, there is a moment when Bailey is a murder suspect because the "weapon" is licorice. And, yes, she tracks down the killer - ending up in a fairly precarious spot as a result. Otherwise: you read it! 

And then, I read Premeditated Peppermint. Same characters for the most part - and similar formula, set at Christmas and involving . . . you guessed it . . . the candy shop making peppermint theses and thats for the Christmas market on the square.  

Finally, I am in the midst of reading Toxic Toffee. Given that this weekend is Easter, it is the perfect tale - involving Bailey making a toffee 7 foot-ish tall chocolate/toffee rabbit, a bunny named Puff, and the usual folderol. For a review of this (which I have not read because I have not finished the book), click here. 

Good series. And, while they do not succeed in pushing away the realities of the world we live in, they do distract. Or, at least they distracted me. 

Here is an interview with the author.