Pure poetry

"Both the cook and the poet are makers. One holds a knife, the other a pen. One grinds fresh pepper over a mound of tender lettuce, while the other adds a period to the end of a sentence or a dash to the end of a line. With available ingredients - vegetables and herbs, rhymes and words - layers of flavor and meaning are infused in the pan and composed on the page."

Nicole Gulotta in "Eat This Poem: A Literary Feast of Recipes Inspired by Poetry"

Po'boys and beignets, okra and file

Although I have eaten in New Orleans just once in my life, I have returned to its food – the variety, the intense and enticing flavors – a million times in my head.

Senior year in college, my roommate and I booked flights from Providence on a whim. She wanted to catch Mardi Gras. I was game for nearly anything. So we left New England on a Friday morning in February. Neglecting to double-check the calendar, however, we didn't realize that we would actually miss the party by a few days.

On the ground, we decided to plan our own festivities. They don't call it the Big Easy for nothing. Over the long weekend, we would eat and drink as best we could on our student budgets.

For lunch, we had muffulettas and oyster po'boys. They are casual, convenient sandwiches, proteins and carbs in the same package. The first is a meatfest topped with an olive spread, the second a showcase for deep-fried oysters.

For dinner, we had red beans and rice, and crawfish etouffee, with bold spices we seldom encountered in the dining halls. They were foods my roommate knew from her Southern childhood, foods with which I had only recently become familiar.

We sipped hurricanes in bars on Bourbon Street and treated ourselves to beignets and chicory-spiked café au lait at Café du Monde.

Piled high with powdered sugar, beignets need to be handled carefully. One shake sends a cloud of sweetness across the table. One laugh out loud and there was snow on our noses, our hair and our shirts. We went through several plates of these signature pastries, laughing into the early morning.

Chicory with coffee, I later learned, is an age-old Louisiana tradition. The French added roasted and ground chicory to coffee to help stretch supplies during Napoleonic blockades in the early 19^th century. When naval blockades cut off shipments to New Orleans during the Civil War, people in Louisiana started to add chicory to their coffee as well, and came to appreciate the nuttiness it lent to the beverage.

***

New Orleans, it seems, has always been about good food. "We not only love to eat and to cook what we eat," Charmaine Neville says in the anthology "My New Orleans: Ballads to the Big Easy By Her Sons, Daughters and Lovers." "We love to talk about what we are going to cook and what we are going to eat. Before we finish what we're eating, we're already talking about the next meal we're going to have together."

"In spite of our differences," editor Rosemary James says in the introduction, "we have sought out each other's company over, always, the very best food, ingenious dishes created from a poor people's basics: beans, rice, okra, fish, crabs, oysters, shrimp, peppers, garlic, onions, file… And elegant desserts created from everyday things like bananas and sugar and rum. Ours is comfort food even for the aliens among us."

Traditional Louisiana cooking blends a number of cuisines and techniques. Creole dishes might have been based originally on French stews and soups, but they were influenced significantly as well by the Spanish affinity for onions, bell peppers, tomatoes and garlic, by the African use of okra, and the Native American introduction of file, finely ground sassafras leaves. Like Cajun foods, considered country cousins, they were spicy and robust.

By the 1980s and '90s, avuncular chefs such as Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Lagasse had mostly blurred the lines between Creole and Cajun cooking, popularizing both in person and in print. Lagasse, for example, incorporated them at Emeril's, his first solo restaurant venture, and in the best-selling book "Emeril's New New Orleans Cooking," developing additional recipes further influenced by his Portuguese roots.

In the months following Hurricane Katrina in 2005, eateries were among the first businesses in the city to re-open. Some places unfortunately did not survive. "Their owners were getting on in years," food writer and radio host Tom Fitzmorris says in "Hungry Town: A Culinary History of New Orleans," "or their buildings had been too badly damaged to rebuild, or they had intractable insurance problems."

But others including Galatoire's, Commander's Palace, Brennan's and K-Paul's Louisiana Kitchen still thrive. Home-grown chefs such as Susan Spicer, Donald Link and John Besh also continue to play with seasonal ingredients and innovative approaches at places like Mondo, Herbsaint and Restaurant August, respectively.

