"Consider the Fork"

In the cabinets, there are chopping boards and mixing bowls, a colander and a salad spinner. Drawers contain wooden spoons, slotted spoons and spatulas. There are knives, measuring cups and can openers.

There is a bowl I like to use for breakfast, whether I am having cereal or oatmeal or yogurt. There is a mug I like to use for coffee in the late afternoon. And a spoon with which I like to stir that coffee. There just is.

I have favorites – pans and pots, bowls, cups and utensils I pick up often and prefer over others for certain foods. We all do.

In "Consider the Fork: A History of How We Cook and Eat," well-researched and thoroughly engaging, British food writer Bee Wilson looks at relationships between the tools we have and the things we make. She explores the ways in which "the implements we use in the kitchen affect what we eat, how we eat, and what we feel about what we eat."

She compares old-school diets with modern-day sensibilities. She gives us a highly accessible yet comprehensive assessment of the evolution of our cooking habits, tracing, for example, our integration over the years of fire and ice.

Wilson ("Swindled: The Dark History of Food Fraud, from Poisoned Candy to Counterfeit Coffee") delineates in broad terms our great reliance on heat.

Once upon a time, a single fire from an open hearth "served to warm a house, heat water for washing, and cook dinner. For millennia, all cooking was roasting in one form or another. In the developing world, the heat of an open fire remains the way that the very poorest cook."

To work effectively with that fire, we forged "a host of related tools," including spits, spit-jacks to rotate meat, tongs, pot hooks, drip pans, trivets, and flesh-forks for pulling pieces of meat out of a pot. These usually had long handles and were made of heavy metal.

If we tried using short-handled stainless steel tongs or nonstick silicone spatulas - staples in our 21^st-century kitchens - in that environment, she suggests cheekily, we "wouldn't stand a chance. The utensils would melt. I would fry. The children would howl. Dinner would burn." Her wit is subtle but wonderful.

These days, we are able to utilize different heat sources. We can control fire more easily. I can adjust the flame on my stovetop with a knob, for instance, turning the temperature up to boil a kettle of water or down to effect a slow braise. Inside ovens, "vast communal chambers" in ancient and medieval Europe used to bake bread for entire villages, we make cookies and cakes for ourselves.

We also now have microwave ovens. Invented by Raytheon engineers working originally on military radar systems, they were first sold in the 1950s. They did not hit mainstream markets, however, until about 1967 when manufacturers got the price of a unit below $500.

By the '80s and '90s, microwaves had become indispensable. We use them to reheat leftovers or to avoid food prep altogether, popping in store-bought frozen entrées when we eat alone or cannot cook. What we gain in convenience we lose unfortunately in connectedness.

Like fire, ice matters, the author says. "The efficient home refrigerator entirely changed the way food - getting it, cooking it, eating it - fitted into people's lives."

It changed what we ate. Rather than rely on salted meats or preserves because we had to, we could enjoy fresh meat, milk and green vegetables whenever we wanted to. It changed how we bought food. "Without refrigeration, there could be no supermarkets, no 'weekly shopping,' no stocking up the freezer for emergencies."

And it affected other industries, giving rise to products such as Tupperware, first sold in 1946, and Saran Wrap, introduced in 1953, as well as frozen foods and beverages. Orange juice concentrate, for example, was the most successful commercially frozen product in post-war America, selling 9 million gallons in 1948-1949. We increased our eating and drinking options.

What sets Wilson's discussion apart from those of her contemporaries, though, is her additional focus on simple hand-held tools. Like Steve Gdula ("The Warmest Room in the House: How the Kitchen Became the Heart of the Twentieth-Century American Home"), she examines the overall design of our cooking spaces. But to her credit, she details seemingly ordinary items, too, making her book all the more appealing.

She pays significant attention to smaller things, what we generally would not even think twice about, what we have on dish racks or countertops and pick up mindlessly every day.

Take, for example, the wooden spoon. It is at heart a low-tech gadget. "It does not switch on and off or make funny noises," Wilson writes. "It has no patent or guarantee. There is nothing futuristic or shiny or clever about it." Yet it is amazingly versatile.

Study it. What is it made of? Beech or a denser maple? How is it shaped? Is it oval or round? Cupped or flat? Has it got a pointy part on one edge "to get at the lumpy bits in the corner of the pan"? Is the handle short, for children first learning to cook perhaps, or longer for adults to keep spatters at bay?

Wood, she tells us, is a nonabrasive material, too, gentle enough on pots and pans. It is nonreactive and won't leave a metallic taste in our food. "It is also a poor conductor of heat, which is why you can stir hot soup with a wooden spoon without burning your hand." Above all, it is familiar. We cook with wooden spoons because we always have.

