Carrot Top

Since appreciation of food is such a personal thing though. . .I wonder, if you had a choice (not among the "many" foods but among just a few that hit close to home) between Ferran Adria's food (I won't merely say Spanish or any other less specific term here); French food; or the food of your parent's generation Italian-American table, I wonder what the choice would be, if push came to shove (in an imaginary world, obviously), and the decision had to be made. If for some reason, you would have to spend the rest of your life dining upon *only one* , I wonder where your heart would lead you. And then, would you call that food that your heart led you to, "the best"?

Now, now. We can't have that. I'm guessing that the "problem" is that when a child has a summertime birthday, they miss out on the in-school cupcake bringing for their birthday party that would be held during classroom time. Goodness knows how this might scar one for life. No, no, nothing Puritan about this one.

There are some people that travel well. They travel more easily than some others might be able to, are capable of fitting with some facility into different circumstances, places, cultures, environments. Could there be "food cultures" that travel more easily than others?

I wish I were a cattle dog so that I could give you the answer to that. Ruff ruff. Personally, I'm against sanctification of cookery, wherever it comes from. (Wait a minute. Isn't the word "chauvinist" French? ) Heh.

But. . .wait a minute there! In the WASP family I come from, that's considered just *lovely* food! Is there something wrong with that?! Mmm. On the other hand, when one thinks of the ways that Elizabeth David wrote of the cooking of the British, and Jane Grigson too. . .it has to be said that certainly the knowledge of "good food" was known, and not just in translation from somewhere else. But attitude does seem to have a lot to do with anything, and how one thinks of oneself (as a culture or as an individual). If the reputation is that it is something (either good or bad) for the most part I think the performance in that category will follow through with most who know of it, for it would take being "different" from the majority to change anything. . .and being "different" is not something that always brings immediate happy rewards to its practicioner. The French have a culture of caring about their food, a cultural attitude that it is *not* just fodder. . .while it is true that some cultures have an attitude that it *is* just fodder and *should be* just fodder as focus of it as more than that would be unseemly in a philosophic way that somehow (though not directly and not specifically) ties into the way the majority of the culture sees the world shaped through the major religion. Our Puritan base here in the US certainly has shaped our attitudes toward enjoyment of food and other earthly pleasures though we seem to be racing to catch up in latter years. I think that if there were more of an attitude in general that Tim showed in this piece about his countries cookery (notice, please that I did *not* use the word "cuisine" ), an attitude of "there's no need for us to follow others who have always said they are better" that then, that is when a place can and will be found among whatever other top dogs have pranced their way to the "top". After all, it's thinking that makes it so, and thinking is is malleable thing based on so many factors. The proof of the pudding that's in the eating can be changed with recipes that grow and become something new. Kowtowing to the ways that "others do it" brings only weak tea and sad derivation. Excuse me. I'm off to find some crumpets.

So what is the explanation for the better quality* of (the food of) one place over the other? Temperament? Soil and sun? Geography? History? Natural ability or talent? Education? Personal or cultural myth maintained and made real? Economic factors? Class factors? Pure luck? One wonders. *quality being a word that is a bit subjective, of course, when speaking of these things. Though probably we might be able to determine a closer definition upon trying.

Sickening, really, that I am sitting here responding to myself, but if I don't I'll forget what I wanted to say. Cultural stereotypes. We have the Latin lover, the artiste, the passionate genius on one side of the coin. On the other we have the British banker, the Queen, and a nation of fine gardeners. Toss the coin in the air and we have our own Puritans with their funny hats and the Almighty Dollar that moves our souls. Which of these would one *think* cooks *best*? And which came first, the chicken or the egg? Do we become what it is that is expected that we are?

I wonder, though, if British country cooking *might* just be as wonderful as French country cooking. Seriously. I wonder. As have been, and as are often, many of our own. . and that extends out into the world of haute entertaining for business too, though that is changing at a rapid pace now in both areas from what I've noticed, which is pleasant to see. P.S. That "mutton bandwagon" thing you describe sounds like quite a rollicking good time, Anne.

