Gary Allen's Blog, page 23

No Puppydog Tails, Please

There was, long ago, a wonderful Italian store, Toscani's, in New Paltz, NY.It was an aromatic miracle just to walk in the door (and good luck getting in at Christmas and Easter) -- dozens of salamis (hot and sweet soppresatas), and cheeses (pungent pecorini and smoked scamorze), hung from the rack above the counter, bowls of freshly-made mozzarella swam just below them, huge coils of fresh sausages (hot, sweet, luganega) rested in the glass-fronted cabinet they shared with a vast assortment of cold-cuts and cheeses from around the world. Just inside the door were bins of semolina, dried ceci and chestnuts, and just in front of them were huge baskets filled with baccala and snails, dry in their shells.The latter were too hard to resist. We bought a few dozen of them, and brought them home, in fervid anticipation of garlicky bliss.We understood that our that bliss was at least a day away, and that certain steps had to be taken first.

Before the snails could be cooked, they had to be cleaned, and before they could be cleaned, they had to be revived. The snails -- that appeared to be dry and dead -- were merely dormant, in a kind of suspended animation, waiting for conditions that were more to their liking. And what they liked was  moisture. We wanted them to be happy, so we gave them a refreshing rinse and placed them in a large white enamel soup pot, and set it on the floor, out of the way, loosely covered with the pot's lid.All the usual things (dinner, dessert, dishes and such) went by and we went off to bed – where visions of Burgundian pleasures wafted us away to dreamland.During the night, Brother (the prototypically-curious cat) peeked into the pot to see what we might have left there for him. Apparently he didn't see anything that interested him, and our gastronomically-induced dream-state prevented us from hearing the sounds of his investigations.The next morning, we woke to find the lid on the floor, the pot empty (save for some fishy-smelling water), and snails almost everywhere in the house. We spent much of the following few days picking them off furniture, walls, windows, and ceilings.Some ancient Gallic instinct must have warned them to steer clear of the stove. Nor did we find any near the butter dish or the garlic.Escargot à la BourguinonneThis recipe is adapted from one in Madame E. Saint-Ange's La Bonne Cuisine, the French equivalent of The Joy of Cooking. It's included here -- not because you are likely to go to so much trouble -- but so you'll see why it's worth it just to order the dish at a good restaurant.Ingredients4 dozen            snails
1 cup            vinegar
1/2 cup             sea salt
for court bouillon
1 quart            dry white wine
10 cups             water
1 ounce            sea salt
10             peppercorns
8            shallots, peeled and chopped
5 cloves            garlic, peeled and chopped
1            carrot, sliced
1             large onion, piqué (peeled and studded with a clove)
1            bouquet garni (small bunch of flat-leaved parsley,
            a sprig of thyme, and a bay leaf tied together)
to cook the snails
4 tablespoons             unsalted butter
2 teaspoons            sea salt
1 clove             garlic, peeled and minced
5             shallots, peeled and minced
pinch            quatre èpices (a mixture of cloves,
            ginger, nutmeg and white pepper)
for the snail butter
1 ¾ cups            unsalted butter
3 ounces            shallots, peeled and minced
2 ounces            flat-leaf parsley, minced
1 ounce             garlic, minced
1 ounce            sea salt
¼ ounce            black pepper, ground
pinch            quatre èpices
for topping
fine breadcrumbs
butter
white wineMethodIn a large pot, cover the snails with cold water and rub the shells to get rid of any clinging dirt. Drain the water, add new water and rinse again. Repeat the process until the water shows no sign of cloudiness. Drain again.Pour salt and vinegar on snails and stir with a wooden spoon to distribute evenly. Set aside for two hours, stirring occasionally. Wash them again in two changes of water. They're clean when they show no traces of slime.In an 8-quart pot, cover the snails with cold water and bring slowly to the boil, skimming to remove any scum that forms. After ten minutes, drain and rinse again. Drain again.Add court bouillon ingredients to snails, bring to a boil, then turn down to a gentle simmer. Skim -- yet again -- then cover and simmer for three and a half hours.Carefully pry the snails from their shells, trimming off the black ends. Wash the shells and set aside, open end down, to drain out any lingering water.Melt butter in a pan, add snails and next four ingredients, and cook gently for five minutes (don't let them brown). Cover and set aside.Make the snail butter by grinding all ingredients with a mortar and pestle. This can be done ahead of time, just be sure that it doesn't melt.Preheat oven to 375°F.To assemble, place a bit of the snail butter (the size of a pea) in each shell. Push one cooked snail into each shell. Plug the openings with more snail butter.Arrange the snails in a baking dish, opening-side up, and leaning against each other for stability. Sprinkle breadcrumbs on top, dot with more butter, and sprinkle with wine.Bake for seven to eight minutes, and serve while butter is still sizzling. As an appetizer, serve six snails per person.

food sites for June 2012

Last month was apple blossom time in the Hudson Valley.

For the first time in the last decade, May has passed without a single morel. We don't know why (it certainly wasn't for lack of looking). Perhaps it was the very weird weather we had this year (warm early, then cold and dry, then cold and wet alternating with hot and dry), or over-harvesting, or the fact that the woods are over-run with garlic mustard (an invasive plant that disrupts mycorrhizae in the soil). Whatever the cause, it's made for a Spring that doesn't seem like spring at all.
If this is what global warming has in store for us, we're not liking it one bit.
Regular subscribers to our updates newsletter receive these updates from our blog, Just Served, directly -- but there is much more at the blog that isn’t sent automatically. Just Served dishes out more than reasonable people want to chew -- but, if you're feeling particularly unreasonable, and don't want to wait for these newsletters, you can follow us on Facebook, or Twitter. Our Facebook and Twitter friends already know about our recent blogpost, "Sage Advice,"  which is a kind of addition to our new book, Herbs: A Global History , and includes a recipe that is not in the book .
Our latest completed book (Sausage: A Global History, for Reaktion's Edible Series) is written and edited (another huzzah!) and was sent to the publisher a few days after the contributor's copies of the herb book arrived. We're currently working on two other books that are not food-related, but definitely fun to write.
Leitesculinaria has reposted several of our articles (the entire list is available here, along with several more noteworthy pieces on food history & science.
This month's quotation from On the Table's culinary quote pages --

"In the vegetable world, there is nothing so innocent, so confiding in its expression, as the small green face of the freshly-shelled spring pea." William Wallace Irwin

GaryJune, 2012

PS: If you encounter broken links, changed URLs -- or know of wonderful sites we've missed -- please drop us a line. It helps to keep this resource as useful as possible for all of us. To those of you who have suggested sites -- thanks, and keep them coming!
PPS: If you wish to change the e-mail address at which you receive these newsletters, or otherwise modify the way you receive our postings, go here.
PPPS: If you've received this newsletter by mistake, and/or don't wish to receive future issues, you have our sincere apology and can have your e-mail address deleted from the list immediately. We're happy (and continuously amazed) that so few people have decided to leave the list -- but, should you choose to be one of them, let us know and we'll see that your in-box is never afflicted by these updates again. There’s an unsubscribe link at the bottom of this page.