That our workspaces contain mishmashes of old and new tools should not surprise us, Wilson says. On the contrary, eclectic collections reflect our changing personalities. Chopping boards sit alongside food processors. Melon ballers can be popular one year, handheld blenders all the rage another.

We don't necessarily want to reinvent cooking; we only want to make it easier. We learn to adapt and improve our skills over time. In most cases, "whisks, fire, and saucepans still do the job pretty well. All we want is better whisks, better fire, and better saucepans."

We might inherit some things from parents, grandparents, aunts or uncles, and receive some from friends. Others could be gifts to ourselves. As it is with the utensils in my kitchen. As it is, I suspect, in all our kitchens. So the food we make is not only a combination of ingredients, she reminds us. "It is the product of technologies, past and present." It is the result of a compendium.

(A version of this review appeared originally on www.culinate.com.)

Feasting

Cooking without meat in no way means cooking without flavor. 

In her sixth volume, "Indian Vegetarian Feast: Fresh, Simple, Healthy Dishes for Today's Family," BBC presenter Anjum Anand ("Indian Food Made Easy") concentrates on sensible vegetarian dishes. 

A London resident who visits Delhi and Calcutta regularly, she prepares mostly vegetarian foods for her husband and children. She offers ideas for meals throughout the day that privilege herbs, spices, rice, beans and whole grains. 

Her "desert island ingredient would be humble Bengal gram (chana dal), a type of lentil," she writes. Highly versatile, "it can be made into a curry, stir-fried with spices into a protein-rich side dish, even used to make a dessert." 

Anand combines yellow lentils with ginger and chilies to create "fluffy, spongy, savory" steamed lentil cakes, served in a spicy rasam broth. 

For appetizers, she makes tandoori baby potatoes — twice-cooked potatoes with cumin, garam masala, coriander and paprika — and tops them with herbed yogurt. 

To griddled zucchini carpaccio, she adds an Indian-inspired chickpea salsa "based upon a roadside chaat," drizzles pistachio dressing and scatters feta cheese. 

That none of the recipes here appears excessive or inaccessible is a testament to Anand's ability to simplify ingredients and techniques. Emma Lee's bright and evocative images add class to the presentation.

(A version of this review appeared originally at Publishers Weekly.)

Throwing fish

Anyone who has been to Seattle's bustling Pike Place Market has probably seen the Fish Guys, boisterous men who "throw (and catch!) a lot of salmon," and who "give a lot of hugs (and) mug for a lot of snapshots..."

Tourist attractions to be sure, these fan favorites describe the work fishmongers like them do regularly in their book "In the Kitchen with the Pike Place Fish Guys: 100 Recipes and Tips from the World-Famous Crew of Pike Place Fish." 

They discuss their livelihoods and provide handfuls of go-to recipes as well as "tips and tricks and shortcuts for busy folks." 

At the shop, the crew promotes sustainable seafood, eschewing farm-raised salmon, for instance, because it is such a "resource-intensive food to produce," taking three pounds of feed to create every one pound of fish. 

They don't belabor their food politics, however, and keep the overall discussion light, including recipes for festive gatherings like crab quesadillas, crab cake BLTs, gumbo and paella. 

Early risers are offered breakfast recipes for a Dungeness crab and bacon quiche, and something they call Grits and Grunts. And fancier items such as Salmon Rillettes on Croustade and Calamari Persillade come courtesy of market neighbor Café Campagne, making this fun volume all the more appealing. 

(A version of this review appeared originally at Publishers Weekly.)

Spring peas

Spring Pea Salad

from Michelle Obama's "American Grown: The Story of the White House Kitchen Garden and Gardens Across America"

2 1/2 cups shelled fresh green peas
1 small shallot, thinly sliced
1 small leek (white part only), cleaned and thinly sliced
zest and juice of 1 lemon
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup shredded fresh mint leaves
salt
freshly ground black pepper

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Pour the peas into the water and cook for no more than 2 minutes. Drain and immediately plunge the peas into a bowl of ice water. Drain and pat dry with a towel. Puree 1/2 cup of the peas in a blender.

Place the peas, pea puree, shallot and leek in a medium glass or stainless steel bowl and toss gently to combine.

Add the lemon zest and juice, olive oil and mint. Season with salt and pepper and toss gently until the vegetables are coated. Serve immediately. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Cheesy

Lemon poppyseed

Consider it a bit of sunshine on a Wednesday afternoon.

