Carrot Top

I'll add my vote for this book. Fascinating read, and the recipes are delicious and well-written.

Revallo, Do you know what the chickens are fed while being raised - and how old they are when slaughtered?

I like these sayings. They all cut the mustard, each one of them. And there's no cheese-paring going on here, either.

You're excused this time. Probably in your line of work it would not do to substitute ingredients in any given recipe. (i.e. literalism is a good thing) Edited to add the above for literal readers.

You are kind, dear. I didn't think my words had amounted to much. But merci anyway.

To be quite serious for just a moment, yes Ptipois there is a problem. Without going into defense and counterdefense, it must be said that merde de cheval is not exclusively a French product as some might wish to have others assume. And merde de cheval does happen to be something that is created by a demand by the consumer who sometimes would rather have romance than reality - ease without comprehension, or time taken to truly be informed. In this world, it is sometimes mind-boggling often to be fully informed as to anything that exists. But again, "myths" have been around since the beginning of time and no geographic region that I am aware of is exempt from them nor more prone to them. They are merely shaded in different ways to take different appearances in display. France is often chosen as example of food-related things. Let us assume it is so because it *does* have so very much to offer. . .not because it is full of myth.

Is that how the saying goes? Oh my gosh, for all these years I've been walking around thinking it was that you COULD make a silk purse from a sow's ear! Sigh. That explains a lot.

As Carrot Top rightly points out, de la Pradelle’s research delves deeply into the wizzened apples, dead rabbits, 'lots of oil cloth' displays. That section culminates in this paragraph . . . She clearly makes the case that these displays and stall holders are as equally inauthentic as the 'artful display/battered chapeau' types. ← Meh. Here, even, in the hallowed halls of eGullet! Is a good example of how easily one can be hoodwinked. Mr. Maw thought it was me, Carrot Top, speaking - when really it was Ptipois speaking! Now it is true that we are both fine specimens, me a green top of a carrot, she a fresh spring pea - but there the sameness ends! She is French and undoubtedly chic - I am merely the American girl next door. Tonight we will blame this on the fact that it is the fin de la semaine, and probably Mr. Maw was indulging in some excellent old Burgundy as he read, then afterwards as his fingers hit the keyboard so masterfully. Burgundy. That *is* French, isn't it? But it just goes to prove how easily one can be fooled as to point of origin by even the finest produce (whether intentionally or not! ) .

Mr. Maw is indubitably right, as is his usual way of being. And if I didn't have to rush out right now for dinner (where I am dining upon some Authentic Cantonese Cuisine (shriek) right here in this small city in the state of Virginia, I would add more lines. Nudge nudge wink wink.

I've been to many a Farmer's Market here in the states where the products came straight from the wholesalers. Farmer's Markets rules and regulations all vary as to what they will allow. . .

No, it certainly is not; and yes, they certainly are.

Serendipity in both cases with the books I mentioned, also - in finding them. I always pick up cookbooks that look interesting at yard sales - and at that time (the 1970's) there were some very interesting finds, or so it seemed to me. Both of these books were immediately post WWII - a time when "food" and what it was in and to America was shifting to a different shape. "The Settlement Cookbook" I'd read about in other places - it was always mentioned as being a classic - and so it was. The recipes were for common-sense good basic cookery, "American", mostly, sometimes with some Eastern European or Jewish additions. No snobbery to this book, nothing fancy in word or posture - just a sort of focus on how to really prepare some good things to eat at home, every day, from "scratch". And that it was from scratch was taken for granted without any heavy panting done over it. The recipes always worked, always provided something delicious to eat, and there was extra information about cuts of meat, grades of eggs, preservation of foods etc. etc. You could sense the author behind the book. . .and I liked her. "The Gold Cookbook" I found a link to on Amazon: (it is out-of-print):The Gold Cookbook The comments on the page say some of the things I felt about the book. He's written seventeen other books, some of which I've read, and each was incredibly comprehensive and also amusing:Cookbooks by De Gouy Louis De Gouy was a chef who had worked in some of the large fine hotels on what was then called "The Continent" (as if there were only one. . . ). He was incredibly knowledgeable and this book is massive. You can find any formula for any basic French sauce soup entree etc etc you may want - plus more more more ad infinitum. Simply presented, and his cogent commentary adds to the sense of the thing. Again, an author that one could sense - and, again, I liked him. He presented cookery as a trade, a vocation, something that was a living part of each day as a natural thing, and not something that one would find separate, pick up, and struggle at to arrive at somewhere intended that was of a higher power. Well. Heh. There's my short answer, Onigiri.

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.