Carrot Top

Was just reading something that might apply to these questions, in Aguecheek's Beef, Belch's Hiccup, and Other Gastronomic Interjections . There's about another full page of this in this book, but I would guess that a closer answer might be found within the article cited. Personally I am exhausted just having read eleven pages of this book and am definitely beginning to talk funny. *Judith Goode, Janet Theophano, and Karen Curtis, "A Framework for the Analysis of Continuity and Change in Shared Sociocultural Rules for Food Use: The Italian-American Pattern," in Ethnic and Regional Foodways in the United States.

One of the things I enjoy about this story are the characterizations. The people. Sometimes I feel rather guilty when I read mysteries, or "lighter" reading rather than, you know, Great Literature of the Ages. Though some mysteries or books of their ilk, might sometimes make it into this category of critical assessment, it mostly is a different style of approach. But then, I would hate to have to eat a formal, challenging dinner each and every day. I would rather eat what tastes good and feels good. The serial books with continuing characters, to me, feel good, often. It is like visiting with friends. Peterson and Cosgrave have this sense about them. A potential for being characters that could go on to other adventures, to my mind. An interesting relationship, already. Of course one or the other might get stuck by that famous fork by the time the story ends.

You can make a light "white" sauce, Susan, a bechamel - or you can use half milk half stock to do the same and it will work. A nice touch could also be the addition of a tiny tiny pinch of nutmeg.

fricadelle . . .

Who won? And what did the winner eat before the bout? I don't wrestle, exactly, but need equal amounts of energy in order to deal with my kids. I need a kid-toppling regimen. My energy must blow theirs away. Perhaps maybe one of these wrestling diets would do that?

Estouffeed - The feeling of being stuffed after eating too much etouffee. Estupideed - An etouffee made badly by someone too stupid to know how to cook it right. The term may be extended to other dishes where the balance of ingredients and texture are just plain stupid.

And my goodness, Franci, the foods your child carries forth from childhood and family, into the world will be interesting, though undoubtedly the names of what they are called will be contested at times.

Thinking of Nero Wolfe - and characters who represent the "gourmand" in literature. Is there any other character in fictional literature who represents the gourmand as clearly and intently as Wolfe?

Ah. Tell a "son of an Italian immigrant" that he needs to feel better about himself and you will have quite an animated discussion on your hands. The essence of childhood foods, family foods, is not in their "authenticity". The essence of most childhood foods, family foods, is not in their fineness of ingredient or perfection of technique. The essence is that they belong to the family, *that* family, those people, the people that belong to you and you to them, in that point of time, in that place. Their love and care is brought to the table in those foods, and eaten, and remembered. Then it is *that* sauce, that way of serving meatballs, that reigns supreme. There is no argument against this, for it would be an argument against love, one that can not be won by any logic, no matter how purely wrought or intellectually convincing. This personal essay was about something the author loved, and how she went on an almost archaeological search to find out more about it. To her, the old way, the "authentic" way - was something to be looked at and thought about in reference to *her* Primary Sauce (ha, ha like primary source). Not something to be revered or held as better, but something to examine to understand better the thing *she* loved. It may be that love is blind, and that many if not most or maybe even all of the foods loved from childhood family tables are bastards - not scheming bastards though, not lesser or evil, merely things that have adapted and become of their own time and place. And each person's individual time and place, just like their name, is sacred to them, and important, in close-held ways to the heart. As far as the essay goes, I enjoyed it very much. My first thought was "It's about time we get to read something like this." The title did not bother me because I didn't connect it to popular culture, I just thought "the code (i.e. mystery) of spaghetti". Which was sort of cute and I like sort of cute in terms of titles. It keeps it simple and not perilous in terms of appproach to something likely read while downing the first cup of coffee of the day, or inbetween doing this-and-that, without great intent of focus given. A friandise, a little frill, that's okay. It's like a touch of bright lipstick. It attracts the eye in a certain way, but does not signify idiocy as to the rest of the content of the package. But Pontormo's post gave me food for thought, too. It was a well-reasoned and clear critical analysis, knowledgeable and interesting. Definitely worrth reading in tandem to the essay. It makes the circle of thought larger, fuller. And that, to me, is good.

I put most of invention down to accidents. Something happened by accident, like a tobacco field was on fire, and someone happened to be there inhaling it and they liked it. (That is pure guessing, I haven't read about tobacco in any books whatsoever and it may be not only pure guessing but also pure nonsense, but anyway . . . you get the idea ) Other parts of invention I put down to play, to curiosity. If you have no books as they haven't been invented and no advanced studies programs in universities for they haven't been invented either, what do you do? You poke and prod and twist and turn and combine everything that happens to be around you in the natural world. Why not? What else is there to do except kill the monthly mastodon and take a bite or two now and then? Naturally there likely were always those standing around laughing and making fun of the ones who kept trying to do odd things with familiar things, and often enough probably nothing was "discovered" or invented at all. But we're curious about things, as a species, so how else do you learn? You just play, just to do it. And sooner or later one little thing is learned then another. Play. It's what started every single thing humans invented, combined with its solemn sister neccesity, to my mind.