Distinction

"After another five years of magazine and newspaper writing, cookbook work, and tasting menus, I had acquired an additional fifteen pounds. My heart, my gut, and my blood sugar were unimpressed by the four-star pedigree of many of those extra calories. To them, there was no distinction between a Ferran Adria tasting menu and a Colonel Sanders Variety Bucket."

Peter Kaminsky in "Culinary Intelligence: The Art of Eating Healthy (and Really Well)" 

Chill-y

Benefits of broth

When the weather cools, I think about soup. Not the tomato-based soups I tend to make, the ones I have with oyster crackers or crusty French bread. But the Asian broths my mother makes, the ones that simmer on the backburner in her Chinatown kitchen.

She starts a pot from scratch, building flavors with each step, each new ingredient, adjusting seasonings along the way. One day, it is a pot of watercress soup, for example. On another, it is seaweed. Some days, pressed for time, my mother works with handfuls of ground pork, slivers of tofu and cans of store-bought broth. She improvises.

In "Classic Chinese Cuisine," Nina Simonds describes the prominent place soup has on dinner tables in traditional Asian households.

"Whereas soups seem to play a rather restricted role in western cuisine," she tells us, "in China they have a much broader calling... In a family-style meal, soup is served along with the other dishes to provide nourishment and to function as a beverage."

According to cookbook author Fuchsia Dunlop, in Guangdong and other parts of southern China, it is usually eaten at the beginning of the meal and helps to whet the appetite.

Growing up in Oakland, my sisters, brothers and I were always instructed to finish our bowls of soup first. Only then could we proceed with the rest of dinner. Like classmates who had to eat their vegetables if they wanted dessert, we needed to empty our soup bowls if we wanted rice.

But in Chengdu and other parts of southwest China, Dunlop explains in "Land of Plenty: A Treasury of Authentic Sichuan Cooking," soup is generally "served at the end of the meal, and its function is to cleanse the palate after the intense, heavy flavors of a typical Sichuanese meal."

Soup, Simonds says, aids digestion and improves circulation. "Some soups have been used for centuries to treat certain ailments... Stocks simmered with assorted Chinese herbs were administered for a number of maladies."

Even now, she notes, new mothers often have a "chicken soup flavored with ginger in southern China and sesame oil in Taiwan" every day for a month after childbirth in order to restore balance and energy in their bodies.

Teresa M. Chen further examines the benefits of broth in "A Tradition of Soup: Flavors from China's Pearl River Delta." She provides substantial background information.

"The Chinese soup tradition started back in the old country where people knew many lean times," she writes in the introduction. "With humble ingredients, the Cantonese prepared a flavorful soup stock, to which practically anything on hand could be added."

Stock ingredients might include pork neck bones, for example, or chicken rib bones. For vegetarian soups, bases can be made with soybean sprouts, white turnips or Napa cabbage. These items are naturally sweet.

Frugal – and smart – cooks know instinctively that seemingly ordinary things can be useful, too. "Leftovers such as the carcass of a roast duck or a roast turkey, trimmings from a lobster or shrimp shells can all be turned into soup stock," she continues.

"Wealthy households and restaurants expanded the possibilities by using a whole chicken, a whole fish or a whole hunk of pork to make stock. After cooking for hours on end, with medicinal herbs and complementary ingredients, the broth would be strained and served hot."

Chen talks also about technique and kitchen equipment, and offers a comprehensive guide to both fresh and dried soup ingredients, including seafood and seaweed, oxtails and watercress, and a variety of Chinese herbs. She makes these accessible.

She interviews senior citizens at a community center in California's Central Valley, women and men who, like my mother, understand and appreciate the nutritional value soups afford. She collects and highlights their time-tested recipes.

Nursing a head cold and a seriously sore throat not long ago in Las Vegas, I look to hot and sour soup for comfort. Miles away from my mother's extensive home cooking, I rely on a restaurant at the hotel in which my friends and I stay. I make do.

Like sweet and sour pork, for example, or beef and broccoli stir-fry, hot and sour soup has been on menus in Chinese restaurants across the country for decades. Unlike other Asian broths, though, it is relatively heavy, thickened with cornstarch. It contains slivers of meat, shiitake mushroom and tofu.

The soup, Chen explains, "was brought to Hong Kong in the 1950s" by the Sichuanese and by those "who had been in Sichuan during the eight-year Sino-Japanese War, which ended with the end of World War II." It was subsequently "brought to the United States by those who passed through Hong Kong in the 1960s" and shortly thereafter captured the American palate.

