Gary Allen's Blog, page 27
April 17, 2011
Roquefort French Dressing
Roquefort cheese has been made in the caves of Combalou, Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, at least since Gaul was occupied by the Romans -- Pliny the Elder spoke highly of it, and he was not the sort who normally gushed gourmet superlatives. By1411, Les Causses had been granted the exclusive right to the name "Roquefort," and all other blue-veined cheeses had to make their own reputations. Salads, of course, go back much further -- they were known to the ancient Greeks, but didn't have an entire book devoted to them until 1699, when Robert Evelyn published his Acetaria: A Discourse on Sallets.
When salad and Roquefort cheese first got together is somewhat more mysterious. Usually, recipes just "happen," they evolve, often in several places at the same time in response to new tastes, the availability of new ingredients, etc. Only rarely can we provide, with any certainty, the "who, what, where, when and how" of a recipe's creation.
We can look for clues to "who, what, where, when and how" it might have been invented though. We know that Roquefort Dressing did not first appear in France -- the French preferred simple vinaigrettes on their salads, and thought too highly of the great cheese to reduce it to the status of a mere ingredient in something else.
We also know that Roquefort cheese was fairly known in the US, at least as early as the 1850s. Thomas Jefferson would surely have known about it over fifty years earlier, and he was very fond of salads -- but they tended to be dressed with egg-yolk-thickened dressings. (Hatch, 2002 and Hess, 1977)
Homans Isaac Smith wrote, in 1859:
In 1915, Hellman's mayonnaise first appeared in jars -- and salad dressings began to multiply; Ranch, Green Goddess and a new sweet-sour orange concoction called "French Dressing" (that had nothing whatsoever in common with the traditional vinaigrettes) soon appeared on grocer's shelves. (Anderson, p. 296)
By the 1920s, green salads became popular -- first in California, and then across the country (especially in the new tea rooms that catered to a female clientele). According to Jan Whitaker,
The first Fannie Farmer recipe is almost identical to the one in Irma Rombauer's Joy of Cooking (first published 1931), which means the dressing had become a standard by that time.
And yes -- even the details of the history of recent inventions, like Buffalo Chicken Wings, are hotly argued (there wouldn't be a need for food historians if all the answers were easy) -- but you can sort through the accounts for yourself at On the Wings of a Buffalo or "Mother Teressa's Wings."
Bibliography
Anderson, Jean. American Century Cook Book: The Most Popular Recipes of the 20th Century. New York: Clarkson Potter, 1997.
Carr, Sandy. The Simon & Schuster Pocket Guide to Cheese: A Complete Guide to the Cheeses of the World. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992.
Estes, Rufus. Good Things to Eat. Chicago: Rufus Estes, 1911.
Farmer, Fannie Merritt. The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book. Boston: n.p., 1896 (facsimile of the 1st ed.; New York: Weathervane Books/Crown, 1973).
The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book. 1918.
The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book. (eighth ed.; edited & updated by Wilma Lord Perkins), Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1947.
Hatch, Peter J. "Thomas Jefferson's Favorite Vegetables," Twinleaf Journal, Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc., 2002.
Hess, John L. and Karen Hess. The Taste of America. New York: Viking/Grossman, 1977.
L., E. H., "America seen with Foreign Eyes, Chapter VI," Appletons' Journal: A Magazine of General Literature, Volume 13, Issue 326, June 19, 1875, pp.778-781.
Making of America (MOA) is a digital library of primary sources in American social history primarily from the antebellum period through reconstruction. Many of the books cited here were accessed at MOA.
Shircliffe, Arnold. Edgewater Beach Hotel Salad Book. Evanston, IL: Hotel Monthly Press, 1928.
Shuman, Carrie V. Favorite Dishes: A Columbian Autograph Souvenir Cookery Book. Chicago, 1893.
Sikes, Wirt. "Six Hotels," Appletons' Journal: A Magazine of General Literature, Volume 1, Issue 1, July 1876, pp.14-19.
Smith, Homans, I.. A Cyclopedia of Commerce and Commercial Navigation. 1859.
Storke, Elliot G. (ed.). Domestic and Rural Affairs. The Family, Farm and Gardens, and the Domestic Animals. ... From the Latest and Best Authorities. 1859.
Whitaker, Jan. Tea at the Blue Lantern Inn: A Social History of the Tea Room Craze in America. New York: St. Martin's Press, 2002.
_________
This article was originally written under the auspices of Leitesculinaria.com. It first appeared, with their permission, in Food History News, Sandy Oliver's delightful and much-missed newsletter.
When salad and Roquefort cheese first got together is somewhat more mysterious. Usually, recipes just "happen," they evolve, often in several places at the same time in response to new tastes, the availability of new ingredients, etc. Only rarely can we provide, with any certainty, the "who, what, where, when and how" of a recipe's creation.
We can look for clues to "who, what, where, when and how" it might have been invented though. We know that Roquefort Dressing did not first appear in France -- the French preferred simple vinaigrettes on their salads, and thought too highly of the great cheese to reduce it to the status of a mere ingredient in something else.
We also know that Roquefort cheese was fairly known in the US, at least as early as the 1850s. Thomas Jefferson would surely have known about it over fifty years earlier, and he was very fond of salads -- but they tended to be dressed with egg-yolk-thickened dressings. (Hatch, 2002 and Hess, 1977)
Homans Isaac Smith wrote, in 1859:
Elliot G. Storke, also writing in 1859, agreed with Smith:
In France the Roquefort cheese is the most esteemed, and next that of Neufchatel. The former somewhat resembles Stilton, but is much inferior; and the latter is a cream cheese, seldom exceeding a quarter of a pound. (Smith, p. 294)
Apparently, Mr. Smith's and Mr. Storke's tastes were still primarily British, long after the rest of the country was independent of England. One traveler, writing in Appletons' Journal: A Magazine of General Literature, in 1875, had a somewhat different opinion of the cheese.