I guess we could have a conversation about what you considered a "legitimate piece of information" to be, as opposed to what I consider a "legitimate piece of information" to be. Focal point: the word "legitimate". But speaking of Serbs and Montenegro and legitimacy which sounds like "legit" which reminds me of the law and detective/mystery novels, naturally I am reminded of Nero Wolfe, a man as interested in food as he is in solving the mysteries placed before him by desperate clients. Maybe even moreso. Books chock-full of food. There's even a club that meets (in NY, home of NW) and eats. Shad dinner coming up in April, right after a conference at the Greenbrier. The Wolfe Pack It's due to reading Nero Wolfe books that I could speak with some pretense of authority on Fine French Food at the age of twelve, though the most exotic meal I'd ever had to date then was overcooked lamb chops and frozen green peas. (Thank you, Rex Stout! )

You reminded me of something: Meret Oppenheim's Fur-Lined Teacup. . Nope, you're not the only one. (But it also sounds like great fun. )

Interesting question to focus on, for I realized that for myself it is not the gorgeosity of prose that draws me in to a book. If bits of stunning beauty appear that are built of words within a story, it always seems to me more like a gift than an expectation or even a hope. There are three things that draw me in as a reader. The author's voice (I must *like* the person I perceive to be speaking through the book or story, their perceived way of thinking of things must appeal to me); the structure of the story (how it feels to me to be "built" - texturally, design-wise almost, and there are many varieties of this sensation . . which can almost be felt as a musical thing); and the characterizations. I really want to know the people that are in the story, to feel that I know them well though I don't know them at all of course. Laura Esquivel's "Like Water for Chocolate" has these aspects of enjoyment for me, to a great degree. The "magical realism" of the emotions of the protagonist actually entering the foods she prepares which then will be eaten and re-lived, but in their own ways, by those that dine upon the food . . . Some of M.F.K. Fisher, too. I can not but think of her as a fiction writer though that's not what she's called. The stories. The stories remain in memory, strong and vibrant as the day they were read, with food as anchor to it all. To me there are not many things in the world as valuable as a good "story". A "story" in the sense of the word that holds fables, tall tales and folkloric tales within the word. Something that speaks of the world and how it is, that speaks of classic truths and the human condition, but not directly. Something painted or hummed, with a knowing smile under it all. Something that brings the unanswerable yet always ponderable questions to mind, rather than shooting out a proposed answer, and that entertains vividly while doing so. That's what works for me. .................................... ( ) Sorry. Got a little excited there.

But I like the idea of "talented and deranged". What startles me most is not that he's chosen to do this (and I think it will be fun for you, too, as he does) but that it was just such a short spark of time ago that it seemed you were writing of him at the table as "average teenage boy" with the usual teenage boy table manners that they seem to like to throw out like bait to fish, making parents tear their hair out in exasperation which probably was the intended plan for you know that you taught them what to do and why are they not doing it. And here he is, a tiny speck of time later, ready to be part of the theatre that demands manners, good manners, knowing manners. And he'll be able to do it, and do it well, I bet. Are you going to give him a few days to settle in at his job, or are you going to visit his table for dinner the very first night he works, instead, I wonder.

And Two Hundred Year Old Coffee. (Which I actually tried to make once )

Plus, of course, we have to eat inbetween.

It's only been quiet in response to your post for the last eight hours because we are having a moment of prayer.

Hundred Year Old Egg

Some of my favorite eggs sing of Spring.

You're right - I did have trouble focusing on reading the story initially just because of the online form. Strangely enough, what helped were the sidebars of text which seemed to help me grab onto where I was. ( ) Came across something interesting today on the topic of digital writing, an online journal that is seeking to address the limitations of the hardness of the computer in terms of reading, by using its strengths to stretch into a new conceptual genre of sorts. I'd rather have a book, but who knows what the next generation of computer-savvy children will prefer?

I'm reminded of a quote from Nora Ephron: "Anyone who wants to write about food would do well to stay away from similes and metaphors, because if you're not careful, expressions like "light as a feather" make their way into your sentences and then where are you?" This image you present of Hemingway "in all his throbbing manly glory". ( ) Um . . .I'm trying to picture an alternate universe with Hemingway as a "foodwriter". I can't quite picture yet whether the image evokes comedy or tragedy. But it sure would be interesting.

