Carrot Top

I'm not so sure we are "culturally undereducated". Though it would be good if more of us could speak second or third languages. . .then it would be possible to hear and understand the French, the Italians, or the Whomevers being rude when they travel to other places rather than merely understanding it in our own language then being appalled. The cultural components of the ways we act can distort understandings of things and of us. This is as true of cultures that have different components of behavior that visit the United States. The more we all learn about each other, the more we can learn about the ways that we "are", hopefully will bring more understanding and acceptance of other ways of being to the table - some alteration of behaviors among those cultures visiting others, some acceptance of differences coming from those being visited, wherever it is in the world. Labelling and specific name-calling has never brought anyone closer at any table. ............................................... Though I do agree that picky eaters should all be moved to some faraway island together. (P.S. . . .where they would all be required to take turns cooking for each other. )

Here is an interesting piece on the "Ugly American". Although it is merely published on the internet, the basis of the information included can be confirmed by current academic studies in Communications and Sociology.

I was actually looking forward to my Saturday night assignation with The Oyster House Siege by the time Saturday afternoon arrived. (Pitiful in ways, yes. ) The only problem is that I want to read *this* now, and not the other books that are strewn all over the place boring me. So I ordered it. I need to know what happened to dear Mr. Andrews and I so thoroughly detest Trevor, picturing his beady mad little eyes and his sour breath, after that neck scene, that I need to find out what happens to him. Though I'm not sure I'll ever be able to look at a fork in the same way again. Fretfully yours, Karen P.S. In re-reading this, I realized there have been *two* neck scenes so far. I meant the one with the girl, in this note. I wonder if there will be more neck scenes. I like necks, myself. So I do hope so.

From "The Cambridge World History of Food": [. . .] [. . .] (The mystical Shadhili Sufi had been using the beans during nighttime chanting rituals). There is an incredible amount of interesting and important social history that goes along with the coffee bean as it is used as social, economic, and religious tool. ................................................... My best hazarded guess would be that the beans were first boiled raw as one does when finding something new that has a hard surface. Who knew . . maybe they would make a nice soup. More from Cambridge: Probably at some point someone tried smoking coffee and discovered it just was not that great that way? (I once worked in a place where coffee was traded from the green bean. It never smelled particularly attractive to me when roasting. It would not make me want to smoke it. ) (On the other hand, I once lived near a tobacco field and wanted to inhale, to dive, into the aroma of those leaves as they cooled from the hot sun in the evening. Luscious.)

Why do you ask, Beef Cheeks? Have you read it, and do you have thoughts about it and whether it affected how you think of MKF and/or her writing? It certainly is the elephant in the room, along with the bio her sister wrote, whenever MFK's writings are mentioned . . . (Seems to me) (But then, it's real, and what can one do.)

This can happen in any culture or even within any social structure. To some people, hamburgers are disgusting, whether they are fast food or not. To some people, pork is disgusting. To others, vegetables are gross. An American buffet, loaded with the usual excess of "things" can be an anethema to some. The idea of "fancy French restaurants" in "New York City" is enough to bring others to professing their disgust. The difference is not the food, it is the people. Not the culture, but the individuals and how they choose to project (or not project) their personal feelings onto the others around them. In every culture there are people who are "loyal" to the foods they know. Very loyal. In most cultures you will find class differences in terms of the foods they are "loyal" to, and regional differences. Fear of other's foods is rampant. Thank goodness, sometimes, that there are other things we can share with certain of our friends. And thank goodness that the world is a big place with lots of people to meet that *can* share an open outlook. And, as I get older and older, I thank goodness for that, for age gives me fearlessness to use my tongue to give lashings to those I think deserve it for being so limited. Bless their hearts.

It's just like lunch in the school cafeteria, except that everyone is older. Many are not that much appreciably more "grown up" in terms of their own food choices and/or how they react to other's choices, though. Food is an emotional thing. An aroma arises and feelings arise, the brain reacts. It's much stronger than so many other things we do differently from each other. I have a theory that in every group of twenty four adults (about the same size of a classroom) you will find the same amount of bullies, jokers, teacher's pets, goody-goodys, snobs and other recognizable personality types from kindergarten, even though they are "grown up" now. There will always be a loud-mouthed bully who has to be offensive. (Usually he has a "second" who follows and helps, too . . . ) Once you know this, things take on a different shape. For bullies, are meaningless people, aren't they? If we make them so, in our minds. Of course a banana peel left on the floor outside any bully's usual place of hiding is a good thought, too.

Scaped Goat - 1. Goat roasted with garlic scapes. 2. Goat that escaped from the slaughter house. Which you could serve with: Spinach au Gritten - Spinach au gratin made with spinach that you forgot to wash while chasing the goat or preparing the scapes.

"Apple Poolisher" - someone who stays late, after their shift, without pay, at the bakery . . . to make the poolish for the bread . . to get in the boss's good graces. My daughter calls that ice cream place named "The Marble Slab" . . ."The Marble Flab". As in "Can we go to The Marble Flab, Mom?" (You can guess what my answer invariably is . . )

I'm reminded, in reading your thoughts and then remembering the stories, how very visual her writing was - and reminded as someone mentioned above, how she had been a screenwriter for some time. I can picture things she wrote with clear detail in my mind, years later, as if it *were* a film (and a good one, too ). I liked "How to Cook a Wolf" very much at various times in my life. Once was when I was living on a boat, and once was when I was living in a small odd apartment in Paris. I'm reading a book now that shows what some of the other writers of the time were doing in terms of offering wartime rationing/food advice, and naturally, much of what MFK tells us is the same as what they say. It is only the style of narrative that differs, really. And years later, we remember the poetry of "How to Cook a Wolf" where we do not remember the others' fine, but non-poetic factual advice. Knowing this makes me happy.

