Eating out

"How we understand ourselves as modern and civilized, how we have cultivated the types of social exchanges that seem proper and conventional, and how we have developed our appetites and chosen to enact them in the public arena are the main preoccupations that frame this book. 

"The popular practice of dining out is a means for exploring these concerns, as the restaurant itself is located squarely in the space between the private and public."

Joanne Finkelstein in "Fashioning Appetite: Restaurants and the Making of Modern Identity"

In a pickle

"Despite the fact that my first two cookbooks are always shelved with the jam making and canning books, I am a fan of kitchen tinkering of all stripes. I live for drying, salting, curing, marinating and brining. I am simply fascinated by the meditative practice of taking a foodstuff and transforming it with little more than salt or sugar, heat or moisture, time and magical bacteria.

"Enter the humble pickle. Although I love all of my kitchen creations the way a mother hen loves her flock, pickles have truly captured my heart (and my stomach!). I swear, I could live on little more than hot rice and cold pickles, provided they are crisp, flavorful, pungent and bright. It is only natural that, with so many Asian flavors spilling from my dinner bowl plus so many years of traveling to Asia and living there for a spell, my interest would turn to pickles of the Asian continent."

Karen Solomon in "Asian Pickles: Sweet, Sour, Salty, Cured and Fermented Preserves"

Crispy kale

Kale Chips

from Brendan Brazier's "Thrive Energy Cookbook"

1 to 2 bunches kale
1/4 to 1/3 cup olive oil or avocado oil
fleur de sel or sea salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Tear the kale leaves from the thick stems and tear the leaves into bite-size pieces. 

Wash kale, thoroughly dry with a salad spinner or kitchen towel, and transfer to a large bowl. 

Drizzle kale with olive oil and toss well or gently rub to thoroughly coat leaves with oil. 

Spread kale in a single layer on a baking sheet; some slight overlapping is okay. Sprinkle with fleur de sel or sea salt to taste.

Bake until the edges are brown but not burnt, 10 to 15 minutes. Makes 2 servings.

"The Food Section"

Though James Beard and Craig Claiborne were widely known in food-writing circles, their female contemporaries went largely unrecognized. University of Central Florida associate professor Kimberly Voss hopes to rectify this. 

In her volume "The Food Section: Newspaper Women and the Culinary Community," she sheds substantial light on the contributions of newspaper food editors in the United States from the 1940s through the '70s, "when food was changing significantly due to developments in technology and a changing American palate."

Most of these journalists at the time were women. They wrote "about local stores, local restaurants, and local cooks." They reported on national food news as well, on poverty, nutrition, health standards and government policies. 

And they connected with their audiences. For instance, "exchange columns in which readers requested recipes were some of the most common, popular, and long-lasting features of the newspapers acting as a kind of early social media."

Unfortunately, the author veers occasionally into less-interesting territory. A discussion, for example, on "the first industry conferences for food editors and journalists" gets somewhat dull. As does one on the history of home economics as a course of academic study. Further focus on food sections in newspapers today would also have been appreciated. 

But these are small quibbles about an otherwise cogent examination of remarkable female journalists who served "an important role for their communities" over the years, women who effectively "reached consumers and cooks" and "covered the intersection of food and governmental regulation."

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

The monster mash

Mashed Cauliflower

from Brooke McLay's "Almonds Every Which Way: More Than 150 Healthy & Delicious Almond Milk, Almond Flour, and Almond Butter Recipes"

1 large cauliflower
2 cloves roasted garlic (optional)
1 Tbsp. nutritional yeast, butter or Earth Balance
1/4 cup unsweetened almond milk
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. coarsely ground black pepper

Cut the florets from the cauliflower.

Place the cauliflower florets in a large pot and cover them with water. Cover the pot and bring the water to a boil over high heat. Allow the cauliflower to boil until very tender, about 25 minutes.

Drain the cauliflower completely in a strainer, transfer to a large bowl, and add the garlic (if using), nutritional yeast, almond milk, salt and pepper to the bowl.

Use a hand blender to puree. If you don't have a hand blender, puree half of the cauliflower with the roasted garlic and almond milk in a blender, then transfer it to a stand mixer and beat the pureed cauliflower and remaining cauliflower together until it's reached the texture of mashed potatoes. Makes 4 servings.