Before Katrina hit, according to Fitzmorris, there were more than 800 restaurants in greater New Orleans. These days, there are more than 1,200 – big and small, casual and formal, Creole, Cajun, Caribbean, French, Italian. It is a testament to the hunger people in the city have for good-tasting food, and the lengths to which cooks will go to feed that hunger. It speaks to their commitment and hospitality.

***

Since college, I have tasted different foods and visited a number of other cities. I have bitten into fresh scones, for example, topped with strawberry jam and lovely clotted cream in London. I have had cheese-smothered deep-dish pizzas in Chicago. I have feasted on Korean favorites like bulgogi and bibimbap in Los Angeles.

Why then, I wonder, do I return often in my head, and in my kitchen, to iconic New Orleans foods?

When catfish fillets are on special at the market, I grill them Louisiana-style, seasoned with paprika, black pepper, white pepper and cayenne pepper. I like the heat. When Christmas comes, I make a festive jambalaya. It seems the right project for a celebration. And when rain threatens to dampen my spirits, I gather ingredients for chicken and sausage gumbo. I have nearly perfected my roux.

Some foods, I suppose, are a part of who I am, who we are. They are the dishes we grow up eating, whether poached whole chicken or macaroni and cheese, barbecued pork buns or fresh baked apple pie. They are the flavors we know well, offered to us by our parents or grandparents.

Other foods, however, are a part of who I become, who we become, the people we essentially grow into. They are the dishes we discover on our own when we choose to travel and broaden our palates. They are the flavors we try to re-create when we can, combinations that started for me with a weekend trip to the South long ago.

Po'boys and beignets, okra and file. They are items my parents and grandparents never ate. After immigrating to the U.S. in the 1960s, my mother spent her time and effort at the stove fine-tuning Chinese dishes that reminded her of home. She knew of nothing else and wanted nothing more at her table in California. I would inevitably learn more and need more.

Maybe that's what New Orleans means to me. It is a terrific city with an extraordinary history. But it is also among the first places I found myself, when I began to look, when I hoped to forge an identity outside of family. There is that thrill. Maybe that's the connection. And the food? Well, maybe the food is just a splendid bonus.

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

Taking tea

"The British really are the only people in the world who become genuinely excited when presented with a hot beverage and a small plain biscuit."

Bill Bryson in "The Road to Little Dribbling"

On barbecue

"So what exactly had happened in the night, to transform these more or less odorless, flaccid hunks of hog flesh into delicious-smelling and -looking meat?

"How was it that some burning coals and a single oak log had turned something you would never think to eat - dead pig - into something you couldn't wait to eat?"

Michael Pollan in "Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation"

Whole hog

"The Skylight Inn does not use a barbecue sauce, that often tomatoey, syrupy, spicy-sweet condiment that most Americans associate with and serve atop and alongside their smoked meats. Here the meat not only speaks for itself but boastfully asserts its historical import and culinary prominence in a stubborn East Carolina drawl...

"Each chopped quarter is sprinkled with a handful of salt, then a fistful of black pepper. There are no written recipes, measuring cups, or calculations; instead the chopper is chef: knowledgeable, trusted, and mostly always right in his apportion of spice.

"Next come splashes of White House brand apple cider vinegar and Texas Pete, a Tabasco-esque cayenne and vinegar hot sauce that, despite its name, hails from North Carolina. Both are poured from plastic gallon jugs, arms held high, the liquids cascading like twin waterfalls into the meat.

"The chopper then (uses) his two blades like paddles to mix the shoulder and ham, spice and sauce... 'The main thing,' (Mike) Parrott believes, 'is to just make the first piece taste like the last piece. You want the whole season to be beautiful.'

"This is the magic hour, when spice meets meat, ambrosia melds with nectar - when smoked and chopped pork becomes barbecue, when barbecue transcends its own simplicity and becomes simply beautiful. When nothing becomes truly something."

Rien Fertel in "The One True Barbecue: Fire, Smoke, and the Pitmasters Who Cook the Whole Hog"

Eating Korean

Because the plating is lovely.

Pie song

Song to Pie

Pie.
Oh my.
Nothing tastes sweet,
Wet, salty, and dry
All at once so well as pie.