In France, the Roquefort cheese is compared to our Stilton, but is much inferior, although a good cheese. The little cheeses made from cream and folded in paper, called Neufchatel cheeses, are imported from France as a delicacy. (Storke, p. 151)
Wirt Sikes, traveling to Brussels, complained about his accommodations in a hotel there:
If America ever produced cheese equal to that delicious green-streaked cream, which is known as the Roquefort, its manufacture may surely be ranked among the forgotten arts. (L., E. H., p.p. 778-781)
By the 1870s American palates had clearly become more sophisticated. Salads with
There was no gas, and the dim light of the solitary candles did not produce a cheerful effect. There was no fireplace in either room, and we could not get warm. Weary and worn, chilled and hungry, we dejectedly ordered a cold chicken and a bit of Roquefort cheese to be served in my room, for the dining-room was closed and the kitchen-fires were out, although it was not yet midnight. The chicken came, but no Roquefort; they had only Stilton and Cheshire, the waiter said, in English. In fact, we had chanced upon the particular hotel in Brussels where they give you the English language in lieu of comfort, and English dishes in lieu of good living. (Sikes, pp. 14-19)
Fannie Farmer's original 1896 Boston Cooking-School Cook Book used "French dressing" in the vinaigrette sense, and included some 13 recipes for salad dressings, but none of them resembles Roquefort Dressing. Several had creamy textures, but they were cooked and contained cream and/or egg yolks. This is hardly surprising, as she doesn't even list Roquefort among the cheeses she included in her book. Curiously, she does mention three mold-veined cheeses: Cheshire, Gorgonzola and Stilton. (Farmer, 1896, pp. 13, 288-292)
"French dressings" (vinaigrettes with various additions) became fashionable in America in the 1880s, but in the cookbook assembled by the Board of Lady Managers of the World's Columbian Exposition, no mention of Roquefort Dressing appeared. (Shuman, 1893)
In 1915, Hellman's mayonnaise first appeared in jars -- and salad dressings began to multiply; Ranch, Green Goddess and a new sweet-sour orange concoction called "French Dressing" (that had nothing whatsoever in common with the traditional vinaigrettes) soon appeared on grocer's shelves. (Anderson, p. 296)
By the 1920s, green salads became popular -- first in California, and then across the country (especially in the new tea rooms that catered to a female clientele). According to Jan Whitaker,
Finally, in the salad dressing recipes in 1928s Edgewater Beach Hotel Salad Book, we find:
Salads, called "the thinking woman's luncheon, and the university girl's dessert," were also popular attractions in tea rooms.
Somewhere -- before 1928 -- Roquefort Salad Dressing "just happened" and became popular enough that is became standard almost immediately. What were its immediate precursors; what sorts of things were people eating that might have planted the idea of the dressing in the public mind? One recipe, by Rufus Estes -- chef for two presidents (Grover Cleveland and Benjamin Harrison), and the first African-American to write and publish a cookbook, in 1911 -- is suggestive:
...classified under the headings of French Dressings, Mayonnaises, Boiled Dressings, Sour Cream Dressings, Vinegars, and Miscellaneous Dressings… the final section [was] devoted to… the four universally used dressings, French, Mayonnaise, Roquefort, and Thousand Island. (Shircliffe, p. 242)
Fannie Farmer, in 1918, wrote a recipe that was a little more like what we think of when we hear the term "Roquefort Dressing:"
Trianon Salad
Cut one grapefruit and two oranges in sections and free from seeds and membrane. Skin and seed one cup white grapes and one-third cup pecan nut meats in small pieces. Mix ingredients, arrange on a bed of romaine and pour over the following dressing: Mix four tablespoons olive oil, one tablespoon grape juice, one tablespoon grape vinegar, one-fourth teaspoon paprika, one-eighth teaspoon pepper and one tablespoon fine chopped Roquefort cheese. This dressing should stand in the ice-box four or five hours to become seasoned. (Estes, p. 33)
By 1947, The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book had two versions of a dressing we would immediately recognize. Both were based on "French Dressing" (a basic vinaigrette) with crumbled Roquefort added; one also contained mayonnaise:
Tomato and Cheese Salad
Peel six medium-sized tomatoes, chill, and scoop out a small quantity of pulp from the centre of each. Fill cavities, using equal parts of Roquefort and Neufchatel cheese worked together and moistened with French Dressing. Arrange on lettuce leaves and serve with French Dressing. (Farmer, 1918, p. 61)
and:
Roquefort French Dressing
Add 1 to 4 Tablespoons dry Roquefort cheese crumbs and a few drops of onion juice. (Farmer, 1947, p. 477)
Roquefort Cheese Dressing
2 Tablespoons mayonnaise
French Dressing
2 Tablespoons Roquefort Cheese
1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
Mix mayonnaise and cheese and add French dressing very slowly; then add Worcestershire sauce. Cream cheese or Roquefort-flavored cream cheese may be use in place of Roquefort. (Farmer, 1947, p. 481)
The first Fannie Farmer recipe is almost identical to the one in Irma Rombauer's Joy of Cooking (first published 1931), which means the dressing had become a standard by that time.
We do know the particulars on some Roquefort recipes, however. Cobb salad (which contained Roquefort -- but crumbled on top of the vinaigrette, not blended in -- rather like Este's Trianon Salad) was invented at the Original Hollywood Brown Derby, in 1937 by owner Bob Cobb. The best-known dish making use of Roquefort Dressing is Buffalo Chicken Wings, invented by Frank and Teressa Bellisimo, at the Anchor Bar, 1047 Main Street, Buffalo, New York. The hot-sauce-drenched wings, accompanied by celery sticks and Roquefort Dressing, were first served in 1964.
Roquefort or Blue Cheese French Dressing
Prepare: 1/2 Cup French Dressing
Beat into it 2 Tablespoons or more crumbled Roquefort or blue cheese.
And yes -- even the details of the history of recent inventions, like Buffalo Chicken Wings, are hotly argued (there wouldn't be a need for food historians if all the answers were easy) -- but you can sort through the accounts for yourself at On the Wings of a Buffalo or "Mother Teressa's Wings."
Bibliography
Anderson, Jean. American Century Cook Book: The Most Popular Recipes of the 20th Century. New York: Clarkson Potter, 1997.
Carr, Sandy. The Simon & Schuster Pocket Guide to Cheese: A Complete Guide to the Cheeses of the World. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992.
Estes, Rufus. Good Things to Eat. Chicago: Rufus Estes, 1911.
Farmer, Fannie Merritt. The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book. Boston: n.p., 1896 (facsimile of the 1st ed.; New York: Weathervane Books/Crown, 1973).
The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book. 1918.
The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book. (eighth ed.; edited & updated by Wilma Lord Perkins), Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1947.
Hatch, Peter J. "Thomas Jefferson's Favorite Vegetables," Twinleaf Journal, Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc., 2002.
Hess, John L. and Karen Hess. The Taste of America. New York: Viking/Grossman, 1977.
L., E. H., "America seen with Foreign Eyes, Chapter VI," Appletons' Journal: A Magazine of General Literature, Volume 13, Issue 326, June 19, 1875, pp.778-781.
Making of America (MOA) is a digital library of primary sources in American social history primarily from the antebellum period through reconstruction. Many of the books cited here were accessed at MOA.
Shircliffe, Arnold. Edgewater Beach Hotel Salad Book. Evanston, IL: Hotel Monthly Press, 1928.