Mom and me

An assortment of fond kitchen memories from across the country, Phyllis Pellman Good's "Mom and Me in the Kitchen: Memories of Our Mothers' Kitchens" reads like an extended Mother's Day card. 

It is an earnest reminder of relationships forged early on and the influences our parents have. But this sentimental look back, with so many different voices in such brief instances, proves unsatisfying. 

Reminiscences abound of mothers and mealtimes — when "stuffed shells, lasagna, chicken and rice dishes, and homemade tuna casserole made many appearances" — of itinerant childhoods and immigrant flavors. 

The women discuss everything from birthdays and cooking blunders: a seven-year-old gets a sunshine cake, "three layers with a wonderful custard between the layers" and soft yellow frosting; elsewhere a teenager asked to follow a recipe that called for a clove of garlic adds ground cloves and garlic instead. 

What Good's book does not provide, however, is significant context for the women's stories, so we never gain a strong enough sense of who they are as individuals. The collection doesn't lack for breadth but sorely lacks depth. It presents a composite sketch of motherhood that inevitably leaves us wanting more. 

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

On opening Delancey

"Brandon was twenty-seven years old when we opened Delancey. I was thirty. I was married to him, but in a sense, I hardly knew him. 

"I didn't know that he had a head for business, or that he could lead people, or that, after going through the multi-year rigmarole of opening a restaurant, he would even still be interested in it. 

"And I didn't know that he would be right: that it would, in fact, realize everything that matters to us. I learned that only by letting him do it – 'letting' in the very loosest interpretation, through clenched teeth and with a certain amount of screaming."

Molly Wizenberg in "Delancey: A Man, a Woman, a Restaurant, a Marriage"

"Jennifer's Way"

"I now knew food was the key, but I was beginning to discover exactly how crucial it was - and how complex. It wasn't just gluten. It was dairy, and I suspected even more. I must have some food allergies, too. 

"The more I researched, the more I found out how common this is with celiac disease. When your immune system is in an elevated and hyperactive state, it can react to all kinds of foods. 

"I needed my immune system to calm down. I had a feeling it wouldn't be easy - but that it would start with food."

Jennifer Esposito in "Jennifer's Way: My Journey with Celiac Disease - What Doctors Don't Tell You and How You Can Learn to Live Again"

French eating

"The longer I lived in France, the more I ate. And the more I ate, the more questions I had. I yearned to discover French regional cuisine, and, I soon realized, the only way to truly understand it was to visit the regions themselves, to be curious, explore, taste, learn.
 
"In France dining is meant to be a special, pleasurable part of the day; food offers not only fuel for the body but also a connection - between the people who have joined you at the table, between the generations who have shared a recipe, between the terroir (the earth) and the culture and cuisine that have sprung from it. Separate from cooking, the very act of eating is in itself an art to master."
 
Ann Mah in "Mastering the Art of French Eating: Lessons in Food and Love From a Year in Paris"

Weekday cake

"A party without cake is really just a meeting." 

Julia Child

Beyond gluten

"I now knew food was the key, but I was beginning to discover exactly how crucial it was - and how complex. It wasn't just gluten. It was dairy, and I suspected even more. I must have some food allergies, too. 

"The more I researched, the more I found out how common this is with celiac disease. When your immune system is in an elevated and hyperactive state, it can react to all kinds of foods. I needed my immune system to calm down. I had a feeling it wouldn't be easy - but that it would start with food."

Jennifer Esposito in "Jennifer's Way: My Journey with Celiac Disease - What Doctors Don't Tell You and How You Can Learn to Live Again"

Hot cross bun

One a penny, two a penny...

His life in restaurants

"I grew up in restaurants. I don't mean that my parents owned or ran them - my father was a Hollywood screenwriter, my mother a onetime ingenue turned housewife and society dame - but they practically lived in restaurants themselves, and when they went out to eat, they often took me with them.

"Some of my earliest memories are of perching on a booster seat in a red or green leather booth at a table covered in thick white napery and crowded with silverware and glasses, and being waited on and fed and plied with Shirley Temples and told to sit up straight.