Mmm hmm. But we're always talking about two different things when we talk about the food that the "usual" people eat and the food that the aristocrats eat, even in the US, no, Doc? Oh, plus I thought that the British aristocracy used to eat French food in public. . . and nursery food, large joints, and puddings in private when they "let their hair down" so to speak. But that could be another one of my fantasies.

Our food traditions in the US are such a new culinary patchwork (as opposed to other countries with more years of "being" nations or the geographic equivalent of nations with a steady heritage of sorts) that one wonders really what our "actual" heritage would be if we had to "just pick one". I also wonder if the reputation British food owns (in some ways, to some people, in some parts) in today's lingua franca is due in some large part to the really terrible deprivations in terms of basic foodstuffs and the substitutions that occured by neccesity during WW2 (?). Did it have such a "bad name" previous to that time?

Bravo. Here in the US, of course, our adoration of French food was moved along at a rapid trot by the marvellous Julia Child. James Beard championed "American" food in many of his writings, with a round-the-world bit of this and that always thrown in, but Beard did not become celebrity as Julia did. One wonders what shape our foodways would be in today, if he had held within him the same charisma for large crowds that she held. France was the first (that I know of) to intently codify their recipes for foreign consumption. Reached the finish line first in that way, in that the food was not quiet in the native kitchens. Careme holds the nickname of "the first celebrity chef", no? Add a moustache, a beret, a dangling cigarette, and a twist of a pretty black fishnet stocking from the Folies Bergere, and, as you say et voila! Many are helpless in face of such an assault. Gobble gobble.

Before me sits The Art of Eating. It's my third copy, the first fallen apart at the seams after much travel and life in some possibly strange places. . .the second given away as gift to a cook I once knew who could cook but who somehow could not taste, in some basic and important way within her mind. "Five gastronomical works" in one volume. Serve It Forth; Consider the Oyster; How to Cook a Wolf; The Gastronomical Me; An Alphabet for Gourmets. These individual works seem to hold different flavors for me, though each one is spun through with MFK's essence. Which book of these would be your favorite, if you *had* to choose? Why?

Ah. For a minute there I thought you were talking about some unknown tribe thing. Just this year, as a matter of fact, I learned (from a cookbook of all things!) there is a tribe in Burma called the Karen, which of course is my name - so now I am always on the lookout for interesting tribes that might pop up. The other two places I know I'll try next time are (sigh) Snappers which of course though it does not look frou frou from the outside, it does have cute little lettuces and raspberries plunked everywhere with reductions of this and that palletted onto food mimicking architecture as much as possible given the availability of trained kitchen staff. . . It was too crowded the night I stopped there - people were mooing around outside the front door looking much like the cows that wait at the gate to go to back to the barn for feeding in some pastures round here. An hour's wait on a weeknight. Ouch. The other place I want to try is Ted Peter's Smoked Fish. That looked like a really cool and funky place. It smelled good, too, driving by.

The size of the tomato in some cases *does* have a lot to do with how we finally experience its flavor, but part of it has to do (in some cases) with federal regulations on interstate shipping. The smaller tomatoes are not as tightly regulated. I remember an article somewhere about this, but could not find it online. I did find this however, online in the Federal Register which gives a bit of a start to finding the concept behind *whatever it is* that I read about. If that makes sense.

Here, Sandy - I found where it was posted, with a start to some answers. Biscuits, Crackers, Hot Rolls and More

Marlena's post made me think of the very first Gourmet magazines I'd ever seen. They were in a thrift shop. It was a wonderful little thrift shop that had baskets of things like antique pink satin slips, and patterned crumpled dresses from the 1940's tucked in odd corners, for ten to fifteen cents. It was in Darien, Connecticut. Sometime around. . .1977? I was married to a guy whose mother, native to Italy, used to cook amazing things that I'd never heard of or seen . . .her kitchen was a sort of wonderland to me, having grown up without having any serious cooking done at home. There were piles of old Gourmets and Bon Appetits there in the book section at the little happy thrift shop run by the serious Methodist women with their tightly curled hair and quietly bustling ways, so I picked some up. The Bon Appetits rather scared me. They were filled with photos of people around tables eating and smiling hugely in what seemed to me to be odd, slightly ominous ways. And the recipes were dull, the stories nonexistent. I bought some but threw them away almost immediately. I tried to cook something from Gourmet. It was some sort of stew, and I didn't know that you could not cook a stew in a Pyrex pot on top of the stove. It smelled wonderful, till the pot broke all over the stove, exploding onto the kitchen ceiling. Sigh. What a mess. Thank goodness for Gourmet. Yes, I think without having found that magazine it's likely I never would have become a chef. I wonder where or how other people ran into their "first" Gourmet.