Shuman, Carrie V. Favorite Dishes: A Columbian Autograph Souvenir Cookery Book. Chicago, 1893.
Sikes, Wirt. "Six Hotels," Appletons' Journal: A Magazine of General Literature, Volume 1, Issue 1, July 1876, pp.14-19.
Smith, Homans, I.. A Cyclopedia of Commerce and Commercial Navigation. 1859.
Storke, Elliot G. (ed.). Domestic and Rural Affairs. The Family, Farm and Gardens, and the Domestic Animals. ... From the Latest and Best Authorities. 1859.
Whitaker, Jan. Tea at the Blue Lantern Inn: A Social History of the Tea Room Craze in America. New York: St. Martin's Press, 2002.
_________
This article was originally written under the auspices of Leitesculinaria.com. It first appeared, with their permission, in Food History News, Sandy Oliver's delightful and much-missed newsletter.
April 10, 2011
Sigh of Relief Dept.: Outtakes
Yesterday, I finished editing a book I've been writing for over a decade. The Book's working title is How to Serve Man: On Cannibalism, Sex, Sacrifice, and the Nature of Eating.
Really.
It's about the irrational notions we have about all of those subjects, how they're interconnected, and how they got to be that way. People-eating provides the hook upon which all these speculations depend.
As someone else has said, "it's been a long strange trip."
Most of the time was spent in researching and writing, and every minute was a pleasure -- not a bit like work. However, the editing was a different story.
By "editing" I mean cutting about 30% of the text, deleting duplications and irrelevant (but tasty) digressions along the way... then going back to rewrite thousands of passages to ensure that the thing still made sense.
The classic advice to anyone about to begin such an endeavor is "kill the stuff you love."
Take no prisoners.
Be ruthless.
Sophie's Choice was probably Styron's way of complaining about the editing process.
And they wonder why so many writers drink.
Among the deleted "tasty digressions" and "stuff that I love" was an appendix featuring a listing of cinematic cannibals (actually a chronological listing of films that incorporate cannibal themes). While assembling the list, I was amazed at how many there were, and in how many ways the subject could be handled.
I was sorry to see it go -- but just because it won't be in the book, doesn't mean it's gone forever. If you're interested in such things, the list is here, for your perusal.
Really.
It's about the irrational notions we have about all of those subjects, how they're interconnected, and how they got to be that way. People-eating provides the hook upon which all these speculations depend.
As someone else has said, "it's been a long strange trip."
Most of the time was spent in researching and writing, and every minute was a pleasure -- not a bit like work. However, the editing was a different story.
By "editing" I mean cutting about 30% of the text, deleting duplications and irrelevant (but tasty) digressions along the way... then going back to rewrite thousands of passages to ensure that the thing still made sense.
The classic advice to anyone about to begin such an endeavor is "kill the stuff you love."
Take no prisoners.
Be ruthless.
Sophie's Choice was probably Styron's way of complaining about the editing process.
And they wonder why so many writers drink.
Among the deleted "tasty digressions" and "stuff that I love" was an appendix featuring a listing of cinematic cannibals (actually a chronological listing of films that incorporate cannibal themes). While assembling the list, I was amazed at how many there were, and in how many ways the subject could be handled.
I was sorry to see it go -- but just because it won't be in the book, doesn't mean it's gone forever. If you're interested in such things, the list is here, for your perusal.
April 6, 2011
Food Sites for April 2011
@font-face { font-family: "Times"; }@font-face { font-family: "New York"; }@font-face { font-family: "Palatino"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; Violafrom: Mainz, Peter Schöffer. Der Gart der Gesundheit. 1485
It's April, one of the busiest months of our year, at least that's an excuse to which we're sticking for the lateness of this issue. If that one seems unconvincing, we'll come up with several others... when we find some free time. Let's just say that editing one book, assembling the graphics for another, and collecting reference materials for a third have pretty much used our waking hours.
Apparently, we must learn to either work in our sleep or learn to do without sleep altogether
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 understand that many (OK, most) folks have better things to do with their time than wade through countless unwanted e-missives, so we won't add ours to that pile. However... should you feel an inexplicable craving for exactly the sort of self-indulgent claptrap we periodically post, you can satisfy that urge at Just Served. Last month we posted but one article, Something from an Old Journal, and even that was recycled from a time before blogs, and even the World Wide Web were even imagined.
Leitesculinaria is still in the process of reposting, sometimes -- with shiny new updates and edits -- some of our older articles. The entire list of our currently-posted LeitesCulinaria articles is available here, along with several other articles on food history & science.
For hard-core addicts of our stuff (assuming such unlikely beings exist), Marty Martindale's Food Site of the Day has been completely redesigned, and has returned to posting A Quiet Little Table in the Corner -- an index of our writings on the web.
Here's a selection soon to be added to On the Table's culinary quote pages. Now that we've all gotten April Fools pranks out of our systems...
"Try a chilli with it, Miss Sharp", said Joseph, really interested. "A chilli," said Rebecca, gasping, "Oh, yes!" She thought a chilli was something cool, as its name imported, and was served with some. "How fresh and green they look," she said, and put one into her mouth. It was hotter than the curry; flesh and blood could bear it no longer. She laid down her fork. "Water, for Heaven's sake, water!" she cried. William Makepeace Thackeray
and that baseball season has finally started...
Sure I eat what I advertise. Sure I eat Wheaties for breakfast. A good bowl of Wheaties with bourbon can't be beat. Dizzy DeanGary
April, 2011
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----
Africooks.com
(site of culinary historian Jessica B. Harris)
America's Largest Cookbook Collection
(New York University's Fales Library Food Studies Collection -- some 55,000 volumes)
Big Fat Debate, A
(Kristin Wartman's Huffington Post article on why fat is not the problem)
Cider Museum Hereford, The
(British museum dedicated to "... to preserv[ing] the history of cider making worldwide")
Fire and Knives
(a food-writing quarterly)
Food, Glorious Food: Baking Blogs and Food Memoirs
(Joanne Conte's article from the NY Public Library's blog)
History, Art and Biography
(the USDA's National Agricultural Library shows some its collections, including: war-era food posters; "digital reproductions of original artwork, nursery and seed trade catalogs, manuscript collections, and portions of rare books from across the agricultural specialties;" "agricultural texts published between the early nineteenth century and the middle to late twentieth century;" "farm weekly newspapers published in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries;" an "historical timeline of American agriculture;" and more)
How 8 Famous Cheeses Got Their Names
(a cheesy little history lesson)
Nutrition and Food Sciences
(free online access to 31 journals)
Pine Nuts (Pignolia): Species, Products, Markets, and Potential for U.S. Production
(paper by University of Missouri's Leonid Sharashkin and Michael Gold; in PDF format)
Rambling Epicure, The
(a daily online international food newspaper)
Remedy Quarterly
("…an independently published magazine of food stories with recipes at the heart")
Taking Root: Cassava Claims its Place on the American Table
(Dorothy Irwin's article in Saveur)
USDA Economics, Statistics and Market Information System (ESMIS)
(Cornell University and USDA provide detailed info on over 2,500 American and international agricultural subjects, as well as related topics)
Vertical Farming: Does it Really Stack Up?
