Carrot Top

Once when Henry Kissinger came to lunch, lunch had been plated and served for all of the twenty-seven people there. As he was the guest of honor, nobody wanted to pick up their fork first to eat. He kept rumbling on to the guy next to him in that marvellous deep voice of his, not too worried about eating apparently. The rest of the people were vaguely fidgeting and looking nervous and vaguely skinny even if they were fat. Finally he picked up his fork and so did everyone else, quickly. Problem was, now the food was approaching being cold. First the most critical guest summoned a waiter and asked for a fresh hot plate of food. Then, of course, not to be outdone, others followed suit. Some even asked for different items than they'd had before. Servers running hither and fro, round the table, in and out of the kitchen, fresh plates popping here and there while the people at the table still stared in admiration at Kissinger and grated their teeth at the servers. Silly.

I wonder if anyone is preparing for this sort of festivities this year. . . My favorite is roast goat.

I daresay we might see him someday on a television ad for some sort of comfy shoes.

Mmm hmm. Except Marlon's showy upper arms were even more well. . .whatever it is that they are supposed to be. Darn it all, but if it weren't for the health code laws we might get to see him in a chef coat designed like a wife-beater? (I hear that horn necklaces are back in style too ).

I would have responded to the towel question, but since I wasn't a line cook but rather an executive chef for a longer period of time, I forgot what it was like. Thanks for the memories, though. Karen

I'm not a "dieter" but once upon a time, because I wasn't feeling too great overall, I tried some of the ideas that are encompassed within what you are talking about. Started by eliminating dairy. That was a positive thing for me - may I say I was less snotty? Probably not. But anyway. You get the idea - a positive physical reaction occured. White sugar was eliminated next, to be replaced by honey or other sweeteners. May I say that I was less aggrevating? Probably not, but it made a small physical difference in how I felt over the course of a day. Caffeine was next to go, replaced by water and herb teas of choice. This was not too hard for me, for during two pregnancies, I had lost the desire for coffee and did without it, so knew it could be done, and might be even a kind thing to do for my physical constitution. May I say that I became a Zen warrior, able to smile at all and bite at none? Nope, but anyway, there might have been a little less intense heart-beating moments due to drinking the stuff as if it were the food of the gods, which I can tend towards doing. Red meat followed in the exodus. I didn't really long for it for there were many other good things to eat that replaced it, spicy delicious ways of cooking things. May I say that I became fascinatingly gorgeous and always able to answer the doorbell without needing to fluff my hair or check that indeed I did look okay without lipstick? Guess not, but there was less of that tired feeling after eating a meal that *did* include red meat. These are all good ideas, excellent ideas, for someone who wants to try a different way of eating in order to possibly feel better (which of course does lead to looking better ). If one already is completely pleased with the way they feel or the way they look, then obviously there would be no need for these ideas. But if one is *not* (anyone out there? nobody? hmmm ) completely satisfied with the way they look or feel, then these ideas are good ones to try, IMHO. I'm glad to hear of the good things that the several different "eating adventures" did for you, K8memphis. Best of luck with your most recent entry into adventure, and I will (metaphorically) raise a beansprout to your success!

I remember writing something several years ago in another thread about the South, about the manners of tall glasses of water and please thank you sir and ma'am - and being met by surprise by at least one person who was a born and bred Southerner (uh, yeah, of course y'all know I'm not - Yankees being a thing that as someone said above they could *definitely* recognize ). I think it was Dignan who said it, though it was a couple of years ago. He was surprised at what I described for it was more like the South of his youth - he said you "couldn't hardly find that sort of thing anymore". There's a certain romanticism that occurs in the idea of the South. I've lived in parts of the South where really, there were no glasses of water ready for anyone - be they the next door neighbor that hailed from "another part of the South" or, that thing one stretches the smile a bit to be sure it's pasted on in the right manner, a Yankee. Southerners and their foods share some parts of a common heritage, particularly the food that emerged that was grown in these areas. Yet this thing of being Southern as defined by manners might be something that might be harder to find in some areas more than others. I found this idea of the South expressed as a reality (the tall glass of water idea) in a rather untouched rural area that I lived in. Even there, though, there are plenty of human beings who do *not* ascribe to the idea of tall glasses of water offered to whomever passes by. People from the South are as individual as the rest of the world, and as subject to their likes/dislikes/inclusions and exclusions of other people. Yankees, Horsetraders and the Unchurched in particular being things that the glass of water does not come out to quite as immediately or quite as willingly perhaps. I do know that the idea of defining the South as the Confederate States solely can make some Southerners skin crawl (and not in a pleasant fashion), based on their own background. There's the tall glass of water on one side here, and some facts that do state otherwise in reality on the other side here. If the tall glass of water were to be made real, in every part of the South for every person and *from* every person, then I'd agree with it as a definer. I wish I could think of it as definer - that would be so wonderful. So, for me, I can't agree with the "tall glass of water" as definer and *won't* agree with the idea of the Confederate States as definer, for I think that idea of definer starts with some important exclusions of people that did live there then as being included as equal partners and that bothers me. 'Course I'm just a Yankee so none of this really matters. The South is a romantic idea. A great thing when you can find it. ................................................................................... Back to the food as singular focus, I have to say there's a lot I agree with in what Maggie wrote in an earlier post:

You bet. Especially with an endorsement from former colleague Janet Theophano, author of "Eat My Words: Reading Women's Lives Through the Cookbooks They Wrote," on Amazon.com. We all know that The Alice B. Toklas Cookbook is really an autobiography, but it looks like there is a growing body of literature examining how cookbooks and related guides actually communicated a lot more than the instructions on how to prepare food. ← Just finished the book, and it was fascinating. It covers women stuff, ethnic stuff, redneck/white trash stuff. . .("stuff" yeah, intellectual word there). . .race stuff, all within the parameters of the cookbooks written. I'll have to think about where these old Gourmets might fit into these concepts of looking at the thing from these aspects. It's not immediately apparent to me. (Surprise, surprise. ) ...................... I did, however, just get the new Gourmet holiday issue and am extremely pleasantly surprised. Something good is going on here, moreso to my mind than in perhaps several years past. I stopped reading it entirely for a while there due to extreme boredom with whatever it was that it was doing. This issue does not bore me at all.

A tall glass of water is what's offered if the intention is to hopefully clear off that front porch right quick without being straightforward rude. A cold glass of sweet tea means, sit on down for a spell, honey. ............................ Never did see any of those Southern women that were supposed to resemble shrinking violets, either, though I kept my eye out. Not a single one to be found, anywhere.

I miss Woolworth, though the last one I remember was on Fulton Street in downtown Brooklyn, which was a Place Unto Itself entirely. A super-Woolworth of sorts. Two floors even, with an escalator. And with quite an exciting lunch counter. I miss the end of winter with a shallow brook hidden in the barren woods out behind the house, where the ice would start to crack into small floes that were just large enough for a not-too-large child to climb onto and try to balance while pushing oneself along down the "river" with a broken tree limb, thinking either of Wind in the Willows or maybe punting on the Thames. . . (Always, always, soaked ice-cold feet encased in dreary wadded socks as the boots would never be quite tall enough to keep out the water when one fell into it. . .!) And I stray dangerously close to sacrilege, as my tourtieres are made all enclosed in a (toothsome to me) cream cheese pastry. Very nice story, Maggie, with its sense of a chill world outside, a warm hearth inside. A Joyeux Noel to you, too.

In the past week I've heard two great songs that made me think of this story and thread: "Pick Up The Pieces" by Average White Band "Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay" by Otis Redding The first is the best song in the world to add energy to the kitchen. The second is the one to run and turn off real quick unless you want everyone heading for a beer (oh excuse me I mean a bottle of water of course) and some good old hanging-out time outside the kitchen door. . .

I think I might want to use the words due "to being shaped a certain way by the larger culture they lived within" rather than "due to oppression", though.

I've been literally suffering, I tell you, since last night when my eye caught sight of a "La Choy" can at the grocery store, and the old jingle that used to be on TV popped into my mind. Sung in an idiotic sprightly sort of tone with a dreary yet ridiculous sort of melody: "La Choy makes Chinese food. . . .sing American!" AAAAAAAAAArrrrrrrghhhhhhh!!!! Blech! Hooey! Help!