"I can still summon up a sensory impression of those evenings, romanticized, of course, and with the particulars of each occasion blurred hopelessly together, but vivid nonetheless: the ceaseless motion all around me, a choreography of waiters and busboys, arriving and departing guests; the reassuring clamor that suggested room-wide concord and contentment; the aromas intertwining in the air - cigarette smoke, Sterno, sizzling meat, coffee, the iodine-scented whisky in my father's glass, the floral sweetness of my mother's best perfume. 

"It all washed over me, and never really went away."

Colman Andrews in "My Usual Table: A Life in Restaurants"

"Paris to Provence"

"Although my family only lived a little more than two years in Provence with the goats and making cheese before returning to California where my parents became high school teachers, we returned every summer to our old stone farmhouse, leaving as soon as school got out, traveling there by various routes, and once settled in, exploring our world with day trips to the sea, to lakes, and to neighboring villages and castles. 

"It was there, during those long, lazy summers with my family, that I learned the smells of the forest as we gathered wild herbs, the taste of truly fresh fish and vegetables, and the pleasures of lingering over the table.

"Thus began my journey from Paris to Provence, starting and ending in Paris."

Ethel Brennan (with Sara Remington) in "Paris to Provence: Childhood Memories of Food & France"

Down South

Defining Southern food – explaining all that it entails – can often be a tricky proposition. It is not simply one thing. It is many things. It is not confined to one place. It encompasses many places. It is both contemporary and traditional, incorporating a number of elements. It is ever evolving and rooted in history. It is inventive, inviting and honest. That Southern food cannot be easily defined is ironically among its defining characteristics.

In "Smoke and Pickles: Recipes and Stories from a New Southern Kitchen," Edward Lee shows us what Southern cooking can include. Chef and owner of 610 Magnolia in Louisville, Kentucky, for the past decade, he melds personal influences and professional experiences with local resources.

Lee grew up in a Korean-American household in Brooklyn during the 1970s and '80s. He watched his grandmother prepare old-school Korean dishes, he says. At his friend Marcus's apartment, he had Puerto Rican plantains over rice. He hung out with Jewish neighbors, too, when his parents were at work, learning from them as well.

After college Lee opened a Korean barbecue joint on Mott Street in New York City, attracting hipsters, "entertaining celebrities and fashionistas and selling lychee martinis by the dozens." It eventually closed: "Three years of the restaurant had gone by in a blink."

Somehow he found himself in Kentucky in 2003 on the weekend of the Derby. He has lived there since, getting the chance to reinvent himself "through the lens of tobacco and bourbon and sorghum and horse racing and country ham."

Lee took instantly to the South and it in turn took to him. The foods around him, he realized, were similar in many regards to those he ate as a child with his grandmother. "Soft grits remind me of congee; jerky of cuttlefish; chowchow of kimchi. My Korean forefathers' love of pickling is rivaled only by Southerners' love of pickling. BBQ, with its intricate techniques of marinades and rubs, is the backbone of both cuisines."

In the cookbook, Lee combines familiar ingredients in previously unfamiliar ways. For a beef rice bowl, for example, he marries Asian-style barbecue – think bulgogi – with sautéed collard greens. He tops them with fried eggs and spoonfuls of corn chili remoulade, giving the dish further spice. He re-conceptualizes bibimbap.

For pulled pork, he eschews sweet Southern barbecue sauce for a saltier version made with items such as soy sauce, black bean paste and sesame oil. He serves the meat with cornbread and pickles, or tucked into hot dog buns with spicy Napa cabbage kimchi. Savory and sour notes contrast well.

Chapters on bourbon and bar snacks, and desserts also prove innovative. In the former, Lee focuses on the distilled spirit most associated with Kentucky. "I have sipped and I have slugged," he writes. "I have rollicked in the simple joys of a Rebel Yell and pontificated on the complexities of a Col. E. H. Taylor..."

In the latter, he gets creative with buttermilk affogato, for instance, chess pie with blackened pineapple salsa, and a whiskey-ginger cake garnished elegantly with pear cut the size of matchsticks. These presentations further exemplify his novel approach to Southern flavors.

The chef arrived in the South and discovered its pleasures later in his life. On the other hand, award-winning cookbook authors Matt Lee and Ted Lee were raised in the South and have long been schooled in the area's rich culinary heritage.