(The Economist looks at "growing crops in vertical farms in the heart of cities")
----how-to blogs----
Blog posts about blogging -- and writing, design, photography, promotion, and ethics -- can help us become better, and possibly more successful, writers (i.e., having more people read our stuff). Here are a few recent favorites:
Food Photography Lighting Tips
Fritinancy
Knock, Knock….Who is at Your Door?
Learn Food Photography
New Google Recipe Search Means Extra Coding for Food Bloggers
----still more blogs----
Marché Dimanche
Musing Bouche, The
Simple Italy
Sweet Paul
----that's all for now----
Except, of course, for the usual legal 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 can be ordered through the Libro-Emporium.
Here endeth the sales pitch(es)...
...for the moment, anyway.
—
"The Resource Guide for Food Writers, Update #126" 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) 2011 by Gary Allen.
March 24, 2011
Something from an Old Journal
This was written almost forty years ago this week, during the faltering presidency of Richard Nixon... but it's still the same story today.___
Just when the arrival of robins and redwing blackbirds has convinced us that Spring has arrived as well; when woodchucks stand bolt upright in the middle of the broad meadows, taking in the new season's illumination; when every night reveals Orion dropping lower in the western sky; just then Winter drops its last heavy load of snow.
It is almost as if Winter decided that a show of power was in order, but the nature of the display points up the season's waning strength. The snow is thick and wet, smelling more like Spring rain than anything else. The snow seems a cruel trick to play on the robins, but the birds show no concern.
They do not confuse contrary weather with the steady progression of the seasons.
February 26, 2011
Food Sites for March 2011
Sage, snow-bound in the Hudson Valley.Don't let Eliot pull your leg -- April is NOT the cruelest month, at least as long as February and March are allowed on the calendar. We had ONE day of spring-like weather (just enough to fool a couple of croci into showing a tiny bit of greenery), then immediately more snow. It is satisfying to know that Winter's days are numbered, though -- and, since rumors of Spring's impending arrival have been floating about, we've posted a little something about certain Mating Habits, just to arouse (that is the polite word, yes?) you from your late-winter torpor. Don't get your "hopes" up prematurely -- the article is G-rated.
We recently attended IACP's Regional Conference in NYC, and got to meet many folks with whom we've been corresponding, and whose books and sites we've been reading, for years. It was a real treat. While there, however, it became painfully obvious that our inner luddite was no longer working for us. So, we finally entered the twitter world -- we're @sanscravat now.
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 understand that many (OK, most) folks have better things to do with their time than wade through countless unwanted e-missives, so we won't add ours to that pile. However... should you feel an inexplicable craving for exactly the sort of self-indulgent claptrap we periodically post, feel free to satisfy that urge at Just Served.
Leitesculinaria is still in the process of reposting -- sometimes with shiny new updates and edits -- some of our older articles. The entire list of our currently-posted LeitesCulinaria articles is available here, along with several other articles on food history & science.
For hard-core addicts of our palaver (it's hard to imagine such beings exist, but ya' never know), Marty Martindale's Food Site of the Day has a slick new design, and has returned to posting A Quiet Little Table in the Corner -- an index of our writings on the web.
Here's a selection soon to be added to On the Table's culinary quote pages. It's the success secret for which you've long been waiting:
"'If you lived on cabbage, you would not be obliged to flatter the powerful.' To which the courtier replied, 'If you flattered the powerful, you would not be obliged to live upon cabbage.'" DiogenesGary
March, 2011
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, frankly, baffled by the fact) 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 infested with these updates again. You can unsubscribe here.
----the new sites----
Agriculture & Natural Resources
(from the University of Georgia College of Agricultural and Environmental Sciences' Cooperative Extension)
Andrea Lynn
(a selection of her articles… many from Chile Pepper magazine, where she's Senior Editor)
Dairy and the US Congress
(an archive of documents concerned with "...legislative issues relating to dairy such as milk pricing, subsidies, and oleomargarine")
Dana's Market Basket
(cookbook author Dana Jacobi's site)
Food Security in Asia and the Changing Role of Rice
(C. Peter Timmer's paper from The Asia Foundation; in PDF format)
Know Your Farmer, Know Your Food
("a USDA-wide effort to create new economic opportunities by better connecting consumers with local producers")
Museum of Culinary History and Alimentation (MOCHA)
(site of the museum in Middlesex, UK)
New Orleans Dining & Restaurant News
(the food section of The Times-Picayune)
Nora Maynard, writer
(foodwriting and photography)
Periodic Table of Meat, The
(one of many such tables of food)
Wild River Review
(the food section of this online magazine)
----changed URLs----
Poor Man's Feast
RUSSELNOD.com
Tom Volk's Fungi
----how-to blogs----
Blog posts about blogging -- and writing, design, photography, promotion, and ethics -- can help us become better, and possibly more successful, writers (i.e., having more people read our scribbles). Here are a few recent favorites:
Food Blogging
Food Photography Through a New Lens
Most Book Deals Originate with Publishers not Authors, Says Cookbook Agent
Will Write For Food, Payment Preferable
----still more blogs----
Artful Gourmet
Cooking in Mexico
Indian Simmer
Jeffrey Morgenthaler
Kitchen Tantra - Tease Your Palate
Poor Girl Gourmet
Rambling Epicure, The
----that's all for now----
Except, of course, for the usual legal 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 can be ordered through the Libro-Emporium .
Here endeth the sales pitch(es)...
...for the moment, anyway.
____________________________
"The Resource Guide for Food Writers, Update #125" 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) 2011 by Gary Allen.
The Mating Habits of Coconuts
Be prepared for a long and, at least to me -- 'though probably not to the coconut -- tedious affair.
After all the floating, bobbing and whatall that passes for courtship, the coconut has to find a suitable nesting spot. It heaves itself up on some distant beach and waits for just the right mood to set in. It then has to construct a tree, drawing nutrients from the soil, and energy from the sun, until large enough to bloom.
This takes quite a bit of time, so I generally go to the kitchen for a sandwich or two.