At the table, when my friends select noodle dishes and rice plates for lunch, I ask for hot and sour soup. I have one bowl and another bowl and another slowly and deliberately. It is potent and works wonders. The ginger acts as a recuperative tonic while the white pepper and vinegar deliver a heat and intensity my body seems to need.

With over-the-counter medicine my friends swear by, the cough drops I suck on throughout the day like candy and the tall cups of chamomile tea I drink religiously, they help to shock my system back into shape. They set me straight.

(A version of this essay appeared originally on www.culinate.com.)
 

Sweet chocolate

It is a frog of a chocolate cake. But dang if it doesn't taste pretty good.

"Behind the Kitchen Door"

For all its talk of organic foods and sustainability, the restaurant industry pays little mind to the health and welfare of its own low-wage employees. 

In "Behind the Kitchen Door," Saru Jayaraman draws attention to servers, bussers, runners, cooks and dishwashers across the country "struggling to support themselves and their families under the shockingly exploitative conditions that exist behind most restaurant kitchen doors." 

 

Jayaraman, co-founder and co-director with Fekkak Mamdouh of the advocacy group Restaurant Opportunities Center United, recalls instances where wait staff at eateries in Washington, D.C., for example, or New York City handled food when they were sick. 

One woman had pink eye; another man had contracted H1N1. Neither had sick days to use or medical insurance. Not only did they prolong their illnesses by working, they put their customers' health at risk. 

Though the author cites studies and statistics aplenty, it is stories like these that effectively illustrate her points. 

She also addresses racism in restaurants, where "workers got darker – literally! – as you walked from the front door to the kitchen, and the darker the workers' skins, the less money they were likely to earn." 

In this persuasive volume, Jayaraman champions employee causes and argues fervently against discrimination, giving restaurant owners, diners and readers considerable food for thought.

(A version of this review appeared originally at Publishers Weekly.) 

Au chocolat

"Time passed, and my courses arrived. On a typical night at the Pudding, I might order an appetizer of shrimp rolled in brown-butter bread crumbs on skewers, so the oil wouldn't spread on your hands. For an entree: squab with black lentils and bacon, only in the pink light of the dining room the lentils weren't black, but blue - a deep, inky blue. And for dessert, I might ask for my favorite treat: candied violets on a lace doily. My teeth cracked open each crystalline blossom, and I could smell the sheets of wax paper they came in mingled with the sugar."

Charlotte Silver in "Charlotte au Chocolat: Memories of a Restaurant Childhood"

Hot dog diggity

In the cleverly titled volume "Man Bites Dog: Hot Dog Culture in America," Bruce Kraig takes a look at the American hot dog phenomenon, giving the history and folklore behind the foodstuff that became "quintessential public dining treats - long before the rise of hamburgers - sold on streets, at fairs and festivals, at picnics (weenie roasts) and in fast-food venues."

Not surprisingly, sections on how hot dogs are actually produced, with descriptions of "high-speed choppers" used to blend meat trimmings, spices and other ingredients "into an emulsion or batter," can be less than appetizing. Talk of industrial sausage machines and the "hazards of butchery" also proves difficult to digest. 

But chapters on the simple pleasures of eating hot dogs and the ways they can be served pull readers back in. 

A fully-loaded Chicago dog, for example, "has mustard, bright green relish, chopped onions, tomato slices, pickle slices and small sport peppers jammed onto the bun." And currywurst, first popular in Germany, is "covered in a sweet-hot sauce" and "served on paper plates." 

Photographer Patty Carroll includes numerous images of old-school hot dog stands and pushcarts, helping to illustrate this sometimes disturbing but always bright tribute to an American food classic.  

(A version of this review appeared originally in Publishers Weekly.)

Second-term pie

Whether we are better or worse financially, philosophically, socially or emotionally, we still need pie. And pie is what we have, without the meringue.

Sweet Potato Pie
from White House executive chef Cristeta Comerford

Dough

1 cup butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 tsp. lemon zest
2 egg yolks
2 1/2 cups flour

Filling

3 sweet potatoes
4 sticks cinnamon
5 star anise
1 orange, quartered
2 Tbsp. melted butter

Custard

3 cups crème fraiche
4 whole eggs
1 Tbsp. vanilla extract
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. salt

Honey meringue topping

3 egg whites
2 cups honey, reduced by half

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

For the pie dough: Cream the sugar and butter. Add the dry ingredients and gently mix. Incorporate the vanilla extract, lemon zest and egg yolks. Form into a ball and let rest in the refrigerator.

Roll the dough to fit a 12-inch tart pan. Top with parchment paper and cooking beads and bake blind for 12 minutes. Set aside to cool.