----the new sites----
11 Vintage Cookbooks (1861-1920)(brief looks at each book – with images of their covers and links to complete texts)
Dining with Duncan(Jan Whitaker’s blogpost about Duncan Hines, the man who said, “I would like to be food dictator of the U.S.A. just long enough to padlock two thirds of the places that call themselves cafes or restaurants.”)
Great Recipe Swindle, The(a blog post, in The Guardian, about the inherent difficulties in writing -- and following -- recipes)
History and Techniques of Napkin Folding, The(remarkable article in edible geography, with photos and video)
Julia Child Foundation for Gastronomy and the Culinary Arts, The(a culinary non-profit set up to support other culinary non-profits, featuring a detailed biography)
On Their Stomachs(a review, in The New York Times, of Lizzie Collingham’s book, The Taste of War)
PARMESAN.com(official website of "the Undisputed King of Cheeses")
Recipe for a Roman Diet(bioarchaeologist Kristina Killgrove’s article on what we can learn from skeletal chemistry; link to "Bioarchaeology of Roman Seafood Consumption")
Winter Banana, Northern Spy & King Luscious: Apples in America(apple history from Cornell University's Albert R. Mann Library)


--how-to (inspirational or otherwise) sites for writers/bloggers --
10 Things to Consider When Choosing an Ad Network
12-Point Marketing Strategy
Chip Kidd Offers Book Designing Tips
Getting Started on Your Food Blog
Is the writing dream over?
Opinion: Faking It
Rise of E-Reading, The
Serious Nonfiction in the Digital Age
Whose Fault is it When a Recipe Doesn't Work?


----yet more blogs----
Delights and Prejudices
Dinners and Dreams
EatingAsia
foodaism
Tasting Cultures


----that's all for now----
Except, of course, for the usual legalistic mumbo-jumbo and commercial flim-flam:
Your privacy is important to us. We will not give, sell or share your e-mail address with anyone, for any purpose -- ever. Nonetheless, we will expose you to the following irredeemably brazen plugs:
Our books, The Resource Guide for Food Writers , The Herbalist in the Kitchen , The Business of Food: Encyclopedia of the Food And Drink Industries , Human Cuisine , and Herbs: A Global History are currently available.
Here endeth the sales pitch(es)...
...for the moment, anyway.
___________________________

"The Resource Guide for Food Writers, Update #140" is protected by copyright, and is provided at no cost, for your personal use only. It may not be copied or retransmitted unless this notice remains affixed. Any other form of republication -- unless with the author's prior written permission -- is strictly prohibited.
Copyright (c) 2012 by Gary Allen.

The Hunting of the Snipe

Once, while riding in the backseat with a coupla' Texas cousins, the conversation turned to the best hunting techniques for snipe. Back home, up north, I knew about snipe; they were brown-spotted, streaky-looking birds that ran along sandy shorelines on legs that looked too long and flimsy to hold them up, let alone run.

As I listened, it was clear that the Texas variety was a different animal altogether.

These elusive creatures seemed to have more in common with the armadillo tribe than any snipe I ever saw. Perhaps it was living in the vicinity of oil wells and pipelines -- and the sort of men who worked in such places -- but Texan snipe had an inexplicable fascination with the smell of burning sulfur, like when you lit up one of those old-fashioned strike-anywhere matches. They could also be lured close to a hidden hunter by softly calling "snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe…" into the darkness.

I'd never heard of a wild animal that was so egotistical as to know, let alone answer to, its name. On the other hand, I'd never heard of a bird that looked like an armadillo and liked the smell of burnt matches.

Still, their enthusiasm for the hunt led me to believe that these snipe must be very good eating, so I was more than willing to try my beginner's hand at capturing a bagful of them.

We spent the rest of the afternoon gathering supplies and working out our hunting strategy. The supplies were easy: a large grocery sack and a box of kitchen matches for each of us. The strategizing fascinated this neophyte, and I paid careful attention to every word of my more-experienced cousins. It was clear that they knew a lot about the ins and outs of snipe hunting.

For one thing, it made no sense to try to track them or run them down; they were just too wily and quick for that. The most effective method was to sit quietly in a likely spot in snipe country, armed as described, calling softly and lighting matches just in front of the open grocery sack. I was warned to be careful not to hold the matches too close to the bag (that was obvious, even to me -- if the sack got burned, what would I use to carry all the snipe I caught?).

I also learned how efficient my cousins were. In order to best cover the snipe terrain, we would spread out to learn where they were congregating. Whoever caught the first snipe would then call out to the other hunters – then everyone would form a circle of gradually-decreasing diameter, driving the snipe toward the waiting bag of the first successful hunter.

I so wanted to be that snipe hunter.

We waited anxiously for it to get dark, when we (or rather my sixteen-year-old cousin) could drive us out to the hunting grounds.

Now Callahan was, at the time, a dry county – and the only place a thirsty Texan could get a drink was in a private club. There was just such a place, a mile or two outside of Clyde. It was a sign- and window-less cinderblock building surrounded by mesquites, only identifiable because it sat in front of a pile of empty Lone Star cans as big as the building itself. This, I was surprised to learn, was prime snipe country. No doubt it had something to do with all the smokers (and the constant lighting of matches) among the club-members.

Since I was the honored guest on the hunt, I was given the best spot. It was well away from the security light of the clubhouse, on flat sandy ground, surrounded by exactly the kind of brush that provided ideal cover for the secretive snipes. They got me set up, making sure I had everything I needed and understood the night's strategy. Then they went off to find suitable spots to hunt.

I felt bad for them, knowing that they were not as likely to be successful, since they had given me the choice location.

It was a moonless night, but the broad Texas sky was full of stars and their light was more than enough to make out the surrounding mesquites, slightly darker than the sky. I opened the bag slowly, being careful not to make too much noise with the stiff brown paper. I laid it on its side, placing a few small stones inside so that its bottom was flush with the ground. When the mad rush of a snipe happened, I wanted to be sure that it didn't run under the bag.

