Carrot Top

A bread without a crust! A crust with no crumb?! Is like. . . A bird without a wing A bee without a sting A song that can not sing A diamond without a ring A flung without a fling!

I think it is the seedpods. Somehow somewhere I heard or read the word pickled nasturtium "buds", though, that I'm sure of. . .and it has stuck forevermore. I'll keep my eyes out for where I found the term. (Must be a book. )

I love pickled herring, actually. Yum. But aren't pike related to sturgeon? Might get some decent caviar to pickle from those babes. Pickled herring goes very well with pickled beets.

Let's see if I can fix that up. Preachers like flowers, don't they? We'll think of him and send along in mind some pickled nasturtium buds for his pleasure. I think we'll be right with whomever it is he talks to, now.

If you are a green tomato, you do not need to worry about your bee-hind. It is all part of your charm. Have you ever pickled meat, Rachel? I would guess you've done beet-juice pickled eggs. . .pickled meats are so very very old-fashioned, aren't they? I've always had in mind to pickle a pig's foot or two.

Eh. I was merely being romantic in an off moment.

I was reminded while reading racheld's story in the Daily Gullet that I have not been to the Lower East side to wander through pickle barrels for a very very long time. I'm assuming some places have closed, though I'm also assuming that some places will never ever close their doors, that their existence is as rooted to those streets as a huge rock would be to some other landscapes. And rightly so. What shops are open? Which ones are good? Have any new pickles hit the scene?

I've used both, but don't insult easily. A plastic wrap just literally won't be able to insult me. It may elicit feelings of pity, but really not that to any great extent either.

Compared to some of the other things I think when I first meet people, that thought is rather tame. The only recipe I ever remember being used in my family for pickles was Maine Mustard Pickles. Whew. An acquired taste, perhaps. But good. Quick little fridge pickles that get eaten right up are mostly what I like to make. Though if I had an old-fashioned pantry with a Dutch door I'd just have to make pickles in the summertime, lots of them. Pickle-making, to me, is an architecturally-driven process.

I really like that you've chosen to write about pickles, Rachel, for they really are an endlessly fascinating subject. Like. . .sometimes when I meet someone for the first time I say to myself "Hmmm. If you were a pickle, I wonder what sort of pickle you would be." Myself, often I feel like that little piece of cauliflower that somehow got stuck in with the sliced cucumbers by mistake. But I'd secretly like to be a pickled green tomato - so earthy, exotic, mysterious you know. I think you can tell a lot about a person by not only the sorts of pickles they eat, but also the sort of pickle they would be if they were a pickle.

Who does the cooking in your home? Do you eat foods from take-out or restaurants or buy ready-made foods often? Do you cook absolutely "from-scratch" using unprocessed ingredients often? Are you single, married or living with other(s)? Do you have children? What sort of work do you do? Do you feel you have enough time to cook the sorts of foods you like to eat? I'm interested in the questions of time, culture, society, money and class. As they relate to food and how it fits into our lives, of course. As a question for "extra credit" , is the form of your daily cooking/eating/dining different than it was in your family when you were growing up, and if so, how is it different?

I'll bet there's even a Pickle Fairy in your kitchen, isn't there, Rachel. Shhhh. . . don't say her name out loud - she might become startled, and fall right into the very pickling juices and vittles that she's protecting! I'm sure she has lovely long green-and-gold hair, and that her perfume wafts the incense of spices and mustard. She's hiding right there, behind your sentences, with a tiny knowing twinkling smile.

In some categories of businesses, there are areas where those businesses (in a certain form, at a certain level) thrive, more than they would in other areas. New York, regardless of its detractors (i.e. the rest of the country? ) is a geographic place where the restaurant business, at a certain level, in a certain form, thrives. Moreso than lots of other places. In that sense, New York is important. Deference given, or not. (New Yorkers have never required deference, nor, as you mentioned earlier, are they particularly "effete". Not even the women. )

There used to be a place on the side of the small highway that went near the rural town we lived in - it was a gas station with a grill. Breakfast, burgers and stuff. Country ham used, of course. Grits always, in the morning. They always had a sign up trying to lure those driving by. Often, it said "Angel Biscuits". Sometimes, it said "Angel Steaks". I never quite figured out what Angel Steaks were -- it scared me a bit to think of them. . .Then one day the first letter of the gas station sign fell off somehow, so when you'd drive by, instead of seeing "Shell", you'd see "hell" being advertised as the place to come to eat Angel Steaks. . .I never did dare to do that. . . But Rachel, I think you just served me my first Angel Biscuits. Ethereal, existing in a time and place not here and now, exuding the sense of a light embrace of feathery warmth. Delicious, even spiritually so.