For the sweet potato puree: Bake the whole sweet potatoes and all the aromatics on a sheet tray at 350 degrees F until tender. Scoop the meat and pass through a chinoise. Set aside to cool. In the meantime, mix the custard base and fold into the cooled sweet potato puree.

Pour into the cooked tart shell and finish cooking until set, about 35 minutes.

For the honey meringue topping: Whip the egg whites until stiff and incorporate the hot reduced honey. Top the cooked sweet potato pie and broil until the meringue gets a toasted color. Makes 8 to 10 servings.

Lemon cake

"The room filled with the smell of warming butter and sugar and lemon and eggs, and at five, the timer buzzed and I pulled out the cake and placed it on the stovetop.

"The house was quiet. The bowl of icing was right there on the counter, ready to go, and cakes are best when just out of the oven, and I really couldn't possibly wait, so I reached to the side of the cake pan, to the least obvious part, and pulled off a small warm spongy chunk of deep gold.

"Iced it all over with chocolate. Popped the whole thing into my mouth."

Aimee Bender in "The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake"

A cupcake day

Any day when cupcakes are involved is a good enough day.

Weihachten in Deutschland

"There is no better place in the world to celebrate Christmas than in Germany. No country I know takes it more seriously. And no other place on earth is still able to infuse the holiday with such a sense of solemn tradition and beauty. Weihnachten in Deutschland still retains a sense of the sacred and the divine.

"Maybe it starts with the run-up to Christmas, the four Advent Sundays beforehand filled with endless afternoon teas with friends, crunching through all manners of homemade Christmas cookies or moist Stollen or dense fruit bread. 

"Perhaps it's because tradition here dictates that the Christmas tree not be decorated until the day before Christmas Eve, drawing out the thrill until the very last moment. 

"Maybe it's the brass bands at Christmas markets or the Christmas markets themselves, all lit up and smelling of warm Gluhwein and sausages. 

"Or perhaps it's the candlelight. In Germany, people still put candles, lit candles, with actual flames, on their trees instead of electric lights. (A bucket of water for emergency dousing lurks behind every tree.)"

Luisa Weiss, in "My Berlin Kitchen: A Love Story (with Recipes)"

More kale

Kale and White Bean Soup
from "Fine Cooking in Season: Your Guide to Choosing and Preparing the Season's Best"


1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
2 ounces very thinly sliced pancetta, diced
1 Tbsp. minced garlic
1 medium to large bunch kale, washed, thick stems cut away and leaves sliced across into 3/4-inch-wide strips
1 tsp. coarse salt
freshly ground black pepper
2 cups homemade or reduced-sodium chicken broth
1 cup cooked or canned cannellini, navy beans or other white beans, rinsed and drained
1 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice

Heat the olive oil in a 4-quart low-sided soup pot or Dutch oven over medium to medium-high heat. Add the onion and pancetta and saute until the onion is softened and both are browned, about 12 minutes.

Add the garlic, stir and saute until fragrant, 30 seconds to 1 minute.

Add the kale and stir thoroughly to coat the leaves (and to de-glaze the pan slightly with their moisture).

Season with 1/2 teaspoon of the salt and a few grinds of fresh pepper.

Add the broth, stir well and bring to a boil. Cover the pot, lower to a simmer and cook until the kale is almost completely tender, 10 to 25 minutes.

Uncover the pot, add the beans and simmer for another 2 to 3 minutes. Add the lemon juice and turn off the heat. Ladle the soup into four shallow bowls. Makes 4 servings.

Blue Bottle eggs

Because we need food to go with those cups of coffee.

Catalan Eggs with Braised Greens and Tomato Sauce
from James Freeman and Caitlin Freeman's "The Blue Bottle Craft of Coffee: Growing, Roasting and Drinking, with Recipes"

Tomato Sauce

3 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1 14-ounce can tomato puree, or about 1 1/2 cups pureed fresh tomatoes
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Greens

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 tsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 pounds chard, chicory, kale, escarole or a combination, cut into ribbons about an inch thick
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
grated hard cheese, such as Parmesan or Pecorino Romano
4 poached eggs

To make the tomato sauce: Heat the olive oil in a medium nonreactive skillet over medium-low heat. Add the garlic and saute until aromatic, about 30 seconds. Then add the tomato puree and cook, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes taste and smell sweet and less acidic, about 20 minutes for canned tomatoes or 10 minutes for fresh. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

To make the greens: Heat the oil and butter in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Carefully add the greens, watching out for popping oil. If using a mixture of greens, start with the sturdier greens, such as kale, and add more tender greens, such as chard, a minute or two later. (Escarole takes even less time.)