I lit the first match. Barely louder than a whisper, I began calling "snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe" into the darkness.

Another match, and slightly louder, "snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe…"

Nothing yet. I wondered if my cousins were having any better luck. Of course not – I would have heard them yell if they had.

Another match, and slightly louder, "snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe, snipe…"

The stars slowly wheeled around the sky, and my matches were running low, but still no sign of the first snipe. Then I heard it.

A very faint moaning sound.

My cousins hadn't mentioned the kind of noise that snipe made – or perhaps they did, but I hadn't been paying close-enough attention?

There it was again, a little louder.

What if it wasn't a snipe, but some other animal, possibly a territorial longhorn, or some other dangerous beast for which I was unprepared? The moaning faded away a bit, suggesting a change of direction. Maybe the creature had found some more interesting prey. No, it was getting louder again, heading straight for me.

That was no animal.

It was a pick-up truck.

It stopped not far from where I sat, matchless in the wilderness. My grandfather walked over to me, cursing softly in the darkness. "Damfool kids. What the hail would the sheriff say if he found him out here all by hisself?"

Food Sites for May 2012

 Dogwood (Cornus florida "Cherokee Chief")

April is nearly done, yet its famous showers made their first appearance only last night. With more rain expected today and tomorrow, we trust there will be morels in our future. We already have May flowers in profusion, but those fungi are fussy about matters fluvial.
We promise, literally, to limit alliteration henceforth.
Regular subscribers to our updates newsletter receive these updates from our blog, Just Served, directly -- but there is much more at the blog that isn’t sent automatically. Just Served dishes out more than reasonable people can swallow -- but, if you're feeling particularly unreasonable, and don't want to wait for these newsletters, you can follow us on Facebook, or Twitter.  Our Facebook and Twitter friends already know about our recent blogpost, “Who, If I Cried,”  which has nothing to do with food, but is vaguely writing-related.
In Other News: The book launch party for our latest book, Herbs: A Global History in NYC has been cancelled, due to union-management difficulties. We’re neither union nor management, BTW – just collateral damage. The book, however is out (huzzah!) and about -- even if I haven’t seen my contributor’s copies yet. There’s a sample passage, “Savory Weeds,” in Roll Magazine .
Our sausage book (also for Reaktion's Edible Series) is written and edited (another huzzah!) and almost ready to be shipped to the publisher – we're just looking for a few more illustrations. That’s a sly hint for any of you who might possess such things and might also be willing to share.
"A Quiet Little Table in the Corner" is an annotated ("annotated" being used, as always, with only unintentional academic correctness) directory of our writings -- mostly on other people's sites.
Leitesculinaria has reposted several of our articles (the entire list is available here, along with several more noteworthy pieces on food history and science.
This month's quotations -- a few wise words soon to be added to On the Table's culinary quote pages :

"There are old mushroom hunters, and there are bold mushroom hunters, but there are no old, bold mushroom hunters." Anonymous
"Nothing more than mushroom identification develops the powers of observation.” John Cage

GaryMay, 2012

PS: If you encounter broken links, changed URLs -- or know of wonderful sites we've missed -- please drop us a line. It helps to keep this resource as useful as possible for all of us. To those of you who have suggested sites -- thanks, and keep them coming!
PPS: If you wish to change the e-mail address at which you receive these newsletters, or otherwise modify the way you receive our postings, go here.
PPPS: If you've received this newsletter by mistake, and/or don't wish to receive future issues, you have our sincere apology and can have your e-mail address deleted from the list immediately. We're happy (and continuously amazed) that so few people have decided to leave the list -- but, should you choose to be one of them, let us know and we'll see that your in-box is never afflicted by these updates again. You can unsubscribe here.


----the new sites----
Case Study: The Art of Charcuterie(an illustrated look at the processes used by makers of bacon, ham, and sausage)
French Terroir Strategy, and Culinary Modernism, The(Rachel Laudan’s writing is often an abbatoir for sacred cows; here’s her review of Carlo Petrini’s book, Slow Food: The Case for Taste, in Food Culture and Society – in PDF format)
From Three Continents: Black-Eyed Peas in Mexico(Rachel Laudan's researches into the migration of the lowly cowpea)
Brooklyn Brainery(blog and cheap classes about food and similar distractions)
Dishing about Food Writing(Bill Daley, in The Chicago Tribune, introduces seven food writers worth reading)
Dr. Chase's Recipes, or, Information for Everybody(complete text of the 1864 book)
Flavor (magazine about the foods of Virginia)
Historical Uses of Honey as Food(illustrated lecture by Louis Grivetti on the appearances of honey in art & literature, in all cultures)
Looking Back: A Century Ago, Automats Designed a New Way to Dine(a reminiscence in Edible Manhattan)
Truly Food for Thought(Jan Ellen Spiegel’s article, in The New York Times, about university food studies programs)
Tsiosophy(history of, and literature about, tea -- especially in Chinese poetry)


--how-to (or inspirational) sites for writers/bloggers --
foodblogforum
Making Microformats Manageable: The New RecipeSEO Plugin
Seven Tips for Designing an Ebook Cover
Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow, The
And, in the interest of journalistic fairplay, some things that could be considered the opposite of inspirational (depending on what one makes of them):
Are Food Blogs Over?
Cooking from Every Angle: Advice for Future Food Writers


----yet more blogs----
Culinary Anthropologist
Four Pounds Flour
Hogwash: Thoughts on Food and Life


----that's all for now----
Except, of course, for the usual legalistic mumbo-jumbo and commercial flim-flam:
Your privacy is important to us. We will not give, sell or share your e-mail address with anyone, for any purpose -- ever. Nonetheless, we will expose you to the following irredeemably brazen plugs:
Our books, The Resource Guide for Food Writers , The Herbalist in the Kitchen , The Business of Food: Encyclopedia of the Food And Drink Industries , Human Cuisine , and Herbs: A Global History  are currently available.
Here endeth the sales pitch(es)...
...for the moment, anyway.
______________________________
"The Resource Guide for Food Writers, Update #139" is protected by copyright, and is provided at no cost, for your personal use only. It may not be copied or retransmitted unless this notice remains affixed. Any other form of republication -- unless with the author's prior written permission -- is strictly prohibited.
Copyright (c) 2012 by Gary Allen.

Who, if I Cried

"Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the Angelic orders?"
(first line of Rilke's Duino Elegies, found in a notebook left on a park bench)

I know what you're thinking: "Is this going to be one of those hokey stories that pretends to be someone else's lost manuscript?" -- but you're mistaken. It is true, however, that the notebook ploy is totally bogus. There never was such a notebook. 