In "The Lee Bros. Charleston Kitchen," they celebrate all their hometown has to offer. They extol its virtues, showing us "not only what it's like to grow up here and learn to cook here," they say, "but also how we are continually inspired by this place." They describe the cuisine as well as the people – farmers, fishermen, chefs and bartenders – who help to make their community whole.

As they did in "The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook" and "The Lee Bros. Simple Fresh Southern: Knockout Dishes with Down-Home Flavor," they concentrate on popular traditional items, including shrimp, okra, pecans, and boiled peanuts, around which they have built a mail-order specialty food business, too.

More notably, however, the brothers choose to feature several ingredients with which the region might not be immediately associated. They call attention to kumquats, for example, which grow throughout downtown Charleston. They use them to infuse gin for cocktails, highlighting their sweet-tart flavor – a mix of orange, grapefruit and lemon – in a kumquat sparkler with sparkling white wine, a kumquatini, kumquat margarita and kumquat-chile Bloody Mary.

They talk about loquats, a tad smaller than golf balls and native to China. The fruits "emerge on trees throughout the Lowcountry in April (March, if it's been a warm winter), with furry skin enveloping a shallow layer of yellow-orange flesh." They use them for a vodka infusion to concoct loquat Manhattans.

Championing vegetables they realized not long ago had been harvested in South Carolina since the 18th century, the brothers also introduce things like salsify, a scraggly carrot-like root. They peel, cook and mash it as we might potatoes to create fried salsify "oysters" reminiscent of hushpuppies or falafel. They get us excited to return to the kitchen.

The Lees break every so often with profiles of women and men in the local food industry. They spotlight folks like Celeste Albers, a poultry and dairy farmer on Wadmalaw Island 18 miles south of Charleston, and Sidi Limehouse, "a prominent character, as much for his salty opinions and spicy backstory... as his fine produce."

They give them their fair due. The brothers know Southern cooking is only as good as the ingredients to which people have access. They understand Charleston's appeal, taking great civic pride in both its thriving food scene and the hard work required to sustain it.

Like Edward Lee, and brothers Matt Lee and Ted Lee, Susan Puckett pays tribute to the South. A Jackson, Mississippi, native and former food editor at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, she, too, has long been schooled in the make-up of the region. She knows its colorful and complicated history. ("It birthed King Cotton, the blues, and the civil rights movement.") She studies its fascinating foodways.

Her volume "Eat Drink Delta: A Hungry Traveler's Journey Through the Soul of the South," equal parts visitors guide, handy cookbook and photo essay, takes a broad look across a couple of states. Puckett begins in Memphis, Tennessee, and works her way down Mississippi toward Vicksburg. She covers cities both big and small, spotlighting a few fancy eateries but focusing mostly on mom-and-pops. These businesses keep it real.

"Travelers expecting to indulge in home-style fried chicken and fresh, pond-raised catfish are rarely disappointed," she says. "Fine examples of those Delta stalwarts – with their requisite accompaniments of slow-cooked greens and cornbread – turn up in every small town, and even in country cafes in the middle of nowhere."

Unusual items appear often as well. "From one end of the Delta to the other, old-time tamale makers wrap cornmeal cylinders filled with spicy beef or pork... to sell from roadside stands or café lunch counters. Pit masters mix barbecue into spaghetti. Convenience stores sell giant dill pickles marinated in Kool-Aid as snacks to go."

In search of popular everyday foods, Puckett explores what folks at the Southern Foodways Alliance dubbed the Mississippi Delta Hot Tamale Trail. She tries tamales at Blues City Café in Memphis, for example, and at Doe's Eat Place in Greenville, Mississippi, and Pea-Soup's Lott-A-Freeze in Indianola, Mississippi. She has her share.

Unlike tamales we get "in Mexican and southwestern-style restaurants, which can be dry and fairly tasteless," she contends, the ones found in the Delta are "savory cigar-shaped packages... dripping in oily, spicy juices." They are made in corn husks or parchment paper. And though they are sold all over the state, they are rarely seen outside of it.