Stir to wilt the greens evenly and make more space for more greens. Cook until the greens are emerald green and wilted but still crunchy, 5 to 7 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

To assemble: Divide the greens evenly among 4 plates, making a nest of each. Put a poached egg on top. Season lightly with salt and pepper. Then spoon the tomato sauce over each. Sprinkle the cheese over the top and serve immediately. Makes 4 servings.

Slowing down

"No matter what I cook, I always take with me the core lessons that traveling and cooking in Italy have taught me: a respect for flavor and quality, the habit of supporting communities of artisan food producers, and the craft of cooking, from making pasta to curing meat.

"Yet the most important lesson is appreciating the value of spending an entire day (or three) cooking one meal, and then slowing down to savor every bite."
 
Matthew Accarrino in "SPQR: Modern Italian Food and Wine"

Skating

"To get to work, some days I'd skate uptown first and cut back through Central Park, sailing through the aromas wafting from the chestnut-roasting vendors, the hot dog and shawarma carts, the syrupy burnt sugar of the peanut and cashew men.

"Other days I'd dip down into the thirties so that I could skate through Koreatown, with its smells of kimchi and its modest barbecue joints in the shadow of the Empire State Building...

"If I worked the early shift, I'd take off after lunch service and skate down the east side of the island, stopping in the Indian groceries to wander through the spice aisles, once in a while treating myself to something unfamiliar, like the pungent, gummy asafetida, which went from having a truly objectionable stink when raw to a pleasant garlic-meets-leeks vibe when cooked.

"One week I'd try yellowtail sushi in the East Village, and the next week I'd save up money to sample the tamarind-dipped crab rolls at Vong..."

Marcus Samuelsson in "Yes, Chef: A Memoir"

Passion for pie

"On Thanksgiving, I discovered pie. Until then, I had only known apple pie, but Neda's grandmother baked rhubarb, sour cherry, pumpkin, and peach, taking each out of the oven just when the fruit was bubbling around the edges. Not surprisingly, it became my favorite holiday and the beginning of a lifelong passion for pie."

Donia Bijan, in "Maman's Homesick Pie: A Persian Heart in an American Kitchen"

Boo

Because it is Halloween.

 

To cook

"As I said, you don't have to cook. You can get through life perfectly comfortably without lifting so much as a wooden spoon. Fine. Do that.

"What I want to say is that if you do decide to go through life without cooking, you are missing something very, very special. You are losing out on one of the greatest pleasures you can have with your clothes on.

"Cooking can be as passionate, creative, life-enhancing, uplifting, satisfying, and downright exhilarating as anything else you can do with your life. Feeling, sniffing, chopping, sizzling, grilling, frying, roasting, baking, tasting, licking, sucking, biting, savoring, and swallowing food are pleasures that would, to put it mildly, be a crime to miss out on.

"Add to that the buzz, the satisfying tingle that goes down your spine when you watch someone eating something you have made for them, and you have one of the greatest joys known to man."

Nigel Slater in "Appetite: So What Do You Want to Eat Today?"

Live things everywhere

cutting greens

curling them around
i hold their bodies in obscene embrace
thinking of everything but kinship.
collards and kale
strain against each strange other
away from my kissmaking hand and
the iron bedpot.
the pot is black,
the cutting board is black,
my hand,
and just for a minute
the greens roll black under the knife,
and the kitchen twists dark on its spine
and i taste in my natural appetite
the bond of live things everywhere.

Lucille Clifton, quoted in Kevin Young's "The Hungry Ear: Poems of Food and Drink"

Sweet victory

 

When the home team wins the division, we bake in celebration. 

We head into the kitchen and pull together a pear and cranberry oatmeal crisp, a fall favorite. It is the least we can do.

The dessert proves entirely sweet, like victory itself.  

Fair food

Grains on the brain

Oh, what I would do for access to a waffle maker.

Among the first things I would try to make: cornmeal and oat waffles from partners and prolific food authors Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough.

Cornmeal and Oat Waffle Mix
from Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough's "Grain Mains: 101 Surprising and Satisfying Whole Grain Recipes for Every Meal of the Day"

4 cups coarse, whole-grain yellow cornmeal
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 3/4 cups spelt flour
1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup baking powder
4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. ground cinnamon

Whisk all the ingredients in a large bowl, taking care that the baking powder is evenly distributed throughout. Spoon or pour the whole kit and caboodle into a large container and seal tightly. Store up to 3 months in a dark, cool pantry.