Yes, but who would want to view Rachel Ray through it? -Dick ← I'm going to admit to a very old-fashioned thing I do when I run out of Saran Wrap (or whatever it is that I've happened to buy, for I am quite daringly promiscuous as far as choosing food wraps go ). I take a plate that fits the bowl and I upend it right on top. Since I don't tend to keep lots of "leftovers" hanging around, it suits just fine, short-term. Maybe a few upended plates would help with your Rachel dilemma? For forty dollars a day, she could buy some rather pretty plates, too, to add just that special touch to the wardrobe.

I had never heard of Eater before this thread. Granted, I don't look for stuff within this milieu, but just the same. . . The result of Eater "deathwatching" ( whoa, serious stuff there!) eG, with the subsequent link posted here, made me go clickety-clickety. . .and therefore be aware of it. Great job of free advertising.

That reminds me. I just saw a photo somewhere of a new model mini-van coming out this year that has been designed with a table and chairs in the back instead of regular seats. ( ) (No, I'm not kidding.)

Yeah, SB. Go for it! I'm hungry.

Anchovy "B Must be for Butter"! I think "C" has to be for chocolate. Or how about C is for Cilantro? D is for dragées ("V" is for Velveeta?) "A is for Asafetida", but then I'll save it for "H is for Hing"... E is for Eggplant "H" has to be for hot peppers! K for Kalamansi jar of green tomato pickles "L" is for "L"ights I will offer the lowly Mushroom for "M". crispy mountain snake Tea. puff pastry "M" is for Morels very delicious pig Quaker Oats Ugli Fruit zachun-oil tree zahidi zamang zamia zebra zebrafish zebrawood zebu zig-zag scallops zucca zucchini Zulu nut zaatar zabaglione zakuski zampone zander zedoary zampino zeeland (oysters) zest(e) zibet zingara zwieback 1. Brown Rice 2. Green Salad with Lemon Juice, No Oil 3. Wheat Germ 4. Pressed Tofu Strips 5. Brewer's Yeast ............................................................................................. Well. . .there are some fine ingredients. I wonder if someone can write a menu with them. A menu from. . . A for Albania B for the Bosphorus C for China D for Dijon E for Ethiopia F for France G for Georgia (US or USSR) H for Hawaii I for India J for Japan K for Kuala Lumpur L for Lyons M for Marbella O for Oman P for Pakistan Q for Qu'atar R for Russia S for South Dakota T for Timor U for Utah V for Vienna W for Warsaw X for . . .for. . .whatever hits the spot Z for Zulu ( )

What a snippet, Rachel. I remember a story from MFK about how she ate chocolate with bread on a Swiss mountaintop where it had been offered her by a tall old schoolteacher type of guy, though I think he was actually an old colonel - and there was a frog-like shorter old man who joined them in the repast who might have been a professor. . .she felt no kinship before (rather the opposite, in fact), with either of them, till the moment of communion where all chewed bread and chocolate together. . . And I remember something about how she (if indeed it was in MFK but the story resonates in memory somewhere) went on a picnic at a separate time, maybe with her sister? - and how they sat on the sandwiches to smash them flat - for they were supposed to be those French sandwiches (savory, with meats and cheese and veggies) made on a baguette where part of the recipe involves flattening with bricks or something heavy for a good long time (eight hours at least?) before serving (can not bring to mind the name of those sandwiches in this exact moment) and how fun that was. But I don't remember chocolate and straight-laced schoolteachers and bottoms set on top of sandwiches all together in one place. . . (though I could be wrong). It *would* make a lovely children's poem, though, the very idea of it. . . .if *I* were a child, I would love to read a poem of such a thing. . . Even as a grownup, I would.