In reality, the words just appeared in a dream, in one of those near-waking moments that seem incredibly significant, but fade away by the time the dreamer climbs into the shower. The words floated down to me, just as they had to Rilke, as he walked along the beach, below Duino Castle. Perhaps the poet really believed that they came from some terrible angel… but me?

Not a chance. 

I know they had just been drifting around in my subconscious for the past forty-odd years, waiting to serve some new purpose. But what if there had been a lost notebook on that hypothetical bench? What if it had contained nothing except that single line of poetry? What could we make of it?

First, there's an excellent chance that our would-be diarist was a young man. The line reeks of the kind of yearning that only the young can carry off with any measure of believability. On the other hand, the line could have been left by another poet -- but poets, like paleontologists, are just adults who never out-grew their youthful love of poetry (or dinosaurs, which amount to the same thing). We all wrote poetry at some point in their lives (how else would we have known that were really suffering?). However, like so many other passions, the urge to commit one's longings to paper tends to fade over time. Whether the longings themselves fade, or simply lose their brutal newness, is another issue, one perhaps better left for some other time.

What about that single journal entry? Why might someone have chosen that particular quote… and nothing else? Was it meant to be the beginning of something larger, something so important to the journalist that he could not bear to lose it? And yet, lose it he certainly did. Was it something the journalist was barely "still able to bear," even though "it calmly disdains to destroy" him? And how did he intend to answer Rilke's existential question? Was it the beginning of a new poem? A novel? A confession of terrible angst-driven obsession? 

Perhaps it was nothing more than a mnemonic device… but of what was it intended to remind the poor suffering soul? Was the mere act of writing it down sufficient to burn the reminder into the writer's consciousness -- and that's why the notebook was left behind?

What if something else happened to cause the abandonment of the notebook? Did the mistress of the writer's distress suddenly appear (for that matter, are we justified in assuming that such a mistress was ever involved)? Did she say, or do, something that made the notebook's lone entry superfluous? 

If so, perhaps the notebook wasn't lost at all. Perhaps it was abandoned -- an inconsequential bit of jetsam, tossed over the side just as the diarist was, himself, swept away.

Tongue in Cheek: Cannibal Humor

I once overheard a conversation between two store clerks. One regaled the other with an imaginary dialog between two cannibals who were eating a roasted clown. I began to eavesdrop in earnest.

The clerk delivered the punch line: "Does this taste funny to you?"

Affecting a tone of seriousness, I asked if they were talking about cannibalism. They appeared slightly embarrassed, but admitted that they were. "But there are no more cannibals," I corrected. Their embarrassment deepened perceptibly. It was clear that they felt themselves to be in presence of a cranky old guy with no sense of humor. They were trapped, and would be forced to wait the situation out. Pity did not prevent me from continuing.

"I ate the last one this morning!"

They were victims of a form of cannibal joke that typically involves some form of entrapment.

Mark Twain's short story, "Cannibalism in the Cars," relates his encounter with a passenger who had survived a cannibalistic episode on a train full of congressmen, stranded in a blizzard. After seven days without food, they decided that someone must die that the rest might live. Being good parliamentarians, they entered into a series of nominations, in which the qualifications of each for office were discussed. After six ballots, and some battles over amendments,

"Mr. Lucius Harris of St. Louis, who [was] well and honorably known to all of us" was elected to the post of "dinner." He was prepared for office while the remaining congressmen began electing breakfast. Debate was interrupted by "the happy announcement that Harris was ready."

At this point, the congressman waxed eulogistically,

"I liked Harris. He might have been better done, perhaps, but I am free to say that no man ever agreed with me better than Harris, or afforded me so large a degree of satisfaction."[1]

After listing the gastronomic qualities of the congressman's esteemed colleagues, the story was cut short by their arrival at his destination. The politician departed with a genteel farewell,

"I must bid you good-by. Any time that you can make it convenient to tarry a day or two with me, I shall be glad to have you. I like you, sir; I have conceived an affection for you. I could like you as well as I like Harris himself, sir. Good day, sir, and a pleasant journey."[2]

W.C. Fields, the curmudgeon's curmudgeon, responded, when asked how he liked children, "Boiled or fried." When he said, "I never met a kid I liked," he was probably not talking about eating them. He was less ambiguous when he quipped, "Madam, there's no such thing as a tough child—if you parboil them first for seven hours, they always come out tender."

"Hear about the cannibal who had a wife and ate kids?" "When do cannibals leave the table? When everyone's eaten." "Did you hear about the cannibal who loved children? He just adored the platter of little feet." These are old jokes, admittedly—but there are older ones.

Near the end of Petronius' Satyricon, we encounter the will of the wealthy, but inept, poet, Eumolpus. He couldn't take his wealth with him, but could leave something of himself behind to keep company with his money:

"With the exception of my freedmen… all those who come into money by the terms of my will shall inherit only …[if they] slice up my body into little pieces and swallow them down in the presence of the entire city…"[3]

While certain that greed would ensure his final request, he added this encouragement to his beneficiaries: "I warn my friends not to disregard my last wishes, but to eat my body as heartily as they damned my soul."[4] Eumolpus helped them swallow the bitter pill he prescribed: "Just close your eyes and imagine that, instead of human flesh, you're munching a million."[5] He added, "The people of Saguntum …when Hannibal besieged them, took to eating human flesh, and did so, moreover, without the slightest hope of getting an inheritance out of it."[6]

Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal" is one of many works that address the political consumption of the weak by their oppressors. In suggesting a solution of the "Irish Problem" by feeding Irish children to English gourmands, he phrased it in a way that -- like Eumolpus -- made it easier to swallow:

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child, well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious, nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout.[7]

Ambrose Bierce once defined a cannibal as, "A gastronome of the old school who preserves the simple tastes and adheres to the natural diet of the pre-pork period."[8] In an 1868 essay he ruminated, with characteristic tenderness,

Our uniform vanity has given us the human mind as the acme of intelligence, the human face and figure as the standard of beauty. Of course we cannot deny to human fat and lean an equal superiority over beef, mutton and pork. It is plain that our meat-eating ancestors would think this way, and being unrestrained by the mawkish sentiment attendant on high civilization, would act habitually on the obvious suggestion. A priori, therefore, it is clear that we ate ourselves.[9]