The north/south phenomena plays itself out in other countries, too, with some similar results. One theory I just read (in an academic text, strangely enough) is that in every thing the human mind applies itself to, there must be an "upper" part and a "lower" part. The "upper" part being thought the "better" in the overall conceptualization, the "lower" part having been created by the mind for the singular purpose of segregation of "us" and the "others", making the "others" into something dangerous or different which of course self-mirrors the "better" upper into a reality of a sort (at least within the mind). Once this labelling occurs of upper/lower (even if it is geographically-based) the thing that has been named lower has a certain burden to bear. One way of bearing a collective burden is to embrace the definition, the naming, as a group, and bear it proudly rather than trying to apologize or hide from the name. Humor and defiance are then used by the group within the ideologic structure that has been created, and an identity group, a culture independent of other things, has been created.

Yes, Desiderio, there is a lovely recipe which is why I was curious to see if it *was* a regional specialty in other places. It was in an article on Val Gardena at Christmastime, so I assumed that the "Natale" meant it was a Christmas cake. I know many Italian Easter cakes, but not many Italian Christmas cakes. If the pastries of Christmas equal the pastries of Easter, then they might be a very very fine thing indeed.

Then of course there is one of my favorites which is neither fish nor fowl nor. . .well. . .it's a pasta pie. Timballo di Maccheroni

(In reference to the questions about the model and bodyfat/ and yes, actually this time I'm not kidding ) ................................................... Last August, an Uruguayan model died of heart failure moments after stepping off the catwalk. She had been fasting for weeks before the show. A month later, officials in Madrid announced that models with a body mass index lower than 18 would be banned from the catwalks. ..................................................... The facts of the situation teeter on the very edge of absurdity, as does much in the fashion world. Both in the fashion world of clothes *or* in the fashion world of food. Wring your hands, stare at it, think about it, don't think about it or merely not be interested in thinking about it, participate in it unthinkingly, participate in it with pride, or poke at it with dark humor. All these are ways of approach to thoughts of fashions, and all are fair play.

Funny you should say that. It is almost the exact words used by Count Zoronsky when he telephoned me whilst I was nearing the finish line of this quiz, calculating my score. "Dahling," he said, "really you should have been here truffle-hunting with me and my pig rather than spending time on that quiz". "No, no!" I insisted. "This is much much more important".

No, that is gluttony or possibly mortification if we follow along the unintended original premise. (Edited to try to be less confusing )

I've enjoyed reading it, SheenaGreena. So I hope you don't kick yourself in the ass too hard. "Sin" was not a word used in my own childhood, so my own memories or feelings don't knee-jerk to the word, but I do have friends who intensely knee-jerk at the word, not only knee-jerk but dance with a bit of agony. There are many things that *can* be used to eat or cook with that we do throw away unthinkingly, many of us. It is good to learn what these things are, in the many various cultures and backgrounds that we come from, if only solely for the simple knowledge of it. So, thanks for the thread and I hope to learn more.

Good points. Delicious, too. If we follow the rule of "no bread dough" as far as describing a pie, though, most of those would not make it through the door. You did remind me, though, of a similar thing that *is* made with a short crust. Italian Easter Pie. In the Italian family I was part of for a time from marriage (nice convoluted sentence there, huh? I dislike the word "ex". ) the Easter Pie was a huge production each year. Jo (the mother of the house) would make a short crust with part butter, part olive oil. It would line large trays that were then filled with an excess of meats and cheeses. This was not a well-to-do family at all, yet no expense was spared. I bet she saved pennies and odd change in order to have a little fund to make this pie each year, if I know her. Layer of four kinds of meat (pepperoni; cappacola; prosciutto; and "honey ham") were interspersed with four kinds of cheeses (mozzarella; parmesan; ricotta; and provolone) along with slices of hard-boiled eggs and basil leaves (which had been frozen whole at summer's end). It was about two inches tall by then, and would be covered with more crust, brushed with egg and baked. I'll never forget that pie.

What're you. . .trying to build an airplane? Walnut-meat shaped??? Yeah. Something inherently wrong. I think not enough eggs in the basket. So we should not count the meatballs before they hatch. ......................................................... P.S. There *was* a note about there *might* be leftover bread for "another use".

MarketStEl had this question to ask in another thread: Ideas?

Righty-O. Let's do. Let me continue this minor posting frenzy by starting yet another topic. Will do. Seek and ye shall find. This one might be a real puzzler, Sandy.

I've posted the question in the Southern Food Culture forum, Janet. Maybe luck will appear there.