Nice pudding recipe, Janet. And you made me quite happy listing all those Z words, because as I am one of those odd people who read encyclopedias for pleasure ( ) and who is lucky enough to have all three of the books you mentioned, I knew most of what you listed, which made me feel as if I'd wandered into an beautiful encyclopedic paradise where I almost knew how to speak the language. And strangely enough, I had the same idea myself, while falling asleep last night, to list foods for a letter so the menu making can begin. Could it be the effects of the Moon? Anyway, it was "V" I was going to do. But as I was falling asleep I kept getting "Virtuous" mixed up in my head with "Vulgar" and could not sort it all out. They don't go together too often, do they? V will be for Virtuous The Top Five Virtuous Foods: 1. Brown Rice 2. Green Salad with Lemon Juice, No Oil 3. Wheat Germ 4. Pressed Tofu Strips 5. Brewer's Yeast ................................................. (Excuse me, must run now, am feeling an urge to say something Vaguely Vulgar. . . .)

Here's a modern story of fresh corn on the cob. That has to do with some things like lack of time, lack of prioritization of quality food, and microcosms. Sometimes I do cooking "classes" of sorts at my children's schools. In general, schools and teachers do not like to mess around with food - it is messy, some kid might be allergic somehow or who-knows-what like a parent will call in hearing of the lesson, offended that one item is offered and another not that they think better or more appropriate somehow (sigh), the teachers "lack time" as they are always fast-tracking to stuff explicit information into the kid's heads so that the test scores in the Spring will be high enough so that everyone will look good and where on earth will cooking or food fit into that. . .blahblahblah. Sometimes, though, I can invent a way to fit the cooking thing into an existing class such as Social Studies or English (which is now called Language Arts), in ways that will reinforce the existing lesson plan. Yes, I actually do this for "fun". Hah. So, the lesson was to be on Corn. It was sixth-graders who were studying the Colonial United States. I bought crates of fresh corn on the cob. Had all the info ready to go - all about corn and native Americans and settlers etc etc. We were going to learn how to cook corn on the cob. Simple enough. The kids had no real problems answering my questions about the settlers or the Native Americans, and knew a bit about corn in general. But then it came time to shuck the corn. Out of fifty kids (two classes combined, sixth graders) there were only about six kids that had actually ever shucked an ear of corn. The others had to be taught. We live in an agricultural area, a university town, so it's not like these kids have spent their formative years on the subway. They shucked their corn, we wrapped it up with seasonings in pieces of wax paper (for lacking real cooking things like stoves, the plan was to take it home and uh. . .microwave it for a snack). Everyone had fun. A bit later, I got some thank-you notes that the teachers had the kids make. Cute, some of them, little crayon drawings of ears of corn falling sideways and all. But here is the best part of all - the part of all of it that seems representative of this "microcosm" thing, and I don't think this sort of behavior is all that odd in this microcosm of working parents with active school-age children. . . One of the thank-you notes was a bit longer than the others. It was a happy note from an eleven year old boy. He said "Thanks, my Mom ate the corn straight from the wrapper while she was driving me to soccer practice. She liked it." Nope, no time to even microwave the thing. One hungry Mom. I can't say that this story holds the same essence of an ear of corn torn from a tall frond in a heat-soaked field with the scent of earth rising around one, the corn almost popping its juice in one's face as it's bitten into. But it is, a very real microcosm, here and now, today. I never would have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes, in this small but telling way.

Hmmm. You may have posed a problem in terms of menu-writing from the stories, SB. Will it be Ugli Fruit on the menu or rotten grapefruit? And will it have to be stolen from someone's yard on a dark night? We want authenticity here, you know.

Ah. . . .do tell us your favorite parts as they come along, Jennifer?

Do you remember "The Jetsons"? Food would appear hot and ready-to-eat whenever one wanted just by pushing a button on some machine in the kitchen. It was so easy to do that I even remember George Jetson doing it. I believe this is many people's ideal. . .to be just like The Jetsons.