Apple and pumpkin and mince and black bottom,
I'll come to your place every day if you've got 'em.
Pie.

Roy Blount Jr. in "Save Room for Pie: Food Songs and Chewy Ruminations"

Deep-fried pie

"I drove back to Gene's Barbeque, had a pile of fried catfish and black-eyed peas, and then was offered dessert.

"'Want some deep-fried pie?'

"'Never had it.'

"'You'll love it. Chocolate pie. We wrap it in pastry and deep-fry it crispy. Why are you smiling, sir?'"

Paul Theroux in "Deep South: Four Seasons on Back Roads"

Sweetness

Because Christmas is coming.

"Truly" mad

"For me, a crust should be thin in the middle, thicker at the edge, and crisp with holes in it, like an artisanal rustic loaf. It should offer up a bit of chew, but never be bready or dense, and it should have a hint of char in places - ideally on the bubbles that arise around the edge and underneath. 

"Most of all it should be light and have a slightly complex flavor to it, not floury or yeasty tasting...

"The temperature in your kitchen, how accurately you measure your ingredients, whether you leave your dough in the fridge to thaw, how long you leave it wrapped on the counter before stretching it, how long you let it sit on the peel before putting it in the oven, and of course, how hot (or not) your oven is. 

"All of these things and more will contribute to each pie being slightly different, but that doesn't mean they won't all be delicious." 

Suzanne Lenzer in "Truly Madly Pizza: One Incredibly Easy Crust, Countless Inspired Combinations & Other Tidbits to Make Pizza a Nightly Affair"

Reconsidering beef

Those already ambivalent about beef won't be surprised by the revelations in Denis Hayes and Gail Boyer Hayes' book "Cowed: The Hidden Impact of 93 Million Cows on America's Health, Economy, Politics, Culture and Environment."

Much of what the authors say regarding the cattle industry will sound familiar. They echo sentiments expressed by Frances Moore Lappe ("Diet for a Small Planet"), Eric Schlosser ("Fast Food Nation") and Michael Pollan ("The Omnivore's Dilemma").

In this substantial volume, the Hayeses, longtime sustainability advocates, rail against the treatment of livestock in feedlots across the country. They bemoan factory farming where animals are treated "with about the same level of respect that an automobile manufacturer feels for a piece of sheet metal." They find themselves championing alternatives such as "organic foods, locally grown foods and vegetarian diets." 

The Hayeses recognize from the outset the tremendous carbon footprints cows leave. Feedlot beef, for example, "produces five times more global warming per calorie" than pork or poultry. It takes 11 times more water and uses 28 times as much land. 

The conditions in which cows are often raised are frightening to consider. A place "that is hell for cows is paradise for germs." Pollutants in feedlots and lagoons, where farmers store animal sewage, can "rise into the air and travel long distances on the wind," and also sink into groundwater.

Discussions on processed beef filled with "nitrates and nitrites (and sometimes nitrosamines)" and bull castration make meat consumption less than appetizing as well. The authors present a strong case here against feedlot beef, giving readers significant and serious food for thought.

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

To be "Wary"

Fears about food safety in the United States run rampant. Instances of food contamination during the manufacturing process or food poisoning often make national headlines. 

In "Eat, Drink, and Be Wary: How Unsafe is Our Food?" veteran journalist Charles M. Duncan proves these fears are not unfounded. Bit by bit, he examines the "scope of each dangerous issue," the reasons why the government has failed to protect consumers, and the consequences of such lax oversight.

Contamination can affect every "phase of our food chain, from the wheat and corn fields, grazing cattle, slaughterhouses, egg farms and dairies to our oceans and bays." Global imports generally do not get properly or sufficiently inspected either.

The FDA, for example, inspects less than two percent of foods shipped from China. Meanwhile, more than half of Chinese food processing and packaging firms regularly fail that country's own safety inspections.

Chapters on items such as produce, poultry and eggs highlight similar themes. According to Duncan, the American government drags its feet and occasionally keeps secret public information about enforcement, closures and seizures. It protects big businesses at the expense of individuals.

Subsequent discussions on milk, seafood and processed meats strike cautionary tones as well. Cases of fish fraud are especially worrisome.