He continued, linguistically,

Observe the significance of the phrase "sweet sixteen." What a world of meaning lurks in the expression "she is as sweet as a peach," and how suggestive of luncheon are the words "tender youth."' A kiss is but a modified bite, and a fond mother, when she says her babe is "almost good enough to eat," merely shows that she is herself only a trifle too good to eat it.[10]

Voltaire's Philosophical Dictionary has a more substantially fleshed-out definition than that of Bierce. It includes:

The nations we call civilized have done right not to put their vanquished enemies on the spit; for if we were allowed to eat our neighbors, we would soon eat our compatriots, which would have grave consequences for the social virtues. But civilized nations have not always been civilized; all had long been savage… It was superstition that caused human victims to be immolated; it was necessity that caused them to be eaten.[11]

Voltaire' Candide (and sidekick Cacambo) encountered the Oreillons, a tribe of South American cannibals, who

…were heating a large cauldron of water, others were preparing spits, and all were shouting,

"He's a Jesuit, he's a Jesuit! We'll have our revenge, and eat a good meal! Let's eat Jesuit, let's eat Jesuit!" …Seeing the cauldron and the spits, Candide cried out, "Ah, what would Dr. Pangloss say if he saw what pure nature is like? All is well, I won't argue about it; but I must admit it's a cruel fate to have lost Lady Cunegonde and then be roasted on a spit by the Oreillons."[12]

Candide asks Cacambo to explain "How horribly inhuman it is to cook men… how unchristian…." Cacambo, instead, uses logic: it's normal to want to kill one's enemy, however

"If we don't exercise the right to eat him, it's because we have other things to make a good meal of. But you don't have the same resources as we do, and it's certainly better to eat your enemies than abandon the fruit of your victory to crows and ravens."[13]

He concludes his argument by telling the cannibals that they are mistaken in thinking that they have captured Jesuits. The Oreillons, more reasonable than Candide, are persuaded by Cacambo. They release their prisoners, treat them as honored guests, and toast them with cheers of "He's not a Jesuit, he's not a Jesuit!"[14]

In Anthony Burgess' novel The Wanting Seed, the protagonist, Tristram Foxe, lives in an overpopulated future that has reverted to ancient sources of protein. He encounters a soldier who talks about his source of food:

"It's officially called tinned pork," he said. …but the canning makes it seem civilized.'"…"It would seem," said Tristram, "that we're all cannibals." "Yes, but, damn it all, we in Aylesbury are at least civilized cannibals. It makes all the difference if you get it out of a tin."[15]

Burgess' application of civilizing techniques to cannibalism is carried even further by J.P. Donleavy. His The Unexpurgated Code: A Complete Manual of Survival & Manners, deals with problems not often covered in etiquette books. He seemed to have the Uruguayan plane crash in mind when he wrote about

The regrettable possibility therefore must be considered of ingesting one of your fellow passengers. This you may really find foul making to contemplate, especially with the type that might be sitting next to you these days on group charter flights. But here is a rare opportunity to find qualities objectionable in the living quite beneficial in the dead.[16]

On the other hand, one might find oneself seated next to some vision of loveliness

…who makes your mouth water to eat. Under no circumstances is it permissible to allow any expression of this appetite upon your face. It is bound to be the most sickly visage imaginable. You may freely, however, contemplate her delightfully eating you.

He reminds us that, given the chance to eat said vision of loveliness, we should

Be mindful not to exhibit any relish while ingesting the gorgeous body, hungry as you may be, and never smack or lick your lips over her dainty viands. …Of course, fair is fair, and some allowance can be made for the normal healthy enjoyment of a bite to eat.[17]

Donleavy, in a kind of quid pro quo, once announced that, after his death, he wanted his body sealed up in a huge cask of beer, to be consumed by his drinking buddies all around Dublin.

Americans are traditionally squeamish about eating organ meats. Combining that reluctance with our national unease about sexual matters, the consumption of Rocky Mountain oysters takes on overtones of dare-taking. Such squeamishness is sometimes indulged in for pleasure, and we can to skip from aversion to aversion when it suits our whims. Consider this joke about a

…man [who] went to a gourmet restaurant in the great bull-fighting city of Barcelona. He was reading the menu and saw an item he didn't recognize, something like "Orbs of the Ring." …he was told that they were bull's testicles, broiled and sliced, and that the restaurant had an exclusive contract with the arena to supply them fresh from the day's contest. Well, the man ordered them and was served two large circular slabs of meat, which he very much enjoyed. In fact he liked them so much he returned each day and ordered them. One day, instead of the usual large slices of meat, he was served several small pieces of meat about the size of grapes cut in half. When he asked the waiter why, the water shrugged and said, "Sometimes, the bull is not the loser."[18]

Another, shorter, exercise in castration anxiety: Two cannibals are enjoying a meal. One of the cannibals keeps laughing and laughing between bites. Finally, one of the other cannibals looks up from his meal and asks why his companion is so happy. The other cannibal smiles and says "Oh, I'm just having a ball!"[19]

At least two tongue-in-cheek cannibal cookbooks exist: Wendy and Kimberly Spurr's Alferd Packer's High Protein Cookbook (1995), and Karl Würf's To Serve Man: A Cookbook for the People (1979). Würf's book is loaded with recipes for dishes like Scrapple of Man, Hungarian Ghoulash, Hunter Stew, Mannerschnitzel, and Homme Bourguinon -- complete with coy little headnotes like this one for Shepherd's Pie:

This ...recipe was invented for shepherds, rather than to be made of them, although it might have had some applicability to cattlemen's and sheepmen's feuds (see also Texas Chili with Cowboy).[20]

Jokes touch places that are hidden from view, but not far from consciousness. Sometimes, the first time we recognize that something is true is when we hear it in a joke. The always-irreverant Bill Maher may have exposed the truth behind these cannibal jokes: "…a good joke is telling a secret that everyone knows but no one has yet said out loud. That's why it gets a reaction."[21]


Notes

[1] Twain, Mark. "Cannibalism in the Cars," in Neider, Charles. (ed.). The Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, 1957, p. 14.

[2] Twain, in Neider, p. 15.

[3] Petronius. The Satyricon (Arrowsmith, William, trans.). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1959, p. 181.

[4] Petronius, p. 181.

[5] Petronius, p. 182.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Swift, Jonathan. "A Modest Proposal" in English Prose of the Eighteenth Century. (Moore, Cecil A. ed) New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1933, p. 225.
The notion that the rich and powerful might literally consume others, is oft repeated. Patrick Bateman, the cannibal yuppie featured in American Psycho is just one popular example.

[8] Bierce, Ambrose. The Devil's Dictionary. Mount Vernon, NY: The Peter Pauper Press, 1958, p. 14.

