Carrot Top

Chexbres has always held a peculiar fascination for me that resembles nothing so much as a child with a wonderful scab on their knee to poke at wide-eyed and involved with a total and rapt interest all the day long. Chexbres Chexbres Chexbres. You WILL hear that name, Rachel. (Certainly MFK made sure we heard it enough. ) ...................................... Here is the rest of what happens with Sabri's "cake": (Sabri is speaking. . .) I took "fine vermicelli" to mean the very thinnest sort possible. That way it does become more easily meldable. A dessert that resembles those we know here made with shredded filo dough (if we are so lucky as to know them ). A cake to dive into. Served with hot mint tea (though likely Sabri served it with unsweetened strong hot black tea), the makings of an afternoon of langour. ...................................... Do you remember reading "Fifty Million Snails", Rachel? Have you ever snail-hunted? (Snails, not snipes. ) I did it once, one year, a long time ago. A real thing, a good and interesting thing to do.

There's a recipe in one of Arthur Schwartz' books that has both rice *and* potatoes in it. Wonder if that would be enough carbs for him. (Armenian Meatball Soup, and it's very good, too! )

Yes, she chose it as nickname for him. *If* I remember right, it is because of some time they spent together at that place in Switzerland. Love makes one both blind *and* deaf, perhaps? Absolutely it is pronounced softer than it "looks", written. But I don't care. It still is a lump in the center of her style of writing. The best spin I could put on it would be that she meant the name to strike one, lumpily, indigestibly, as literary device. As the story of how the real Chexbres in the end must have felt like to her. Not digestible. Painful. But that spin is probably just utter nonsense in the end run. She probably loved the name. ............................ Yes, do! find the quote that brought that to your attention, Kougin Aman. That would be interesting to see.

Except for that g*dawful name "Chexbres". Which is like a lump of unsoaked salt cod shoved down one's throat every time it appears.

Strangely enough, I am beginning to feel like a cheerleader for the first time in my life. *Must* run out for some pom-poms later today.

"Woe to the cook whose sauce has no sting." (Chaucer) (Seems right to me. )

And I like the jazz analogy because through that form we are free and even encouraged to do "riffs", intensely full of personal style. I also like the jazz analogy because there is (or was, initially) a sense of rebelliousness. Things don't have to be done the way they always have been done. Tradition can be thrown high in the air and tossed around to make different shapes.

Could be we're like China. Simply not discovered till some years later.

One interesting facet of "fast food" or convenience food, which the US might arguably be said to lead the way in, to our collective (?) detriment, is that it freed a huge female population from the daily assigned chores that had taken them hours a day for centuries, in their roles as homemakers. That means a lot, to a lot of people. It means that they can do things besides be in the home, cooking. It means that they can become professional at any other thing they may want to consider, thereby finding ways that their souls can soar. It means that single mothers can work outside the home and put a hot meal on the table (oh no, not gourmet, but edible and perhaps even good) for their children when they get home, quickly. The very fact that fast food or convenience foods exist allows many women to consider the idea of cooking as a pleasure, not something they *have to do* three times a day seven days a week. Naturally I am not speaking of the wealthy here, but of the working class or poor. It means that more women can love cooking as an expression of themselves, as an enjoyable task. In one sense fast food may be a collective detriment. It sure ain't "gourmet". But to tell the women of any country that have the opportunity to utilize fast food *or* convenience foods *when they please* that these foods are detrimental to their lives, that really it is so much better to cook slow food, for that "tastes better". . . to my mind, that is a disservice. The "taste" of a thing is not only on the tongue. It is also in the heart and mind and histories.

And *now*! For the second time in History, I've found the word (challenged by Pontormo in the food word game) warners! In "In Sinistra Parte, Johannes Baptista", we are educated: Chomp chomp.

Earlier today I read 'I Arise Resigned'. I felt I knew Sabri when I read that, years ago. I had to make that "cake". And so I did, just exactly from his directions. All this was pre-professional cooking years. It was an adventure. And it was very good. Then after a discussion about why this cake is eaten. . .the "reason" for it. . . I can see those hands. I know Sabri, whether he is real or not.