Once the adolescent tree can develop flowers, it immediately switches to high gear (honestly, most of us would not notice that much was happening). Nonetheless, pollen and stuff get mooshed around together in a mutually satisfying manner, and the (to us) insignificant flower starts to get all bulgy, and then...
...a new coconut is born.
Not exactly a bodice-ripper, is it?
@font-face { font-family: "Times"; }@font-face { font-family: "Palatino"; }@font-face { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro Bold Italic"; }@font-face { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }h1 { margin: 24pt 0in 12pt; page-break-after: avoid; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; }p.MsoBodyText, li.MsoBodyText, div.MsoBodyText { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 13.5pt; font-size: 11pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }span.Heading1Char { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro Bold Italic"; }span.BodyTextChar { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }
(I'm giving you fair warning:
you are about to be exposed to some highly technical botanical concepts)
After all the floating, bobbing and whatall that passes for courtship, the coconut has to find a suitable nesting spot. It heaves itself up on some distant beach and waits for just the right mood to set in. It then has to construct a tree, drawing nutrients from the soil, and energy from the sun, until large enough to bloom.
This takes quite a bit of time, so I generally go to the kitchen for a sandwich or two.
Once the adolescent tree can develop flowers, it immediately switches to high gear (honestly, most of us would not notice that much was happening). Nonetheless, pollen and stuff get mooshed around together in a mutually satisfying manner, and the (to us) insignificant flower starts to get all bulgy, and then...
...a new coconut is born.
Not exactly a bodice-ripper, is it?
@font-face { font-family: "Times"; }@font-face { font-family: "Palatino"; }@font-face { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro Bold Italic"; }@font-face { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 12pt; line-height: 200%; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }h1 { margin: 24pt 0in 12pt; page-break-after: avoid; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-weight: normal; }p.MsoBodyText, li.MsoBodyText, div.MsoBodyText { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 13.5pt; font-size: 11pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }span.Heading1Char { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro Bold Italic"; }span.BodyTextChar { font-family: "Adobe Caslon Pro"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }
February 2, 2011
Food Sites for February 2011
View across Rondout Creek after recent ice storm.It's Groundhog Day, and those of us who of us who have been enduring a particularly nasty winter are especially relieved to hear that Punxatawny Phil has granted us an early Spring. To show our gratitude, we will not post any recipes for woodchuck this year.
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. Last month, for example, we posted an article, "Enlightened Carnivory," a mutant sort of excerpt from one of our books-in-progress. We understand that many (OK, most) folks have better things to do with their time than wade through countless unwanted e-missives, so we won't add ours to that pile. However... should you feel an inexplicable craving for exactly the sort of self-indulgent claptrap we periodically post, you can satisfy that urge at Just Served.
Leitesculinaria is still in the process of reposting, sometimes -- with shiny new updates and edits -- some of our older articles. The entire list of our currently-posted LeitesCulinaria articles is available here, along with several other articles on food history & science.
For hard-core addicts of our stuff (assuming such unlikely beings exist), Marty Martindale's Food Site of the Day has been completely redesigned, and has returned to posting A Quiet Little Table in the Corner -- an index of our writings on the web.
Here's a selection from On the Table's culinary quote pages. This month, it's a little advice for anyone interested in starting a food blog:
"Try being entertaining. Try being didactic. Stop being angry. If you're an angry person with too many cats and a grudge against The New York Times, maybe you shouldn't be blogging." Anthony BourdainGary
2 February 2011
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----
Africa: The Dark Side of Chocolate
(modern-day slavery strips the sweetness from candy)
Andhra Telugu Recipes
(traditional Indian dishes from the state of Andhra Pradesh)
Asian Food Regulation Service
("…a database for food regulations across Asia… from Pakistan to Japan, from Mongolia to Timor")
Biology of the Goat, The
(just what it says it is)
Feeding Desire: Design and the Tools of the Table, 1500–2005
(online "catalog" of a 2006 exhibit at NYC's Cooper-Hewitt, National Design Museum)
Food Environment Atlas
(USDA data for every county in the US: access and proximity to grocery stores, availability of food stores, availability of restaurants, expenditures on food at restaurants, food assistance, food eaten at home, food insecurity, food prices, food taxes, health, local foods, physical activity levels and outlets, and socioeconomic characteristics)
Free Cuban Food Recipes
(appetizers, desserts, drinks, main dishes, soups)
Global Table, The
(history of Roland Foods, the largest food importing company in the U.S.)
History is Served
(18th century recipes from Colonial Williamsburg's Department of Historic Foodways)
Know Your Pig
(April Bloomfield's article -- on cuts and culinary uses for all parts of the pig -- in New York Magazine)
La Cocina en su Tinta
(an exhibit at La Biblioteca Nacional de España; in Spanish)
Native American Culinary Association, The
(a forum on "The Research, Development, Refinement and Preservation of Native American Cuisine")
Redcliff Mycological Research Institute
("…unearthing the cultural, culinary and philosophical potential of fungi")
Vidalia Onion Museum
("…the history of the Vidalia onion and the growing region that has made it so famous. …exhibits illuminate the sweet onion's economic, cultural and culinary significance")
World Carrot Museum
(carrot history, nutrition and trivia)
----how-to blogs----
Blogs about blogging -- their writing, design, photography, promotion, and ethics -- can help us become better, and possibly more successful, writers (i.e., having more people read our stuff). Here are a few recent favorites:
Food Photography: Shooting Smoke, Steam and Flames
Top 10 Blogs for Writers 2010
When Good Food Looks Bad: A Styling Post
Writing a Strong Lead Is Half the Battle
And something to provide a little balance:
New Rules for Writers: Ignore Publicity, Shun Crowds, Refuse Recognition and More
New Year's Resolution to Restore an Author's Sanity, A
----still more blogs----
Beer and Butter Tarts
Cured Meats: The Art and the Craft
Eye in Dining, The
Kitchen Scraps
Pickle Project, The
----that's all for now----
Except, of course, for the usual legal 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 can be ordered through the Libro-Emporium.
Here endeth the sales pitch(es)...
...for the moment, anyway.
_______________________________
"The Resource Guide for Food Writers, Update #124" 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) 2011 by Gary Allen.
January 26, 2011
Enlightened Carnivory
Back in the Sixties, I was, for a time, a vegetarian. Today, we might call it Politically Correct or Globally Responsible--but back then it was just the thing to do. It was cool. It was hip. It was cheap. A craving for meat was regarded as a sign of spiritual underdevelopment. A craving for red meat indicated something approaching depravity. It implied a callous disregard for the sanctity of life.
It was not cool.
However, being old enough to make my own decisions in the Sixties meant that my tastes were formed in the Fifties. I liked red meat. I wouldn't eat it, of course, but there was no way to avoid thinking about eating it.