Puckett also encounters Kool-Aid pickles – whole dill pickles soaked in powdered drink mix, sugar and pickle juice – in large plastic jugs. For decades, she tells us, children in poor black neighborhoods had been pouring Kool-Aid packets directly into pickle jars; they liked the tanginess. Grocers "refined the technique a bit, and started selling them along with other pickled soul-food standbys like eggs and pigs' feet."

When she can, she shares recipes from residents and restaurants as well, giving us opportunities to mimic flavors or try new dishes in the comfort of our own kitchens. In conjunction with snapshots taken around the region by photographer Langdon Clay, they help to reveal a strong sense of community.

For those of us born and raised on the West Coast, areas south of the Mason-Dixon Line can sometimes unfortunately be but a blur. (Areas east of the Rockies aren't always clear to us either.) The geography we learned in fifth grade fails us. We are simply not as familiar as we should be with that stretch of the country.

The authors, each in his or her own way, enlighten us further about the South – its food, land and people – giving visual representation to all we have imagined. They teach us about Kentucky, South Carolina, Tennessee and Mississippi.

Whether bringing multicultural influences to Southern food, offering ideas on handling unique ingredients, or collecting observations traveling from one town to another, they imbue their discussions with nostalgia. They entice us with their cooking. Through stories and recipes, they document their love for the place they call home, celebrating its generosity and hospitality.

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

Hello, sunshine

Because it has been that kind of a week. From Sweet Bar Bakery.

Being French

"I really had no idea what was happening on the Paris scene, what was hot and what was not: all I wanted to do was to create a place that was the sum of all my best experiences. 

"I wanted to serve simple yet inventive food, using high-quality ingredients, in a laid-back bistro setting, with affordable prices, a menu that changed daily, and a short but exciting wine list. 

"I guess I was in the right place at the right time: the Paris 'bistronomy' trend was just starting, and the type of food and ambiance I had in mind seemed to be exactly what people were craving.

"Frenchie quickly received great praise from the public as well as the critics. The phone started to ring nonstop, and the reservation book was filled a month ahead. To this day, I still don't understand how it all happened so quickly."

Greg Marchand in "Frenchie: New Bistro Cooking"

Maple sweet

"March is the time of the year for maple festivals, where you can watch what the big boys do and sample all sorts of maple products. We've never been. We have our own maple festival nonstop for several weeks, and we seem to invent a new product every day. 

"Of course there are the usual suspects: pancakes, waffles, French toast, regular toast with a small beaded drizzle in the butter; but we also pour the syrup over ice cream, into ice cream, and can make sorbets and gelatos; use it in place of sugar in breads, cakes, and cookies; in homemade barbecue sauce, salad dressing, and mayonnaise; as a background to sauteed Thai chiles, pad Thai, and other stir fries; with fruit, yogurt, Kefir; alone, out of the jar, like a shot of whiskey on a rough day; shot with whiskey, like a sweet boilermaker, on a rougher day; as a glaze for chicken, salmon, pork, and shrimp; over oatmeal, with cinnamon and nutmeg in a pan sauce, like Madeira; in place of honey with strong cheeses. 

"The limits are your own apprehensions and the amount you're willing to risk wasting should the flavors fall into dissonance. The only way I haven't had it is as the Canadians do, dumped into a pile of clean snow on a cutting board outdoors and stirred up with a stick, then eaten, communally, with a spoon."

Paul Graham in "Sweet Spot" in "Best Food Writing 2012"

St. Patrick

"At home, Saint Patrick's Day is a religious holiday that celebrates Patrick bringing Christianity to Ireland in the fifth century. It is observed with the same kind of reverence that Americans have for Thanksgiving, but more solemn...

"On Saint Patrick's Day, we don't drink green beer, we don't dye the rivers green, and we don't get really drunk. It is actually a stay-at-home day on which many pubs are closed..."

Cathal Armstrong and David Hagedorn in "My Irish Table: Recipes from the Homeland and Restaurant Eve"

Sweet harvest

"You could tell that Kevin was boiling when you arrived at the parking lot and saw the broad column of steam shooting through the sugarhouse roof. That steam was scented with maple, and as soon as I got out of the car and stood in the open air I encountered the sweet smell. I liked this idea of standing in a maple-scented mist at the top of a mountain."

Douglas Whynott in "The Sugar Season: A Year in the Life of Maple Syrup - One Family's Quest for the Sweetest Harvest"