That's hilarious. That initial sense of dissonance and disbelief conveyed by the *first* ad with the white faces. Phew. And then the move right into "Marketing 101: Our Lives Defined". Sigh. Yes, an odd upside-down feeling to the whole thing. Not alien, entirely, to me though (though alien as far as kitchen or food life goes). I remembered clearly when reading your line about the "sufficiently fashionable kitchen, or else it's pointless" times past when I would literally spend several hours getting dressed to go on a date. Not just several hours, really, but even more time before that, shopping for the "right" clothes, from skin on out. It was more about the dressing up than it was about the date or the guy. A most feminine perspective perhaps? And now the kitchen is all dressed up, and perhaps for only the final, real, reason of "getting dressed up". (Well, one can always hope, but life being what it is, sometimes the dressing up is actually more interesting in the long run. . . ) Your story is touching, marlena. A window on the world, showing more windows on the world, endless vistas, really, in ways big and small. Interesting, too, for to my mind, you just were "always a food writer". I guess I thought you had been born a food writer. The genesis of how these things *do* happen are most fulfilling to imagine. You reminded me of MFK Fisher, too. And Julia Child. How women find themselves in unusual spots, sometimes odd or slightly disconcerting spots personally, from the ways in which we (at least in the past) have followed the men in our lives to places as their supports. MFK followed her then-husband to France, Julia the same - and both found things unexpected there, that were "just for them". A sideways, winding, mysterious path. I wonder if the next generation of women who write about food will do the same, finding this sort of surprise unexpectedly, or whether they will mostly just start out clearing their own paths from the very start. . . I'm with you on that, jess, and you've said it most beautifully!

Really I couldn't decide last night whose post scared me and made me laugh at the same time the most - lucylou's or Pontormo's. I was rather fascinated by whatever that thing is that's on top of that hunk of meat, lucylou. Phew. Really. Even now, my mouth starts hanging open stupidly just looking at it in wonderment. Pontormo's story made me think of Betty Crocker meets Julia Child on a rush night in the kitchen. Betty, of course, would be making dinner, a big fancy one, for her hubbie's boss, determined to please All with the perfect meal. And Julia, naturally, would be aiming for "better things", finer things, the higher calling to be found in it all, the food lending meaning to the table and the day, and therefore the Self. What a beautiful couple of posts in a row! Thank you!

[Moderator note: This topic became too large for our servers to handle, so we've divided it up; the earlier part of the discussion is here: The Soup Topic (2005–2006)] Gringa's (that's me ) Faux Mexican Lentil Soup tonight. Soften and just start to brown the very edges of chopped onion, celery, carrots in olive oil, medium flame. Add chicken broth. Add some fresh salsa. Add some oregano, thyme, bay, cumin. Add lentils. Add a touch of brown sugar. Simmer twenty minutes or so. Remove from heat and stir in the zest from a fresh lemon. Serve in deep bowls with a dollop of sour cream for those who like it, and with an handful of grated cheese of choice for those who like that, too. Freshly made tortilla chips are good with this. A bonus is that children who do not "like vegetables" (not my kids heh heh but some of their friends ) do not realize that this is a vegetable soup. They just think it's a "Mexican thing" and therefore cool. Yum. Spicy, sweet, rich and good. Great for a rainy night. Or any other time, really.