After some deliberation, it occurred to me that much of my objection to meat was associated with the unnatural banality of plastic-wrapped meat. How could people buy that stuff, having no idea of its source? It was hard to accept the notion that most consumers actually preferred the anonymity of the foods they ate. How could they eat those chemically enhanced, cruelly raised slabs of unrecognizable protein—and do so without a second thought? Being rather self-centered, this perceived aversion to truth was incomprehensible. It did, however, suggest a way out of the carnivore/herbivore conflict that was consuming me.
What I needed was a way to eat meat consciously and responsibly.
First, I would have to be an active participant in the meat-eating cycle. No saran-wrapped Styrofoam trays of half-frozen meat for me! Second, I could not eat some product of the agri-business/chemical industry. Perhaps I could live without organic meat, but there was no way I was going to chew my way through the culinary equivalent of toxic waste. Third, I could not condone the lifelong abuse of some dumb animal so that I could fill my face. I was cool. I was aware. I would do the right thing.
I would learn to hunt.
Really, how hard could it be? I'd spent thousands of hours in the woods as a kid, and even more time reading and rereading the Tarzan books and the Bomba the Jungle Boy series. I had participated in thousands of mock hunting expeditions, sneaking through the woods with great intensity. I'd been a fanatic fisherman since age eight, and after all, wasn't hunting just fishing writ large? This was going to be a snap. There would be nothing to it.
All I had to do was buy a rifle. And learn how to use it. And take the required hunter safety course. And get a license. And find some unposted woods in which to hunt. All very simple steps. Unless the hunter-to-be was a hippie with a holier-than-thou, know-it-all attitude.
Before I could hunt, I had to be willing to eat some metaphorical crow.
In order to pass a hunter safety course, I had to actually take that course. Hippies were not comfortable with guns, generally--but before this hippie could hunt, I had to enter the belly of the beast. I had to spend some time at the local Rod 'n' Gun club.
Now, as you might recall, longhaired freaks didn't spend a lot of time at Rod 'n' Gun clubs in the Sixties. I was sure that they were filled with right-winged, red-necked old birds who didn't know that the character of Archie Bunker was a parody. My adventure in culture shock included, almost as a rite of passage, a kind of enforced fraternizing with the enemy. The supplicant was obliged to do a certain amount of kissing up to the most unfamiliar of bedfellows.
The hunter safety course was just that: It was about developing habits that would decrease my chances of shooting myself or another hunter. There was an admirable logic to it all, and I was grateful that such lessons could be learned by other than trial-and-error. I could see that those rednecks knew how to handle guns (the fact that they were still alive was proof enough for me).
The course, however, did not contain a single fact about hunting. This gap in the transfer of knowledge was puzzling (after all, these supposedly unenlightened hunters did "get their deer" every year), but I assumed that the actual hunt must be instinctual, natural.
When the time came, when I needed to know, I would just know.
I managed to complete all the preliminary requirements to hunting: rifle, target practice, safety certificate, license, and permission to hunt in a particularly promising piece of forest.
I was ready.
So it was off to the woods. I jumped out of the pick-up, pulled on my day-pack, listened to the satisfying click of brass against steel as I slid cartridges into the .22, inhaled the cool, wet-leaves smell of the October afternoon, and plunged into the wilderness in pursuit of the elusive Eastern Gray Squirrel. I felt a sense of purpose, a rightness, a completely-in-tune-with-nature joie de vivre.
The only catch was that there were no squirrels to be found.
That was because I was a clumsy--but well-armed--jerk in a fluorescent orange vest, crashing through the woods. Every squirrel within a mile knew I was there. Frustration only increased my clumsiness. An objective observer might think I was rehearsing for a low-budget film of the D-Day invasion. Aside from my own frantic thrashing, the woods were strangely silent.
Eventually, with exhaustion and disappointment, I slowed down. I stopped making so much noise. I started looking at the woods as they were, instead of how I imagined them to be.
A squirrel appeared, not forty feet away. I froze, but not before he saw me. He was up the back of a small oak tree in a second. I lifted the rifle, sliding off the safety as quietly as I could. Now was the time--if the squirrel showed itself, I was ready. I thought a bit about what I was about to do. This animal was about to die so that I could feel better about eating meat. The process seemed more silly than noble at that moment.
The frosted tip of a bushy tail flicked nervously on the right side of the tree.
I did nothing.
The squirrel chattered crankily, trying to force me to reveal my location.
I did nothing.
I noticed a bump on the left side of the tree--the squirrel's head--trying to spot my response.
There was none.
The squirrel repeated his angry chattering, trying to force me to make a sudden movement.
There was no movement.
Just the shot.
The squirrel leapt from the tree, frantically kicking in the dry leaves. Oh God, I wounded the poor thing--what a stupid, selfish, thing to do. But no, it stopped. I ran to the spot where the dead squirrel lay, a few brown oak leaves sticky with its blood. I thought about what I'd read about primitive hunters--how they honored and respected the game they killed. I whispered, under my breath,"I'm sorry."
Truly, I was sorry--but guilt was only a small part of what I was feeling. I had known that I would have had to do something like this to be able to accept my carnivorous nature. I'd been confident that I could do it when the time came.
I hadn't known that I would like it.
I lifted the squirrel from the leaves, surprised at its weight. I suddenly recalled that its viscera would have to be removed, or the meat would spoil. I had cleaned many fish, finding the process messy but not difficult--but now I was uncertain. What lay within the white furry abdomen? Were there hidden musk glands that must be removed? If I accidentally punctured something, would the meat be ruined, diminishing the squirrel's death to a selfish and meaningless exercise? Worse--was my indecision wasting the very time I needed to complete the job satisfactorily?
There was nothing to do but to start. Poking the point of my knife through the unexpectedly tough skin of the lower abdomen, I pulled the edge of the blade up and through the thin ribcage. The entrails sagged out, hot and sticky, steaming in the cool air, onto my hand. There was no wave of revulsion. I looked at them, recognizing in an instant all the organs I had memorized in high school. They were essentially the same as my organs, organs I could never see, part of the hidden mysterious inside of us that we know of, but can never know.
This was not a fish.
It was myself reflected.
I started to think about the meals I had eaten in a much different way than I had ever imagined possible. The original decision to hunt had been an ethical choice--now it was something else. Kneeling in the woods with a handful of steaming entrails, I began to see carnivory as a dialog between the eater and the eaten.
Meat eating became extremely personal.
It was not cool.
However, being old enough to make my own decisions in the Sixties meant that my tastes were formed in the Fifties. I liked red meat. I wouldn't eat it, of course, but there was no way to avoid thinking about eating it.