To make 3 waffles, scoop 1 cup plus 3 tablespoons of the mix into a bowl. Whisk in 1 large egg, 1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon milk, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract, and 2 tablespoons nut oil (walnut, hazelnut or pecan) or 2 1/2 tablespoons melted and cooled unsalted butter.

Mix well and set aside for 10 minutes while the waffle iron heats. Then make the waffles in the iron according to the manufacturer's instructions. Serves about 24, with a heaping 9 1/2 cups of mix.

Kale and onion quiche

Because we could all benefit from more kale in our diets.

Sprouting

Flipping through Sara Forte and Hugh Forte's cookbook "The Sprouted Kitchen," I am most intrigued, I think, by soba and salmon. It is what I gravitate towards. It seems I am a noodle girl at heart.

Soba Bowls with Tea-poached Salmon 
from Sara Forte's "The Sprouted Kitchen: A Tastier Take on Whole Foods"

3 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil
2 Tbsp. tahini
2 Tbsp. agave nectar
grated zest and juice of 1 lime
3 Tbsp. tamari or soy sauce
2-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and finely grated
1 bunch broccoli
2 tsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
pinch of sea salt
3 bags green tea
1 Tbsp. peppercorns
1/2 cup mirin or dry white wine
1 1/4 pound wild salmon fillet
1 (9.5-ounce) package soba noodles
4 green onions, white and green parts, thinly sliced on the diagonal
1/2 cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 cup white or black sesame seeds

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.

In a small bowl, whisk together the sesame oil, tahini, agave nectar, lime zest and juice, tamari and grated ginger until smooth. Set aside.

Cut the broccoli into small florets, including some of the stems. Combine the broccoli in a bowl with the olive oil, garlic and salt, and spread on a rimmed baking sheet. Roast for 15 minutes, then remove from the oven.

In a saucepan, bring 1 cup water to a gentle simmer. Turn the heat down to low, add the tea bags and peppercorns and steep for 3 minutes, then discard the tea bags. Add the mirin to the poaching liquid.

Gently slide in the salmon, skin side down. Cover, and cook until the salmon is just barely cooked in the middle, 8 to 10 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fillet. If in doubt, it's better to undercook the salmon a bit rather than overcook it.

Remove the salmon to a plate and flake it with a fork (you will notice a natural grain). Set aside and loosely cover with foil.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the soba noodles according to package instructions or until al dente. While the noodles cook, chop the roasted broccoli. Drain the noodles.

In a large bowl, toss together the warm noodles, broccoli, dressing, green onions, and half the cilantro.

Divide the noodles among four bowls, top with a portion of the salmon, and sprinkle the remaining cilantro and the sesame seeds on top. Serve immediately. Makes 4 servings.

Bacon poetry

We spot this in a market on Haight Street in San Francisco, near the meat counter no less, and have to laugh out loud.

Aisle 8, Baking

"The next night, I'm smack-dab in the middle of grocery. Aisle 8, Baking Supplies, a.k.a. Ground Zero for the Holidays. Here sits nearly every baking ingredient known to America.

"My aisle's off-white tile stretches from the hip-deep freezers of meats to one of the store's Action Alleys - a kind of shopping-cart thoroughfare, clogged with a holiday baking center display.

"On the right are salts and spices; sugars white, brown, artificial, and unrefined; Jell-O products ranging from gelatin and pudding mixes to No-Bake Cheesecake kits and pudding cups; marshmallows of different flavors, colors, shapes, sizes, and, with the inclusion of Fluff, consistency; nuts in varying degrees of dismemberment; graham cracker crusts, chocolate cookies, and shortbread; canned pie fillings of fruit and pumpkin; chocolate chips, peanut butter chips, and baby M&Ms; dry milk powder; flaked coconut; cocoa; and canned milk that's been evaporated or sweetened and condensed.

"The left-hand shelves start out savory, with cornmeal, flour, gravy thickener, bread crumbs, and multiple variations on Shake'n Bake; veer into sweet with cornmeal muffin mix, nearly limitless cake mixes, cookie and bar mixes, flavor extracts, leavening agents and cornstarch; and terminate in fats with lard, shortening, and oils."

Tracie McMillan in "The American Way of Eating: Undercover at Walmart, Applebee's, Farm Fields and the Dinner Table"

"Eating Well, Living Better"

Michael Fenster, a cardiologist and trained chef, puts his profession and passion to work in "Eating Well, Living Better: The Grassroots Gourmet Guide to Good Health and Great Food." It is a practical, if somewhat overblown, volume.