[9] "Did We Eat One Another?" in Bierce, Ambrose. The Sardonic Humor of Ambrose Bierce. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1963, p. 193. 
Once, Ralph Waldo Emerson was pontificating about the horrors of cannibalism, at the same time as he was carving a roast for his dinner guests. One of those guests, Bronson Alcott—a confirmed vegetarian—asked. "But Mr. Emerson, if we are to eat meat at all why should we not eat the best?"

[10] Bierce, 1963, pp. 193-194.

[11] Voltaire, Philosophical Dictionary, (Gay, Peter, trans.) New York: Basic Books, Inc., 1962 pp. 86-88.

[12] Voltaire. Candide. (Bair, Lowell, trans.) New York: Bantam Books, 1962, pp. 85-87.

[13] Ibid., p. 87.

[14] The word "Oreillons" has among its meanings, "ear muffs." Voltaire, perhaps, intended to draw attention to the Panglossian habit of muffling inconvenient evidence—just as Rousseau would have to have done to support of his Noble Savage conception? Ironically, the reports of Jesuits about native life in the New World provided just that kind of inconvenient evidence.

[15] Burgess, Anthony. The Wanting Seed. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1962 (first American edition, 1963), pp. 171-173.

[16] Donleavy, J.P. The Unexpurgated Code: A Complete Manual of Survival & Manners. New York: Delacorte Press/Seymour Lawrence, 1975, p. 70.

[17] Ibid, pp. 71-72.

[18] Demas, Chuck. "Orbs of the Ring." Online. posted to the ChileHeads listserv, 12 September 1997. (ChileHeads Digest V4 #120 ), n.p.

[19] "Nothing Like a Good Joke," Prairie Home Companion, online at http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/, accessed 11 January 2008.

[20] Würf, Karl. To Serve Man: A Cookbook for People. Philadelphia: Owlswick Press, 1976, p. 21.
 More faux cannibal recipes can be found in Allen, Gary and Ken Albala (eds.). Human Cuisine. Charleston, SC: Booksurge, 2008.

[21] "Sunday." The New York Times Magazine, May 28, 1995, p. 10.

What, Exactly, are Herbs?

And how are they different from "spices?" It would be wonderful to have simple and straightforward answers to these questions but, unfortunately, no such answers exist.

The term "spice" doesn't even exist for botanists. And the adjective "spicy," like "hot," can refer to so many different sensations that it no longer serves a useful descriptive purpose. The word "herb" means too many different things to different people. Botanically-speaking, herbs are non-woody vascular plants that die or waste away after flowering. For cooks and gardeners, that definition is useless.

Gardeners know that some "herbs" (rosemary, sage and thyme) become woody with age, and don't "waste away" -- and laurel (bay leaves) are picked from an actual tree. Cooks distinguish herbs and spices by the parts used: "herbs" are foliage or flowers; while "spices" come from bark, seeds, or roots. In practice, "herbs" are grown in our gardens, while we import spices -- usually from the tropics.

Any set of rules we choose is bound to be plagued by exceptions. Mustard and coriander seeds are treated as spices, but they thrive in our gardens, and their leaves are used like "herbs." Fresh young mustard leaves serve as salad herbs, while older leaves are slowly cooked pot-herbs. We sprinkle cilantro sparingly, as a fresh herb, while Vietnamese toss so much on their dishes that it's practically a salad. Thai cooks treat leaves, stems and roots of cilantro as distinct ingredients… and rarely use the seeds.

We think of cloves as "spice," yet they are the unopened buds of flower, which -- by some definitions -- suggests "herb." Europeans only know clove in this form, but Indonesians use leaves, twigs, and bark. Various parts of the clove tree provide seasoning, food, perfume -- and even cigarettes called kretek -- all made with one or more parts of the tree. Eurocentric "spice" seems wholly inadequate when seen from the perspective of the Indonesians who harvest it.

While most of us think of cinnamon only as a spice (the inner bark of a tropical tree), the ancient Greeks and Romans took a broader view. They imported vast quantities of leaves, called phyllon and malabathrum, from a tree that is closely related to the one gives us cinnamon. These leaves have a stronger cinnamon presence than the bark, so perhaps our question should be, "why did cooks stop using these leaves?"

One answer is that they didn't -- they're still commonly used in the cooking of South Asia (Bhutan, India, and Nepal).

Our distinction between "herbs" and "spices" is an accident of geography, history, and contemporary modes of transportation. Those we call "herbs" have been grown, historically, in European gardens. Before the Age of Exploration, "spices" could only be obtained only through a series of intermediaries, who preferred to keep the knowledge of their sources proprietary. These sources were so mysterious that Europeans believed that they grew only in the Garden of Eden. Cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and pepper were imported from distant lands, on the backs of camels trudging along secret spice routes, or – later -- on very small ships. The costs imposed by the spice traders, and the dangers they faced along the way, forced them to choose only the most densely-flavored parts of tropical plants. Handling huge volumes of leaves and twigs was simply not cost-effective.

__________________

This is excerpted from Herbs: A Global History, a new volume in Reaktion's Edible Series of single-topic books on food and drink. It's scheduled for publication later this month, but can be pre-ordered in hard cover or for kindle.

Food Sites for April 2012

'tis practically April Fool's Day, a date that should be recognized as a National Holiday (at least in those years in which national elections are held). However -- as we already provide an ample supply of foolishness -- we shall resist the temptation to wax frivolous on matters political; they have an adverse affect upon both appetite and digestion, and we can't have that, can we?

Regular subscribers to our updates newsletter receive these updates from our blog, Just Served, directly -- but there is much at the blog that isn't sent automatically. Just Served dishes out more than reasonable people want to chew -- but, if you're feeling particularly unreasonable, and don't want to wait for these newsletters, you can follow us on Facebook, or Twitter. Our Facebook and Twitter friends (are we called "twits?") have already heard about our recent article -- "Much Ado about Mush," in Roll Magazine -- but it can also be found here.

The book launch party for our latest book, Herbs: A Global History is on April 30th in NYC. If you would like to join us -- for a copy of the book, a tasting menu from the book's recipes, and a libation -- you can reserve a spot.

The first draft of our sausage book (for Reaktion's Edible Series) is done. Alas, it's far too wurstig for a slim volume, so we're remorselessly trimming the fat and cholesterol.

A Quiet Little Table in the Corner is an annotated ("annotated" being used, naturally, in its least academic sense) directory of our writings -- mostly on other people's sites.