After some deliberation, it occurred to me that much of my objection to meat was associated with the unnatural banality of plastic-wrapped meat. How could people buy that stuff, having no idea of its source? It was hard to accept the notion that most consumers actually preferred the anonymity of the foods they ate. How could they eat those chemically enhanced, cruelly raised slabs of unrecognizable protein—and do so without a second thought? Being rather self-centered, this perceived aversion to truth was incomprehensible. It did, however, suggest a way out of the carnivore/herbivore conflict that was consuming me.
What I needed was a way to eat meat consciously and responsibly.
First, I would have to be an active participant in the meat-eating cycle. No saran-wrapped Styrofoam trays of half-frozen meat for me! Second, I could not eat some product of the agri-business/chemical industry. Perhaps I could live without organic meat, but there was no way I was going to chew my way through the culinary equivalent of toxic waste. Third, I could not condone the lifelong abuse of some dumb animal so that I could fill my face. I was cool. I was aware. I would do the right thing.
I would learn to hunt.
Really, how hard could it be? I'd spent thousands of hours in the woods as a kid, and even more time reading and rereading the Tarzan books and the Bomba the Jungle Boy series. I had participated in thousands of mock hunting expeditions, sneaking through the woods with great intensity. I'd been a fanatic fisherman since age eight, and after all, wasn't hunting just fishing writ large? This was going to be a snap. There would be nothing to it.
All I had to do was buy a rifle. And learn how to use it. And take the required hunter safety course. And get a license. And find some unposted woods in which to hunt. All very simple steps. Unless the hunter-to-be was a hippie with a holier-than-thou, know-it-all attitude.
Before I could hunt, I had to be willing to eat some metaphorical crow.
In order to pass a hunter safety course, I had to actually take that course. Hippies were not comfortable with guns, generally--but before this hippie could hunt, I had to enter the belly of the beast. I had to spend some time at the local Rod 'n' Gun club.
Now, as you might recall, longhaired freaks didn't spend a lot of time at Rod 'n' Gun clubs in the Sixties. I was sure that they were filled with right-winged, red-necked old birds who didn't know that the character of Archie Bunker was a parody. My adventure in culture shock included, almost as a rite of passage, a kind of enforced fraternizing with the enemy. The supplicant was obliged to do a certain amount of kissing up to the most unfamiliar of bedfellows.
The hunter safety course was just that: It was about developing habits that would decrease my chances of shooting myself or another hunter. There was an admirable logic to it all, and I was grateful that such lessons could be learned by other than trial-and-error. I could see that those rednecks knew how to handle guns (the fact that they were still alive was proof enough for me).
The course, however, did not contain a single fact about hunting. This gap in the transfer of knowledge was puzzling (after all, these supposedly unenlightened hunters did "get their deer" every year), but I assumed that the actual hunt must be instinctual, natural.
When the time came, when I needed to know, I would just know.
I managed to complete all the preliminary requirements to hunting: rifle, target practice, safety certificate, license, and permission to hunt in a particularly promising piece of forest.
I was ready.
So it was off to the woods. I jumped out of the pick-up, pulled on my day-pack, listened to the satisfying click of brass against steel as I slid cartridges into the .22, inhaled the cool, wet-leaves smell of the October afternoon, and plunged into the wilderness in pursuit of the elusive Eastern Gray Squirrel. I felt a sense of purpose, a rightness, a completely-in-tune-with-nature joie de vivre.
The only catch was that there were no squirrels to be found.
That was because I was a clumsy--but well-armed--jerk in a fluorescent orange vest, crashing through the woods. Every squirrel within a mile knew I was there. Frustration only increased my clumsiness. An objective observer might think I was rehearsing for a low-budget film of the D-Day invasion. Aside from my own frantic thrashing, the woods were strangely silent.
Eventually, with exhaustion and disappointment, I slowed down. I stopped making so much noise. I started looking at the woods as they were, instead of how I imagined them to be.
A squirrel appeared, not forty feet away. I froze, but not before he saw me. He was up the back of a small oak tree in a second. I lifted the rifle, sliding off the safety as quietly as I could. Now was the time--if the squirrel showed itself, I was ready. I thought a bit about what I was about to do. This animal was about to die so that I could feel better about eating meat. The process seemed more silly than noble at that moment.
The frosted tip of a bushy tail flicked nervously on the right side of the tree.
I did nothing.
The squirrel chattered crankily, trying to force me to reveal my location.
I did nothing.
I noticed a bump on the left side of the tree--the squirrel's head--trying to spot my response.
There was none.
The squirrel repeated his angry chattering, trying to force me to make a sudden movement.
There was no movement.
Just the shot.
The squirrel leapt from the tree, frantically kicking in the dry leaves. Oh God, I wounded the poor thing--what a stupid, selfish, thing to do. But no, it stopped. I ran to the spot where the dead squirrel lay, a few brown oak leaves sticky with its blood. I thought about what I'd read about primitive hunters--how they honored and respected the game they killed. I whispered, under my breath,"I'm sorry."
Truly, I was sorry--but guilt was only a small part of what I was feeling. I had known that I would have had to do something like this to be able to accept my carnivorous nature. I'd been confident that I could do it when the time came.
I hadn't known that I would like it.
I lifted the squirrel from the leaves, surprised at its weight. I suddenly recalled that its viscera would have to be removed, or the meat would spoil. I had cleaned many fish, finding the process messy but not difficult--but now I was uncertain. What lay within the white furry abdomen? Were there hidden musk glands that must be removed? If I accidentally punctured something, would the meat be ruined, diminishing the squirrel's death to a selfish and meaningless exercise? Worse--was my indecision wasting the very time I needed to complete the job satisfactorily?
There was nothing to do but to start. Poking the point of my knife through the unexpectedly tough skin of the lower abdomen, I pulled the edge of the blade up and through the thin ribcage. The entrails sagged out, hot and sticky, steaming in the cool air, onto my hand. There was no wave of revulsion. I looked at them, recognizing in an instant all the organs I had memorized in high school. They were essentially the same as my organs, organs I could never see, part of the hidden mysterious inside of us that we know of, but can never know.
This was not a fish.
It was myself reflected.
I started to think about the meals I had eaten in a much different way than I had ever imagined possible. The original decision to hunt had been an ethical choice--now it was something else. Kneeling in the woods with a handful of steaming entrails, I began to see carnivory as a dialog between the eater and the eaten.
Meat eating became extremely personal.