This should be fun. I know that Country Music has expanded in many ways, both musically and culturally, but still. One of the charms of Country Music are the repetitive themes (as with the Blues but shaded differently) of the situations where "my wife left me, my dog died, my pickup truck won't start and my girlfriend's fiance is heading for me with his shotgun" sort of things. Love it. Can't wait to see what the teams imagine and display with shimmering sugar work, deep chocolate creations, and fondant colorations. (!) Fun. Hmmm. How would one create a display of Hank Williams "Your Cheatin' Heart"? (My mind is running to some rather awful looking things, though I adore the song. )

I'm not so sure that attitude of assumption of ignorance reigning because of an exit number on the highway exists as much as it might have in years past, Anne. There are so many people that have travelled the highways so very much that surely the ones that think this way are a *very* small number. One hopes. Plus, you know, we've had several Presidents of the United States with accents in their voices that say "Deep South" and regardless of one's thinking on their individual "performance" as President, it does take a bit of a Top Dog in some way to get to that seat. As for your other question, yes, almost everything is a double-edged sword, actually, looked at close enough. I run to metaphors for fun quite often when I write. Please forgive me, dear lady, and if you will, say quietly to the computer screen, "Bless her heart". ( ) P.S. I intend to get crazier the older I get. I figure that's a preogative of age, no matter whether north or south of whatever line one chooses. Hope you'll still defend me? ................................................. Now I just got back from the west coast of Florida. It was Southern, but not Southern like here in old Virginny. The food was different, as was the sun and the soil. Darn it, but I was glad to come home to my *own* particular twang of accented voice and my own variety of foods available. (Oops. Erase that last part. We grow beef here, not seafood, and to my mind seafood just doesn't travel well far past the dock, in some vital way. )

There once was a girl from St. Pete Who couldn't decide what to eat So she purchased some prawns Then mixed them with brawn And discovered they tasted like feet.

And one more good dive-y place to add: up the road a piece on Indian Rocks Beach there is a place called "Crabby Bill's". Naturally I was attracted by the name. Picnic tables in one area, booths in another, a bar of course too. Everyone in this place looks like an escapee from the Mod Squad, the original Mod Squad. Rather wonderful. A very good and interesting oyster stew was offered. Oysters cooked perfectly not a hint of a split second over or under done. The stew was buttery and had bits of onion and celery, and (unusual) chunks of browned roast potatoes in it, which were surprisingly good and fitting. Stone crab claws were good sized. I ordered them chilled and they were delicious, served with two sauces. Here, they know what you mean if you order a "short beer". Almost forgot to add: The music played is Motown - and nothing goes better with oyster stew than Al Green's "Let's Get Together".

I did finally have lunch at Dockside Dave's. One-half pound fresh grouper sandwiches (on "weck"). I got mine batter fried. Fantastic. A glass of wine ordered arrived in a glass the size of a usual iced tea. I sat and tried to eat this enormous delicious thing and watched the people. Locals, mostly. Bellied up the bar in the other room were the serious drinkers, faces red and ready to hit the beer for the afternoon. This place could have been the inspiration for Joni Mitchell's "Barangrill". Photos of fish and people all over the walls that were coated with many layered coats of paint, rock and roll blasting from the kitchen in the back, the cooks shouting about how they'd just been slammed, the busser a thirteen year old babyfaced slightly plump girl in shorts and rumpled t-shirt, the ladies at the next table discussing who had died and who had gotten divorced and who had gotten drunk, both with bleached blond hair and thick heavy overdone black eyebrows. It was innocent, the place, a place of the beach, a reminder of seashore life, a place without pretension. The tomato on the sandwich was one of the three best I've ever had in a restaurant (the other two being at Peter Luger's and Bradley Ogden's. . .). On the wall was an article from "Southern Living" in 2004, placing Dockside Dave's as "one of our favorite places". I can see why. I walked slowly out, sated from the big fat crunchy flaky moist grouper and the wine that I could not finish unless I wanted to fall off my chair. It was good.

Bernini's of Ybor City is a very nice place to have lunch. Elegant but not stuffy, dress code casual but not scruffy . Apparently it is being touted as "the best place to impress". I didn't know that, but liked the way it looked and was not disappointed. The woodfired pizzas were pretty good (a bit too much cheese for my liking) but the standout was a dish of clams in a garlic butter sauce. Grrrrrr. You can *not* have too many of these. Perfectly wonderful. Add a glass of champagne and all is well with the world.