Ahhh, yes. Startling, some of the recipes from that book. I read recently that the device she used in writing the book is called "magical realism". The foods she cooked took on her emotions - they *were* her emotions . . and those that swallowed the foods ate the emotions - they overcame those that ate them. Interesting to consider, too, the symbolism of each ingredient. Thanks for reminding me of that book - I'll have to re-read it, yet again. source ← A lot of fantastic recipes there, Melissa. Many many excellent ideas! (Swoon) It depends on the balance of the dish, for me. It can go awry easily. I think the Western palate is unaccustomed to this sort of flavor - there's a density of sorts that startles the palate. I've heard of rose hips jam, but rose petal sounds lovely. A useful hint, about the white pith! I'm sure there is somewhere online that one can buy edible (unsprayed) roses, lacking a garden or the right kind of thumb.

Yes, that was very kind of you to post pictures of the process. My MIL (who I learned the recipe for what she called "ricotta" from) often used Americanized terms for things that were not *exactly* as she had learned to make them as a young girl in Italy. Times were different then - in Italy they lived on a farm and used the products of the land, directly as they came from the earth or from the animals. Nothing was wasted. . .then in America, she lived in a town, where things came from the grocery stores (though of course she always had a garden and picked wild things, too, to eat ). And of course store products are rather "standard". Pasteurized milk by the gallon is what she bought. . .and with six children to feed and a husband who supported the family (also emigrated as a young boy) who was a barber. . . there was not extra money to obtain specialty items of any sort. I was reminded by your comment on "ricotta" that we also have something called "pizza" here in the US, too. I daresay *that* is the larger crime. Ah. To get back on topic, I love pasta with a light tomato sauce served with a big bowl of whipped ricotta in the center of the table to ladle on top of it, to taste the creaminess of the ricotta as it blends into the hot sauce, the coolness of the taste opposed to the spice of the tomato sauce, the bite of the pasta on tongue. Luscious.

Ricotta is made with whey. I do sometimes make a "formaggio fresco" with whole milk but it's not ricotta. ← Well, then, we will call this "formaggio fresco", Franci, or maybe "American home-made ricotta" as similar recipes are all over the internet *and* in published cookbooks by respected authors. I use it in place of store-bought ricotta in recipes, as did my MIL who was born in Italy. Words. . .difficult things sometimes. Do you make ricotta at home with whey? If so, would you be so kind as to share the recipe?

Before me sits a bouquet of roses. They are pink, and they smell very very nice. I like them, but then I think: Can I eat them? Probably not. They're probably sprayed. Next year, maybe he'll send me a steak. If you have access to unsprayed roses, have you used them in cooking? How?

I do almost the same thing - it is something to make that is *so* unfussy. The epitome of home cooking at its best. The only differences are that I shape the mixture into rounds (heh, like Rebecca, I am avoiding certain words today ) - uh, spherical shapes, then roll in fine breadcrumbs before gently pan-frying in a mixture of butter and olive oil. I use lots of black pepper in the recipe and sometimes add some thyme and nutmeg. Other "sauces" go well with this, also. Chutneys, salsas, mustard-mayo, herbed mayo, or even a quick cheese sauce. I love that spelling. Gives the word a bit of class(e). I may decide to borrow it and always use it, if you'll allow.

Ricotta is astonishingly easy to make. Here's a recipe.

Would you mind telling your fridge I say "Happy Valentine's Day" to it? I feel that I love it, in this moment.

LOVE them! (Though saying them might take some practice . . . )

Isn't the Grapple just an apple with flavoring added? Is that what you mean by blended? Or are you thinking along the lines of pluot (plum/apricot)? ← Yes, I was thinking more of the "cutesey" sort of things like the Grapple, which as you say, is an apple injected with grape flavor. I'm glad you understand and accept me as I am, Johnny.

Now to shift gears *just* a bit, I must mention a comfort food well-loved by many: Canned Spaghetti on Toast. A good recipe to settle your tummy if you happen to have drunk too much champagne. Alternately, at other times, it is positively affected by the best spice: Hunger.

No, I don't know that one. But I bet, with a bottle of champagne between us, we might invent a good "rounds song". A bite of caviar, a bite of toast, a sip of champagne, a verse of song first from one song then the other. . .and so on and so forth, till allllll the caviar (and toast, of course!) was gone.

I liked it momentarily but find that now another voice is speaking to me (you know, in my head ). It's saying Caaaaaaaaa veeeeeee aaaaaaaaaarrrrrr. rrrrrr. RRRRrrrrr. Caaaaaaa veeee arrrrr. (There's a pop tune in the background with the words dimly heard "I hear you callin' me. . .") Caviar on toast might be like finding the Devil in Heaven. Lovely.

"The smell of buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble ws over and slippered feet were propped up on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries." Kenneth Grahame, Wind in the Willows Good butter, with good toast, is a simple perfection that can rise in a mythic way above its ingredients, really. But then of course, a bit (or more) of poached marrow is never astray on toast. Or even a luscious spread of fresh ricotta well topped with scatterings of punguent fresh cracked black pepper and slivers of herbs from the garden. Toast is a little square door that you can hold in your hand that leads to heaven.

Caponata.

2000-2050 1. Pizza, Expanded ( ) Pizza with pineapple or dipped in ranch dressing or with buffalo chicken on it, etc. 2. Burgers, Morphed ( ) Veggie burgers, burgers with grain added (not as something to "stretch" it but to make it "healthy" . . ) 3. Waters to Fix You ( ) Waters with vitamins, weight loss waters, waters with mysterious extracts, waters whatever they think will sell to people who are buying health in a plastic bottle of water. 4. The Blended Fruit (like the Grapple). 5. Tacos.