Though not the most optimistic - or appetizing, for that matter - volume on modern-day food production, Duncan's work is comprehensive. Readers concerned with the safety and reliability of their foods will certainly appreciate his efforts.

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

The lentil underground

"As I listened to the people who came up to chat after my shows, it dawned on me that life in the heartland was not what I'd thought. 

"Farming had become a grueling industrial occupation, squeezed between the corporations that sold farmers their chemicals and the corporations that bought their grain. 

"To my disappointment, I discovered that most American farmers weren't actually growing food but rather raw ingredients for big food processors. These multinational corporations dictated everything their growers did, from the seeds they planted to the expensive fertilizers and herbicides they needed to grow them. 

"It was a losing game for the farmers, who kept sinking further into debt as their input costs rose and grain prices fell. But the arrangement was great for the corporations, which kept right on dealing chemicals to their captive suppliers of cheap corn, soy and wheat. 

"Flush with marketing dollars, Big Food was working hard to convince middle America that their folksy branded products were the protectors of the family farm and its wholesome values."

Liz Carlisle in "Lentil Underground: Renegade Farmers and the Future of Food in America"

Dense and dark

Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake from Nigella Lawson

from Kristen Miglore's "Food52 Genius Recipes: 100 Recipes That Will Change the Way You Cook"

1 cup soft unsalted butter
1 2/3 cups packed dark brown or dark muscovado sugar
2 large eggs, beaten
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, melted
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 cup plus 2 Tbsps. boiling water

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Put a baking sheet on a lower rack in case of sticky drips later. Grease a 9- by 5-inch loaf pan and line with parchment paper. The lining is important as this is a very damp cake. Use parchment paper or one of those loaf-pan-shaped paper liners.

Cream the butter and brown sugar, either with a wooden spoon or with an electric mixer, then add the eggs and vanilla, beating in well. Next fold in the melted and now slightly cooled chocolate, taking care to blend well but being careful not to overbeat. You want the ingredients combined. You don't want a light, airy mass.

Mix the flour and baking soda and gently add the flour mixture to the batter, alternately spoon by spoon with the boiling water until you have a smooth and fairly liquid batter. Pour into the lined loaf pan. (Note: Don't let this batter come closer than 1 inch from the rim of the loaf pan or it risks overflowing. Pour any excess into a smaller cake or muffin pan.) Bake for 30 minutes.

Turn the oven down to 325 degrees F and continue to bake for another 15 minutes. The cake will still be a bit squidgy inside, so an inserted cake tester or skewer won't come out completely clean.

Place the loaf pan on a rack and leave it to get completely cold before turning it out. (Lawson often leaves it for a day or so. Like gingerbread, it improves.) Don't worry if it sinks in the middle. Indeed it will do so because it's such a dense and damp cake. Makes 8 to 10 servings.

Eating local

"Because barbecue is connected so strongly to place, it has always inspired a certain amount of local chauvinism. Have I engaged in any of this smoky braggadocio myself? Are the beef brisket sandwiches and short ribs I eat in my hometown heavily laced with nostalgia? 

"Was I accurately described by a newspaper reporter and trencherman I'll call Charlie Plum when he referred to me in print as someone who 'has built a career on exaggerating the virtues of his hometown's barbecue'? Well, yes, of course...

"Despite what was implied by Plum, who grew up in Akron at a time when that city was noted for fashioning objects out of rubber in both its tire factories and its restaurants, a little local pride is nothing to be ashamed of."

Calvin Trillin in "Feeding a Yen: Savoring Local Specialties, From Kansas City to Cuzco"

Bread

"All sorrows are less with bread."

Miguel de Cervantes

Peaches in pie

Georgia Peach Pie

from Cheryl Day and Griffith Day's "Back in the Day Bakery Made with Love"

1 extra-flaky pie crust

2 1/2 pounds peaches, peeled, pitted and cut into 1/4-inch slices

2 tsp. grated lemon zest

2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice

1/4 cup packed light brown sugar

3 Tbsp. cornstarch

1/2 tsp. fine sea salt

1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/4 tsp. ground allspice

1/4 tsp. ground ginger

1 large egg, lightly beaten with a pinch of fine sea salt for egg wash

coarse sugar or raw sugar for sprinkling

Roll out one disk of dough, fit it into a 9-inch pie pan, and refrigerate for 30 minutes, then "dock" the bottom of the crust and return it to the refrigerator. 