Leitesculinaria has reposted several of our articles (the entire list is available here, along with several more noteworthy pieces on food history & science.

This month's quotations -- soon to be added to On the Table's culinary quote pages -- are all from Ambrose Bierce. ("Why?" you might wonder, "Is there something special about the date, something significant that I should -- but don't -- know?" It's simple: we like the disappearing curmudgeon, and it's our newsletter -- so we get to put in whatever we like.

DELIBERATION, n. The act of examining one's bread to determine which side it is buttered on.

LAUREL, n. The laurus a vegetable dedicated to Apollo, and formerly defoliated to wreathe the brows of victors and such poets as had influence at court.

NECTAR, n. A drink served at banquets of the Olympian deities. The secret of its preparation is lost, but the modern Kentuckians believe that they come pretty near to a knowledge of its chief ingredient.

RAREBIT n. A Welsh rabbit, in the speech of the humorless, who point out that it is not a rabbit. To whom it may be solemnly explained that the comestible known as toad in the hole is really not a toad, and that ris de veau à la financière is not the smile of a calf prepared after the recipe of a she-banker.

RUM, n. Generically, fiery liquors that produce madness in total abstainers.

SATIETY, n. The feeling that one has for the plate after he has eaten its contents, madam.

Gary
April, 2012


PS: If you encounter broken links, changed URLs -- or know of wonderful sites we've missed -- please drop us a line. It helps to keep this resource as useful as possible for all of us. To those of you who have suggested sites -- thanks, and keep them coming!

PPS: If you wish to change the e-mail address at which you receive these newsletters, or otherwise modify the way you receive our postings, go here.

PPPS: If you've received this newsletter by mistake, and/or don't wish to receive future issues, you have our sincere apology and can have your e-mail address deleted from the list immediately. We're happy (and continuously amazed) that so few people have decided to leave the list -- but, should you choose to be one of them, let us know and we'll see that your in-box is never afflicted by these updates again. You can unsubscribe here.


----the new sites----

à la carte
(a huge collection of articles by Peter Hertzmann, mostly about French cuisine)

Confederate Receipt Book
(a collection of recipes, from 1863, in the Duke University Libraries)

Describing Food
(a glossary of effective adjectives)

Experts "Taste Wine Differently from Others"
(John-Paul Ford Rojas' article, in The Telegraph, that's suggests that wine experts may be supertasters)

Film on Food; Foods on Film
(extensive list of films about, or that feature, food -- with brief synopses; a downloadable PDF)

Food
(chefs, cuisines, ingredients, recipes, and techniques -- plus a blog and FAQ; all from our friends at the BBC)

Foodie Bugle, The
(e-zine about "...simple, frugal, seasonal food and drink from farm to fork, from soil to shop, from grape to glass")

Iran: The Land of Bread and Spice
(Anissa Helou's Salon article on the glories of "Persian" cuisine)

Kentucky Receipt Book
(text of Mary Harris Frazer's 1903 cookbook, for various e-book readers)

Recipes with No Name
(Fabio Parasecoli's article, on Huffington Post, remembering Brazilian foods past, and experiencing academic guilt over forgetting the dishes' creators)

Rise and Fall of White Bread, The
(Aaron Bobrow-Strain's article, in Slate, on how a symbol of purity became a metaphor for non-adventurist caucasians)

Sailu's Kitchen
(vegetarian recipes from India)

Special Report: Tastes of the Union
(Bret Thorne's article, in Nation's Restaurant News, on chains' efforts to adapt company menus to regional tastes)

Taste of Sound, The
(Barb Stuckey's article, in Salon, on ways that ambient sound affect our perceptions of taste)

Those Fat Tails
(the skinny on fat-tailed sheep)

Ultimate in Heirloom Wheat Arrives at Seed Vault, The
(Dan Charles's article about some of the ways we're preserving a little of our pasts)

What Would Great-Grandma Eat?
(Aaron Bobrow-Strain's article, in The Chronicle of Higher Education, about resistance to change in eating habits -- despite knowing the effects of one's current diet)


----how-to (or inspirational) sites----

Cookbooks Used to be for Cooking. Now They are for Looking.

How Do You Cite a Tweet in an Academic Paper?

It's the Era of Crowdsourced Recipes -- Long Live the Cookbook

Kindest Cookbook, The

And, perhaps, a bit less inspirational (unless you've got some other ideas up your sleeve):

Godin to Authors: You Have No Right to Make Money Any More


----yet more blogs----

Cookistry

Dare to Eat a Peach

Food and Think


----that's all for now----

Except, of course, for the usual legalistic mumbo-jumbo and commercial flim-flam:

Your privacy is important to us. We will not give, sell or share your e-mail address with anyone, for any purpose -- ever. Nonetheless, we will expose you to the following irredeemably brazen plugs:

Our books, The Resource Guide for Food Writers, The Herbalist in the Kitchen, The Business of Food: Encyclopedia of the Food And Drink Industries, and Human Cuisine are currently available.

Advance orders for Herbs: A Global History , in print, or in the Kindle edition, get a substantial pre-publication discount.

Here endeth the sales pitch(es)...

...for the moment, anyway.

________________

"The Resource Guide for Food Writers, Update #138" is protected by copyright, and is provided at no cost, for your personal use only. It may not be copied or retransmitted unless this notice remains affixed. Any other form of republication -- unless with the author's prior written permission -- is strictly prohibited.

Copyright (c) 2012 by Gary Allen.

Food Sites for March 2012

This winter is one for the books. Before January was gone, crocuses (croci?) had sprouted, and we have had actual blooms for over a week already. Before today, February had delivered just 1/2 inch of snow, and we've only accumulated two inches more this morning. Some wild greens (like bitter Garlic Mustard) are already showing.

We're grateful, naturally, but the whole thing is decidedly weird.

Regular subscribers to our updates newsletter receive these updates from our blog, Just Served, directly -- but there is much more at the blog that isn't sent automatically. We (regretfully) realize that even readers such as our own do not possess unlimited tolerance. Just Served dishes out more than reasonable people want to chew -- but, if you're feeling particularly unreasonable, and don't want to wait for these newsletters, you can follow us on Facebook, or Twitter.

Facebook friends who follow our soi-disant "progress" have already been exposed to a miniscule scrap of doggerel, "A Revelation of Sorts" -- but it can also be found here. Facebook and twitter friends have also been alerted about the book launch party for our latest book, Herbs: A Global History. If you're interested in joining the festivities (and can't think of anything better to do), you can find details here.