I got mine at a local international foods store, but this is the first time I've seen it there. There's some places you can get it online - google "pismaiye halva". Phew. That stuff is dangerous, though. Last night after I ate the first one, I was walking around the house in a daze (from the sugar rush, probably, I don't think I've ever eaten anything so intensely sweet but uncloying in my life) inadvertantly making noises like "whoa" and "woooooof" in an undertone till my daughter asked me what I was doing. I then tried a second one and that was my downfall. It was *before* dinner. Mistake. That sugar rush thing smacked me right upside the head and literally it felt similar to eating a Hardee's Six-Dollar Burger in like . . . three minutes . . .which I do just for the practice of it about twice a year. Had to flop right down on the couch and sit there like an inept lump till I fell over sideways muttering, "I'll make dinner in a minute, kids . . ." Whoa. I hid the box in my closet. It is mine, all mine. I just have to find the right moment to try another one. One, I said. One.

No, I'm not swearing. I just had my first mouthful (and believe me, you should have a mouthful of this stuff, not a nibble, though a nibble would be better than nothing) of "Pismaniye" - traditional floss halva from Turkey. I almost fainted. They come in little rounds that look like soft tiny delicate balls of light silky pure ivory string. The texture, is as if cotton candy were a number squared by itself, but with nothing numerical about it. The thing explodes in your mouth in an ecstatic sort of way. Yes, it really does. I would love to see this stuff being made. Wiki has more information on halvah, including floss halva, than I expected. Interesting, very.

Mmm. I'm not sure if those instances are the fault of the metaphoric device or rather, perhaps, the fault of the hungry or lazy writer. The urge to make a point too simply so that it can be clearly understood yet interesting seems to often lurk as words hit paper . . and of course, to write well, really well, is not something gained quickly or easily. And of course that chocolate and sex thing or the equivalent is a quick attention-getter. Readers eyes snap right to, looking for some sort of answer or advice. Interesting. I can see that, yes. I was never personally that sort of chef, but I do know many who are. It brings the question to my mind as to whether the female chef has this trait as much as the male chef does . . .not to stereotype, but just to wonder, you know. The one word you use in the quote above that does not "feel" right to me, is the "forcing" and "enforcing". The kitchen (professional kitchen) to me was a wonderful place to have order, pleasure, a place to have good work done, with operational systems that would support doing good work, excellent work. Of course, the sort of exec chef I was (private dining rooms, Goldman Sachs) has a different sort of required atmosphere to create than the usual fine restaurant chef. No rodeos allowed, rather the opposite. As the installments continue, I can see this happening more and more clearly, and that is really what does entice me to want to read more. Personally I lean towards mysteries more than thrillers (Josephine Tey, Dorothy Sayers, Martha Grimes, Michael Innes, P.D. James, and lately a funny writer who turns regular people into vampires who are human-like and appealing with a female protagonist who keeps on having rather interesting sexual involvements with all these guys who are around her . . .but no food in these books - Charlaine Harris). Most "thrillers" I've tried do not mesh with my own sensibilities. So I look forward to seeing what's going on here, with the book. And I do hope that someone else besides me decides to chime in here, so my reputation as chatterbox will not stand sole and alone.

But actually let me prattle on here, as nobody else is. I can't figure out why that is, unless it is the loftiness of your editorial postition or perhaps the fact that (as someone stated before) "what does this story have to do with *food*? And that has to do with "audience", doesn't it. The transition of thinking of food as something to eat . . . to food as something metaphorically or ambiguously connected to other things in the world is not a thing willingly done by many, I've noticed. Politics will bring them in to read if connected - whether those politics are large or small, worldly or personal, sometimes history will (but not as often), and the connection of a celebrity is like a beacon of intense light beckoning, to many. Recipes and pictures, recipes and pictures - the cry is heard. That's okay, too. Personally, as a chef who left the *business* (as it is to many chefs, a thing they love but actually a way to make money ) I am not so interested in recipes and pictures. I am very interested in stories that use food metaphorically, ambiguously - as food is not a science to me, or even mostly something to eat to me. It is something to think about. *Why* does that person like that food - *what* does this other food represent to that group of people - *how* was it in this time or that time when people ate this thing or the other . . .what were the social conventions that went along with a . . . say. . .kulibiac of salmon served in a 1960's American home? And stories tell me that best. Stories with a knowledge behind them, stories that inform and persuade not by the form of "journalism" but by the use of good fiction writing. I am thrilled to read stories of food that are not "recipes and pictures". I do hope that others will feel tolerance for this way of being, though often enough they seem both impatient and intolerant of the idea of food writing that is not "recipes and pictures". I like the fact that in your story, Mr. Andrews, who based his life on the fork, on honoring the fork, ended up being forked by the fork itself. The instrument of his destruction. Or we'll see, anyway - the fork certainly has been used against him . . . as so often he used it to provide pleasure through service of food to others. As some carry swords to represent valour . . . or as some from Wales hold up the leek, I've heard Mr. Andrews carried his fork. My habit is to speak when others are quiet. Unless, of course, a moment of silence has been requested. So, up I speak again, and say "I love these stories". I do hope that others feel the same. And yes, I say thank you to Maggie and Dave for creating this space for this sort of writing that includes thoughts of food but is not "recipes and pictures." ......................... The Moon enters Aries in approximately half an hour. I intend to blame my outburst on that fact.