Roll out the second disk, cut into lattice strips, place on a baking sheet and refrigerate.

Put the peaches in a large bowl, add the lemon zest and lemon juice, and toss gently.

In a small bowl, mix together the brown sugar, cornstarch, salt, cinnamon, allspice and ginger. Gently toss the peaches with this mixture.

Pour the filling into the prepared pie crust. Use the chilled dough strips to form a lattice over the filling crust. Put the pie on a rimmed baking sheet and put in the refrigerator for 15 minutes to set the crust.

Meanwhile, position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Remove the pie from the refrigerator and brush the pie crust with the egg wash. Sprinkle with coarse sugar. 

Bake for 15 minutes, then reduce the oven temperature to 350 degrees F and bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until the crust is golden brown and the fruit is bubbling. 

Remove the pie from the oven and cool on a wire rack for 2 to 3 hours.

The pie can be stored at room temperature for up to 1 day or refrigerated for up to 2 days. Makes 8 servings.

for the extra-flaky pie crust:

2 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1 Tbsp. granulated sugar

1 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. fine sea salt

1/2 cup ice water

1 Tbsp. cider vinegar

1/2 pound (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter cut into 1-inch cubes

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

In a measuring cup or a small bowl, combine the water and cider vinegar. Set aside.

Toss the butter in the flour mixture to gently coat it. Then use a pastry blender to cut the butter into the flour. You should have various-sized pieces of butter, ranging from sandy patches to pea-sized chunks, with some larger bits as well. 

Drizzle in about half of the ice water mixture and stir lightly with a fork until the flour is evenly moistened and the dough starts to come together. 

If the dough seems dry, add a little more ice water 1 to 2 tablespoons at a time. The dough will still look a bit shaggy at this point. If you grab a small piece of dough and press it slightly with your hand, it should mostly hold together.

Dump the dough out onto an un-floured work surface and gather it together into a tight mound. 

Using the heel of your hand, smear the dough a little at a time, pushing it away from you and working your way down the mass of dough to create flat layers of flour and butter. 

Then gather the dough back together with a bench scraper, layering the clumps of dough on top of one another. 

Repeat the process once or twice more; the dough should still have some big pieces of butter visible.

Cut the dough in half. Shape each piece into a disk and flatten it. Wrap the disks in plastic and put in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour, or overnight, to rest.

The dough can be stored for 3 days in the refrigerator or up to 1 month in the freezer. If frozen, defrost in the refrigerator overnight. Makes 2 9-inch pie crusts.

Pure "Genius"

"These recipes are about reworking what we've been taught and skipping past all the canonical versions to a smarter way...

"Here in this collection are more than one hundred of the most surprising and essential genius recipes. Some are greatest hits from the column that keep inspiring new conversations and winning new fans... My hope is that this book, held together, can act as an alternative kitchen eduction of sorts..."

Kristen Miglore in "Food52 Genius Recipes: 100 Recipes That Will Change the Way You Cook"

Cookie monsters

"A balanced diet is a cookie in each hand."

Barbara Johnson

Guy walks into a bar

"A guy walks into a bar. It's the oldest setup there is. But what happens next?

"I was at my local pub contemplating a water-ringed beer list, a wall of tap handles, and a packed fridge. I saw a pale ale brewed 20 million gallons at a time and a triple IPA made in a jerry-rigged turkey frier in a garage down the street. 

"I saw a traditional, light-bodied British porter and an extra-strong, cacao-infused imperial stout stored in bourbon barrels. One beer was brewed with hours-old hops, freshly plucked in an Oregon field; another had been aged for eighteen months with acidic bacteria - critters more common in vinegar and pickle brines.

"There were pilsners and ambers, red ales and browns, wheat beers and rye beers and spelt beers; there were three-dollar happy hour specials and thirty-dollar vintage bottles, corked and foil-wrapped like fine Champagne. 

"Bitter or sweet, smooth or strong, fruity or dry, dark or light, it was all there, in dizzying glory. So - the bartender tapped his fingers - what'll it be?"

William Bostwick in "The Brewer's Tale: A History of the World According to Beer"