Carrot Top

Green tripe-burgers for St. Patricks' Day! Yaaaaaay!

For many years, it was a toss between two books. At work, "The Gold Cookbook" which is sort of Escoffier-like but simpler to read and somewhat more extensive. It was written by a chef whose name I'll have to hunt up because the book is not available on Amazon and I can't remember his name right now. At home, it was the 1947 edition of "The Settlement Cookbook" by Mrs. Simon Kander which I'd found at a yard sale for fifty cents. I loaned it to a girl (an acquaintance from an ESL group) several years ago and never got it back. Doubt if I will, since she has since returned to Tibet. With my book. Just looked it up on Amazon. It's worth eighty-nine dollars! Settlement Cookbook Sigh. I've got to get over this habit of lending books. (Actually upon further thought now I don't feel so bad, upon imagining a small Tibetan village now being taught the joys of kreplach and milk toast, hot dogs and beans, German chocolate cake and stuffed cabbage. . . ) Edited for geographic confusion and further thought. . .

The thought just ran through my mind to wonder which ones of all these things would be considered "kosher". . . .

And this time I didn't even intend it. But it *is* a good one for the situation.

Emeril's tomatoes hit my market last week, too. It really sort of spooked me to see his face smiling from a cherry tomato carton. And hopeful as I was that the tomatoes *would* have some sort of tomato-y smell coming from them that would mean they actually had taste, there was none. I had to put his happy face right up to my nose to discover that. No go. Sad.

I've loved reading all these, but didn't think I had one. Till today, when I was reminded that I do. Friday afternoon - a treat for the kids - going through the drive-through at Taco Bell. (Yeah, okay, someone come and hit me with a piece of limp cabbage and a soba noodle. I deserve it.) Trying to place the order, trying to remember everything while the children are trying to tell each other how fantastic they each are and how rotten the other one is in the back seats, I ordered the wrong drink for my son. There was silence and then in the quiet where one only heard the crackling of the "order window" as they waited, my eleven year old son cried loudly in a desperate tone from the back seat: "DOCTOR PECKER!" I tried not to laugh but it was impossible. Gasping for breath (not the first time for something wierd often happens to us at drive-throughs) through my bursts of laughter, I apologized to the order taker and asked to change the order. To Doctor Pepper. No, we don't want no Doctor Pecker, thank you. I swear I don't teach him these things. ........................................................................ Another one: In the spirit of multiculturalism (I guess) he always calls chicken pot pies "chicken chop ping". It adds a wonderful level of elegance to the thing.

Fantastic. I can imagine the taste. And there's nothing like looking what you are about to eat straight in the eye before you do it. Thanks for taking the time to document, photograph, and post this.

The real question, rachel, is whether or not we can invent a kitchen tool that can be sold by infomercial that fits this word. "The Blandulizer" : "This machine will take all flavor out of any food you cook, allowing you to serve it to any ill-mannered taste-bud lacking relatives you may have in your life. Useful for all foodies at any large holiday celebration."

Yum. That soup looks GREAT!!!! I've moved too often. And am often disappointed with lentils.

All of these are good answers, and true answers, too - to this question. It's funny how often in life a thing can not be clearly defined with exact reasons as to "why" or "how" - giving each reason an exact percentage of blame or cause or source or whatever. Life would be much easier if it could be that way. In the case of this soup, GS Bravo - I think that your story of the Zoo and the Cathedral is useful, and it gives example to what has been running through my mind this morning as the (as close as it will get) answer for me with this soup mystery. It could be, as with all works of art or craft - that some have a really lasting significance due to whatever it is that makes them superlative. Great art, classics, remain strong and vibrant and meaningful to humanity through centuries - lesser works do not. Perhaps the Cathedral has that essence and the Zoo does not. . . This soup was never that great to begin with, I've decided. What made it seem so to me at the time was relativity. Its relationship in terms of what it was and how it tasted in relationship to what we mostly ate then, made it superlatively delicious. At that time, we mostly ate "haute" rather than "plebe", elegantly rather than earthily. Meats with sauces sort of thing - pasta or rice or potato sides, with vegetables rather as an afterthought. That's okay, I guess except for the fact that it is not really the way I like to eat. Mostly I do prefer plebe, and whereas meat can yield a world of ingredients and options, vegetables seem to yield a universe, to my mind. This soup is a real gathering of plebe and veggie. In that way it was good. So the soup *was* sort of a thing that was magnificent - but only in comparison to the usual things we were eating, for its own reason. A philosophic answer, I guess. All the others are true, too though. Especially the part about getting old. Can't escape that one.

It could be that my friend was trying to sell me a cock-and-bull story that night, Arne - knowing how impressive guys sound when they conversationally ramble on about switches and how to compensate for nozzle size. What's fascinating to me, though, is that Chris actually found information in the manual about this switch thingie. Arcana. It's all arcana, only to be understood by the initiated. Whoever they are.

Then there are things like this: Flame Tamer This is only one sort. Google google if you want to see others.