January 6, 2011
Memory and Medusa
As writers, we live in our memories. From the outside, we often appear to be doing nothing at all, staring into the void, seemingly oblivious to the outside world -- and, in a sense, we are. We are absent, in the same way that an aborigine, on his walkabout, is absent from his community. We leave for much the same reason as our hypothetical aborigine, for the internal journeys we take are how we create ourselves and, in turn, the writing that is us.
There's a famous passage in Moby Dick, called "The Try Works," where Melville describes the furnaces, on the Pequod's deck, where whale blubber is rendered. At a certain point in the process, there's no need to consume precious wood to keep the fires going -- the whale's bones themselves become the fuel used to extract the desired whale oil. At that moment, Melville chooses to quote John Webster, a playwright who was one of Shakespeare's contemporaries. He wrote, "Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust."
That is what we do with memories -- whether they are our own, those of our friends, or from past readings. The dust we use to cut and polish ourselves, and our writing, is no more than ourselves, the stuff we've stored away in our brains. In our internal try works, we turn our memories over, again and again, slowly stewing them 'til they have reduced themselves to pure oil.
However, a curious thing happens to the memories themselves in the rendering. Like Melville's blubber, they cease to exist once the oil has been extracted. Memories remain alive because every time we revisit them we add tiny bits of experience we've accumulated since our last visit. A memory exists, as a memory, specifically because it is malleable, transforming itself along with us. Once it has been written down, it is no longer our memory -- it is now writing: static, unchanging, even if not literally carved-in-stone.
Like the gorgon, we lithify memories with our stare.
As writers, we feel a twinge of remorse at the loss of our memories, as they are no longer the vibrant living things that attracted us to them in the first place. Ironically, the memories we capture in our writing -- no longer alive for us -- can now become part of the living memory of our readers, where it is once again free to transmute itself endlessly.
December 23, 2010
Caviar, Friend or Faux
Throughout history, people have tried to turn lead into gold, either in actuality or metaphorically. When we think of Welsh Rabbit (melted cheese), Bombay Duck (dried fish), or Scotch Woodcock (chopped hard-boiled eggs and cream on toast), it's usually a rare or expensive ingredient replaced ingeniously by something more plebian. Sometimes this is done with larcenous intent -- but that's outside the scope of this article, somewhat depressing, and hardly in the spirit of the holiday season.
Instead, we're going to look at some whimsical substitutions for one of the rarest and most expensive of comestibles: caviar.
Real caviar is the roe of various fishes, the most precious of which is Beluga -- the lightly salted eggs of mature sturgeon from the Caspian Sea. As only 100 of these antediluvian creatures are harvested each year, the price is understandably high. While most of us won't be bellying up to big bowls of Beluga as part of this New Year's Eve festivities, there are a number of alternative caviars to tempt us.
Kaviar is a Russian surrogate made from soybeans, while a Japanese manufacturer (Hokuyu Company) makes Cavianne. The most convincing of these fakes is made in Canada: Kelp Caviar comes in several flavors (truffle, salmon, chile and wasabi). The tiny "eggs" are made from agar-agar-rich powdered kelp that has been flavored, cooked and stabilized as a thick gelatinous liquid. The liquid then drips into a solution of calcium chloride that causes it to form smooth firm-surfaced "pearls" -- a process that molecular gastronomers call "spherification."
Our own recipes are somewhat less high-tech, and don't require any odd chemicals or weird-science lab equipment.
Ajvar
In Turkish, havyar is "salted roe," a name clearly related to "caviar." Havyar is also connected, etymologically, to Ajvar -- a beautifully-colored, and fragrant, paste made of roasted red peppers and garlic.
Serves 6 to 8 as an appetizer
Ingredients
6 lbs. red bell peppers
1 large eggplant
1/2 head garlic, peeled and chopped
olive oil
vinegar, to taste
salt and pepper, to taste
hot paprika or cayenne, to taste
Method
1. Roast each pepper, under broiler or over a flame, until skin is blackened. Place peppers in a bag or covered bowl to steam for a few minutes, then rub off blackened skin.
2. Split eggplant lengthwise, score the cut surfaces lightly, then rub cut surface with olive oil and a sprinkling of salt.
3. Roast eggplant in a hot oven for about 20 minutes, or until soft.
4. Scoop the cooked eggplant from the skin, which can then be discarded. Combine eggplant, garlic, and two tablespoons olive oil in a food processor. Pulse to chop only -- the mixture should not be completely smooth. Set it aside in a large bowl.
5. Remove stems and seeds from peppers, then pulse in a food processor until they are coarsely chopped. Combine eggplant and peppers, and adjust flavor with salt, pepper, vinegar, and hot paprika (or cayenne), to taste.
6. Serve with toasted slices of baguette or wedges of pita.
Almost Chinese Beluga
This counterfeit caviar looks a lot more like the real thing, and even bears a slight (and totally unexpected) resemblance to the briny sea-taste of caviar -- but with an Asian twist.
Serves 6 to 8 as an appetizer
Ingredients
1/2 Cup uncooked tapioca pearls (not instant)
1/4 Cup dark soy sauce
1 Tbsp. Chinese black vinegar
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. dark sesame oil
1 scallion, sliced thinly on a diagonal, for garnish
Method
1. Cook the tapioca pearls in two quarts of boiling water until translucent, with just a tiny opaque spot in the middle. Drain and drop into cold water to stop cooking.
2. Prepare marinade by combining remaining ingredients.
3. Mix tapioca with marinade in covered container, and set aside in refrigerator for at least four hours, mixing gently from time to time.
4. Serve in Chinese soupspoons, garnished with a few tiny pieces of scallion.
Texas Caviar
This offering looks nothing like caviar, and has flavors one would never encounter around the Caspian Sea, but it is called "caviar" by the folks who make it in their home kitchens. They've been making it, in various forms, so often that it's become a party standard. How it got its name is a little mysterious, but the natives of the region do have something of a reputation for tall tales, exaggeration, or downright mendacity (at least when dealing with those of us who come from places north of the Red River).
Serves 4-6 as an appetizer
Ingredients
1/2 lb. dried black-eyed peas, cooked, cooled and drained
2 medium tomatoes, seeded and diced
2 jalapeño or serrano chiles, seeded and minced
1 small onion, diced
1/2 red bell pepper, seeded and diced
1/4 cup cilantro, chopped
6 Tbsp wine vinegar
6 Tbsp olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tsp oregano
1/2 Tbsp cumin, toasted and ground
Tabasco, optional, to taste
salt & black pepper, to taste
Method
1. Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive bowl. Cover and place in refrigerator for at least 4 hours.
2. Adjust seasonings to taste, with additional vinegar, Tabasco, salt and pepper, as needed. Serve with tortilla chips.
____
This article appeared, in slightly different form, in Roll Magazine.