Yes, the cadence, the depth, the solidity, the *storytelling*!, the ability to thoroughly enchant and to romance, and now, this time around, I am finding humor - which did not strike me as much in past readings. One thing that was interesting to note from her biography was that becoming a "foodwriter" was not her initial intention. She wanted to write of all things, of life, of stories. But jobs were offered to her writing about food (for she was a woman of a time and place where this tack was an easier one). And so the works began, for the paycheck and for a situated place offered in the world of writing. A very lucky happenstance for those who like to read and think of the ways food might go beyond the plate and the palate.

KR (happily falling under the table)

And you have shared that hug with us now. Many thanks!

Yeah. He sounds like the kind of guy that *needs* the best table in the house on Valentines Day. Perhaps the best table will make him lovable. I would have just pulled out any handy prescription bottle around (even if I had to snag the manager to do so - managers always have some sort of prescription bottle on them, don't they?) and said with a deep concerned frown, "Please, sir. Take one of these till I can call the ER for you."

No, but that scenario might happen in Manhattan. Particularly the clicking part.

I don't remember that potato chip story, SB, but if you ever get to the office, do try to find it in the book and tell us about it. Please don't bother with doing any work first, just find the story, log on, and relate the tale. Could she eat just one? KR (more concerned about the story of any table than the table itself)

All influential history aside for the moment, there might be something at work here we might dub the "grass is always greener" theory? No matter where one comes from. But then again, that sounds hick-ish to say that. (P.S. Back to add "nothing against burgers, bbq, nachos, and candy". I like 'em all.)

True everywhere at some point in time, don't you think? Even with the French, or any other country's culinary culture, at some point in time. Across the world, throughout history, food exchanges and all the ideas that go along with food preparation have had sparks of inspiration through looking beyond borders. Sometimes through travel and trade, sometimes through aggression in the form of wars. What "cuisine" can be said to be pure and of a single culture, really? As far as "national" cuisines go, the idea of the nation-state and the concept of nationalism that occured during the Enlightenment might have a bearing on these concepts of static national cuisines. Boundaries drawn, the mind shaping the nation and what the idea of nation would include, with the "indigenous" food as part of this.

Well then. . .I'll prattle on, more for the purpose of getting it out of my mind and moving on to other things than any other good reason. "Let the Sky Rain Potatoes" I liked very much. Lighter than the other pieces so far, to me. Language not as dense (though personally I do enjoy density in language, often). It also is the first piece in this series that, were I a professional indexer of books, I would immediately say "Hey. Index this under 'Food'." For the other pieces, I am not so sure that 'Food' would be my first instinct as category of writing. .................................. There's some bandwidth still here if anyone has thoughts they'd like to share, I do believe.

Actually it seems to me that this whole period of food history and food ways that are being discussed have many core parts that started during the Enlightenment. But "Victorianism" is a lovely word and thought to focus upon in terms of all manners of influences of things, too. One knee-jerks to Victorianism in ways that one does not to Enlightenment.

I'm willing to admit to having at least two dogs in this race. Why not. At the moment I am edging towards agreement that French could be better, at least better than our food. I do not think they make "Fig Newton Minis" in France (or at least if they do you might want to hide to eat them, not stand proudly like we do here. . ) and most particularly they would not make them with this newfangled "100 percent whole grain" recipe which, having just tossed a handful into my mouth (unashamedly at that!) I am sitting here chewing on something that tastes like a mini Fig Newton tossed in mouse droppings.

This phrase is memorable. It is not only exceptionally nicely turned, but also glows with a classic (not garden-variety) sort of truth. ← I think it's very gracious for someone from a country with an impeccable culinary tradition to grant equality to all others, but I beg to differ, ← Seriously, it does not seem to me that Ptipois was attempting to grant equality to all others through being gracious. I think she believes what she wrote. It's a shame, darling, that you can not see the light. ( )

Interesting question. Not only about the institution one "graduates from" as indicative of the quality level or potential of that person, but also about legacy preferences. Could a stretch be made to think of French food in some cases being touted as something "more than it is" due to a sort of legacy preference based on an assorted number of things?

All is fair in love, war, and bio-engineering. There is even a cow up the road a piece from me that was recently born with two faces. Quite Shakespearean, I thought. On the other hand, we lived right up next to a farm with many steer on it, and regardless of their unhappy losses, they still bellowed in the usual way. (Hmmm. I do wonder where all those bull balls went. A nice stew for the farmer? ) (On second thought, better than a Shakepearean take on the little calf, perhaps a Macchiavellian one would be an even closer fit.)