It's called "chunk light", honey. I've got kids that have been exposed to it.

Here's the recipe, Lucy - in what I call "Elizabeth David" form rather than a standardized recipe. I don't do those anymore unless someone pays me very well to perform the (to me) dreary task. Besides, I doubt if anyone will *really* make this after my description of my own unhappiness with it, but if anyone does develop a strange hankering to do it, PM me and I'll do my best to provide better quantities/etc. The first part of the soup was from Arthur Schwartz' recipe, as mentioned. It is a soup made from lots of chopped onions sauteed in butter then with tomato puree and water added for the base. Meatballs are made from ground beef, egg and dill - then dropped into the soup. Diced green pepper and potatoes and rice (yes, rice AND potatoes! ) are added - the seasonings are adjusted, more dill added and it simmers away till done. A bit too tomato-y. For me. ............................................................... The next part of the Soup I Now Hate is yet another soup. Yes, the art of combining leftovers. And it worked. Then. But not today, no not today. Make a lentil soup by sauteeing minced onions, carrots, celery, and garlic in olive oil till soft. . .add beef stock and lentils. . .season with oregano, cumin, bay leaf and thyme. Simmer till done. Five minutes before serving, add some chopped parsley. This soup is good on its own, though simple - served with a dollop of sour cream on top. ................................................................. Combine the two soups in proportion of two parts meatball soup to one part lentil soup. Add some lemon juice, some orange zest, and a goodly amount of fresh ground black pepper. Stir in some hot sauce (Franks). That's it. ......................................................................... Might be that I've caught the "can't stand leftovers" disease. That's not good.

This will sound far-fetched, but then so much of what I say does that I really don't worry too much about it anymore. Have you checked to be sure that the stove is turned to "gas" rather than "propane"? There is some sort of switch on the back. The reason I ask is that I have heard of this exact thing happening (too high heat) with this being discovered as the reason. Of course I might be wrong. I heard the story one night at dinner from a very handsome man and I really was not concentrating on his words but rather on other things.

Now they're changing the taste of Worcestershire Sauce? Heathens.

Yes, I believe that you have to cook with love to create a dish that creates love. And I also believe that this can be done even in the professional kitchen - that food is not simply ingredients and measurement, procedures, purchasing and policies.

So in this case you do think it is specifically the ingredients that have morphed into different tastes, changed by the manufacturer, divalasvegas? That's a drag because one can try forever to try to re-create a memory, but if they've gone and changed the basic stuff on you, then how on earth can you do it? I wonder if other brands of soup would work.

Which things have done this recently, Kim? I need company in my misery here.

Why am I hearing this said in a certain accent? Jeez. If you really want this (terrible, to my mind) recipe, I'll post it a bit later when I can bear to think about it long enough to type it out. . . (Edited to blandulize content.)

What things, Gregg? Mostly I am curious about the new ones that you like that you would not even try before. . .

Gosh, Jaymes. . .I think I follow the rule I read somewhere about "Don't feed your cat anything you wouldn't eat yourself" because I just can not bring myself to serve this to the children. It might scar them for life. And besides, though my son is an eleven-year-old fulsome flatterer in the best southern tradition, my daughter is thirteen years old. Need I say more? (My ego seeks places to hide from her disdain nowadays - it would be quite fearsome to feed her this stuff. ) Hey. Maybe the cat would like it. Let me think about that.

The recipe was one which started with one from Arthur Schwartz' "Soup Suppers". Armenian Meatball Soup. Then I used to add more things, including lentils - and it was the best lentil soup I've ever made. Or so I USED to think. The kids used to sort of gobble it up as if it had some secret ingredient that *only* it could hold. Wierd. And now I have to find a new "perfect lentil soup" recipe. This could take years.

Of course it could be that my cooking skills have fallen off dreadfully. . . Or it could be that overexposure to the fast-food I allow my children to cajole me into dining (heh) upon has ruined me for anything good. . . But still, I wonder. . .

Every once in a while you will hear someone say "I used to have this GREAT (some food item of some sort ) at so-and-so's! I loved it! It was wonderful! I got the recipe and made it and it just. does. not. taste the same. " Often this happens with foods one has had as a child. . . But sometimes it happens even with things you make yourself and KNOW you are making the same recipe. It just does not have the same sense of sexiness (for lack of a better word ) that you remember it having. This has happened to me several times recently with a soup that I used to LOVE. I hadn't made it for quite some time, then decided I had to have it. Made the recipe as I always used to, and the taste did not do anything for me. As a matter of fact, it was entirely boring. Thinking it was "just me" "just that day", I've tried it again. Twice. And still I can not stand this soup. What is this? Do you think it is tastebuds changing? Or ingredients "not being what they used to"? Or could it possibly just be the odd trick of memory and sentiment that imbues certain foods in one's life with a taste that may be something more ethereal or more connected to emotion than "real"? Has this ever happened to you? What do you think is the cause of this mystery?