His tone is occasionally too folksy. "If you've come this far, dear reader (and even if you were to put this book down now this very instant and walk away, you are still a dear reader)..." And his reliance on medical studies and statistics might alienate a general audience.

But Fenster pulls no punches and goes for the goal: a sustainable, healthy and delicious "food program." It is admirable. He calls junk food "weapons of mass consumption." His advice on healthy eating and portion control hold merit.

By including four chapters' worth of cooking tips and recipes, Fenster gives readers something tangible, too.

He relies on natural spices to wake up the palate, incorporating garlic, ginger and thyme, for example, in a Caribbean-inspired broccoli and cauliflower dish simmered in coconut milk; cayenne and black pepper in pumpkin cornbread; and a lemon-curry hollandaise in a smoked salmon pizza.

For those willing to look past Fenster's verbosity and philosophizing, this book is full of tried and tested advice and delicious dishes.

(A version of this review appeared originally in Publishers Weekly.)

A is for apple pie

"A is for apple pie. The nursery rhyme lives with us from our earliest years and culinary memories. As does the scent of autumn apples steaming in a pie; pouring hot, silky, vanilla-flecked custard over thick gluey-appled pastry triangles; pushing a clot of thick yellow cream on to the sugared pastry top with your fingers; or dropping a cold scoop of the best homemade vanilla ice cream over the summit, the hot beating the cold into melting submission.

"Apple pie is the alpha and omega of pies - well, at least of sweet pies - and there are, I'm sure, as many versions as there are cooks, but that is the joy of it.

"From cheese crusts and spices to crumble tops and gooky molasses-sugared tops punctuated with scrunched walnuts; from the plainest pie to the traditional winter welter-weight warmer, apple hat; from rhubarb and apple to apple and quince, apple and raisin, blackberry and apple."

Tamasin Day-Lewis, in "Tarts with Tops On or How to Make the Perfect Pie"

Thai one on

Restaurant art

Hashing it out

We like corned beef hash as much as the next fellow. And we always like a good poached egg. These inevitably get us going.

Talking "Taco"

"Mexican food is at our state dinners, in elegant presentations. Mexican food is in our school cafeterias, packaged as chimichangas or in bags of Fritos, in convenience stores heating on rolling racks, waiting for the hands of hurried customers.

"Mexican food sponsors college bowl games such as the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl and buys naming rights for sporting venues such as the Taco Bell Arena at Boise State in Idaho. Mexican food commercials blanket television airwaves hawking salsa and hard-shelled taco packets and high-priced tequilas and imported beers promising a day at the beach.

"Mexican food fills our grocery aisles, feeds underclassmen, sits in our freezers and pantries, is the focus of festivals, becomes tween trends or front-page news - and if you don't know what I'm talking about, ask your kid about spaghetti tacos.

"That wonderful culinary metaphor the melting pot has absorbed Mexican in this country just like so many immigrant cuisines of the past - but in a demanding way, unique from other traditions that have penetrated the American palate.

"While there are more Chinese restaurants than Mexican in this country, Mexican food is the easier sell... While pizza is the best-selling and farthest-reaching item of Italian-American cuisine, its rise and that of pasta and subs is only relatively recent; the United States, on the other hand, has loved Mexican food for more than 125 years - bought it, sold it, made it, spread it, supplied it, cooked it, savored it, loved it."

Gustavo Arellano, in "Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America"

Hunger

In his empathetic account "The Last Hunger Season: A Year in an African Farm Community on the Brink of Change," former Wall Street Journal reporter Roger Thurow ("Enough: Why the World's Poorest Starve in an Age of Plenty") focuses on a group of smallholder farmers in western Kenya, "a paradoxical region of breathtaking beauty and overwhelming misery."

Without modern equipment and valuable fertilizers, these farmers struggle to feed their families throughout the year and produce enough crops to make money to send their children to school. They believed "education was the surest route out of poverty."

They try hard to stretch their food supplies from one harvest to the next. The time in between - when prices soar with shortages "and parents scramble for whatever income they can find and scrounge whatever assets they can sell to afford daily nourishment" - is known as "wanjala," the hunger season.

In chronicling their plight, the author also discusses the efforts of the One Acre Fund, founded not long ago by Andrew Youn, a social entrepreneur with an MBA from Northwestern University. The organization works to provide farmers with "access to the seeds and soil nutrients and planting advice" that would normally be unavailable to them.

By documenting their collaboration, Thurow paints a sobering but ultimately hopeful picture of a continuing food crisis in Africa and some of the things people are doing to mitigate it.

(A version of this review appears in Publishers Weekly.)