The Roger Smith Cookbook Conference was delightful, giving us a chance to reconnect with old friends, as well as meet new ones, and put faces on virtual friends we've had for years. Videos of the conference will be posted on the hotel's website soon.

Meanwhile, we're still stuffing words into our sausage book (for Reaktion's Edible Series). The book is already longer than the contract specifies, and there's still much to be written. Writing, like sausage, is a delicate balancing act between juicy plumpness and just too much fat.

Speaking of too much fat, "A Quiet Little Table in the Corner" is an annotated ("annotated" being academic-speak for "yadda yadda yadda... whatevah") directory of our writings -- mostly on other people's sites.

Leitesculinaria has reposted several of our articles (the entire list is available, along with several more noteworthy pieces on food history & science.

This month's quotations -- soon to be added to On the Table's culinary quote pages -- revel in procrastination (with an over-the-shoulder glance at one of the more recently expired New Year's celebrations):

When it comes to Chinese food I have always operated under the policy that the less known about the preparation the better. ...A wise diner who is invited to visit the kitchen replies by saying, as politely as possible, that he has a pressing engagement elsewhere. Calvin Trillin

When I'm at a Chinese restaurant having a hard time with chopsticks, I always hope that there's a Chinese kid at an American restaurant somewhere who's struggling mightily with a fork. Rick Budinich

Chopsticks are one of the reasons the Chinese never invented custard. Spike Milligan

Gary
March, 2012


PS: If you encounter broken links, changed URLs -- or know of wonderful sites we've missed -- please drop us a line. It helps to keep this resource as useful as possible for all of us. To those of you who have suggested sites -- thanks, and keep them coming!

PPS: If you wish to change the e-mail address at which you receive these newsletters, or otherwise modify the way you receive our postings, go here.

PPPS: If you've received this newsletter by mistake, and/or don't wish to receive future issues, you have our sincere apology and can have your e-mail address deleted from the list immediately. We're happy (and continuously amazed) that so few people have decided to leave the list -- but, should you choose to be one of them, let us know and we'll see that your in-box is never afflicted by these updates again. You can unsubscribe here.


----the new sites----

American Food: A Call for Culinary Independence
(Josh Ozersky's article in TIME Magazine)

Archive for the "Cuisine Articles" Category
(articles on Moroccan cookery)

Art of the Menu
(many individual articles about graphically-elegant menu designs)

Cake Recipes
(from Godey's Lady's Book, 1860)

Christmas Dinner
(from Godey's Lady's Book, 1860)

Eating Alone
(Tucker Shaw's article in the Denver Post; "There's nothing quite like sharing a meal with someone you love - yourself")

English Housewife, The
(transcription of Gervase Markham's 1683 book)

Food Industry in Italy, The
(a report by four professors at the University of Bologna; in PDF format)

Impact of Slow Cooker Cuisine, The
(Megan Elias looks at a device that has gone in and out of fashion, for centuries)

In Italian Food, What's Authentic and Does It Really Even Matter?
(Sara Jenkins article in The Atlantic)

Inquisitive Eater, The
(online food magazine from The New School's Writing Program and Food studies program)

People Read Menus Differently Than Everyone Thought
(Paula Forbes writes about recent research into one of the sacred tenets of the restaurant industry; includes a link to the original study)

Recipes
(from Regency England, late eighteenth-early nineteenth centuries)

Renaissance at the Dinner Table, The
(Dr. Alessandro Giacomello's essay, notes, and recipes from fifteenth-century Germany and Italy)

Sip for the Ancestors, A
("The True Story of Civilization's Stumbling Debt to Beer and Fungus;" series of articles in Scientific American's blog, on the origins of agriculture)

USA Pears
(pear recipes, nutrition, and press releases from The Pear Bureau Northwest)

What's on the Menu?
(view, search within, read about -- and even help the development of -- the New York Public Library's online collection of historic menus)


----how-to sites for writers/bloggers ----

Here are a few Facebook groups that might interest food writers:

Cookbook Friends
(this is a closed group; it's by invitation only)

Food Pursuit

Writers and Readers United - Living Wages for Lit!


----yet more blogs----

Hunger and Thirst

Pilgrim Seasonings

White on Rice Couple


----that's all for now----

Except, of course, for the usual legalistic mumbo-jumbo and commercial flim-flam:

Your privacy is important to us. We will not give, sell or share your e-mail address with anyone, for any purpose -- ever. Nonetheless, we will expose you to the following irredeemably brazen plugs:

Our books, The Resource Guide for Food Writers, The Herbalist in the Kitchen, The Business of Food: Encyclopedia of the Food And Drink Industries, and Human Cuisine are currently available. Advance orders for Herbs: A Global History can also be taken.

Here endeth the sales pitch(es)...

...for the moment, anyway.

—————————

"The Resource Guide for Food Writers, Update #137" is protected by copyright, and is provided at no cost, for your personal use only. It may not be copied or retransmitted unless this notice remains affixed. Any other form of republication -- unless with the author's prior written permission -- is strictly prohibited.

Copyright (c) 2012 by Gary Allen.

Save the Date: April 30, 2012

Title: Savory Weeds
Time: 6:30-9 pm
Location: Roger Smith Hotel, 501 Lexington at 47th St., New York

Description: Long before humans began to cultivate their own crops, they hunted and foraged for food. Eventually they found that they could produce larger quantities of grains and vegetables through farming, but the plants that made their meals more interesting still grew wild in the rocky places that were generally unsuitable for agriculture. We call those plants "herbs." Some are still collected in the wild, and some we carefully nurture, carrying their seeds with us to new places -- the travels of herbs mirror our own migrations, some as welcome guests, some as stealthy stow-aways. The herbs we brought along changed the diets of people in the new places, and the herbs we discovered at the our destinations changed the way we ate.

About the speaker: Gary Allen is Food History Editor at LeitesCulinaria.com, teaches food writing and various food & culture courses at Empire State College, and has been Vice President, Newsletter Editor and Webmaster for the Association for the Study of Food and Society. His previous books include: The Resource Guide for Food Writers; The Herbalist in the Kitchen; The Business of Food: Encyclopedia of the Food and Drink Industries; Human Cuisine (the last two co-edited with historian Ken Albala); and has contributed to numerous culinary encyclopedias. He's currently working on Sausage: A Global History, another title in Reaktion Press's Edible Series. His website (On the Table) and blog (Just Served) can found here. Moderated by Andrew F. Smith.

Cost: $50, which includes a copy of Herbs: A Global History , a four course tasting menu inspired by the book and a beverage

Register for the event here.