maggiethecat

I read it again, and in all but one of his points his British folk took a much bigger pasting than us Yanks. Tim lived in the States for ten years and is married to an American lady, so he's not an uniformed Brit. In the end, it's just funny. I like that.

Because a cast iron frying pan on a conventional gas stovetop works better. Woks need btus unknown to home kitchens.

I loved this bit: I love Tim's long-standing hatred of fancy equipment. As I remember, he hates woks in Western kitchens as much as I do.

Another great sig line! Another great piece by Tim! And I am as innocent as the newborn babe. (Watch for more from Tim in upcoming editions of The Daily Gullet.)

I received this email today from my daughter, who took her husband out for dinner last night for his birthday, at A.O.C. in Los Angeles. I guess my culinary torch has been passed on.

Danny: I'm with you here, completely. Food writing is genre writing, fresh topics don't grow on trees. (As a food writer and the Editorial Director of Daily Gullet I understand both these challenges.) It's a downer when the Times food section doesn't glitter and engage, but sheesh, you could live in Chicago. It's a restaurant town second to few. It has two baseball teams and two daily newspapers, as any good city should. But the food sections in the Tribune or the Sun-Times? . Objectively, they aren't even close to the Times. For my money, the Los Angeles Times's food section is the only one to give it a run for its money.

Thanks all, for your thoughtful comments. Lori, I'm delighted that Cunningham has cred with your students, probably, as I mentioned, kids who really want to learn how to cook,or they wouldn't be taking cooking lessons! I suspect you're downplaying your role: I'm sure your skills and enthusiam count way more than Cunningham. Pontormo: I haven't read the Waters book, but I will. I suspect that for many kids the canon is unfamiliar, and that's what I admired about Cunningham's book -- it might expose a frazzled convenience-food raised kid to the glory of a real roast chicken. Lori said that a tweak can help many of Marian's matronly recipes, and hopefully, if they've covered the basics, they'll feel free to splash about a little. (Shameless brown nosing--he is my boss, after all -- but Dave did indeed do the great art and has a hand in every single Daily Gullet picture.) Full disclosure: as a twenty-year old bride I made my bones doing an early Julie/Julia thing. My copies of Mastering the Art lost their covers during the first Reagan administration. I cooked my way through Food of the World too. I'd be interested to hear from all the gifted male home cooks we have in these parts: what was your, er, seminal cookbook?

97 at noon in my Chicago burb. I'd laid in stuff to grill, but that ain't happening: oGod, why cook in an atmosphere resembling Hades? So we're huddling in air conditioning (until ComEd shuts us off for nonpay,) meatloaf in the oven, fettucini dressed with pesto from my basil plants and sauteed zucchini. Oddly, the heat makes me hungry.

What terrific recipe ideas for a bean that gagged me as a child. Now I love them, but my mother loves them even more. After being unable to serve limas for fifteen years because of the ruckus her kids kicked up when they appeared on the dinnertable, she discovered that a new neighbor was in the same culinary boat. She and the lady next door formed a Lima Bean Club: they'd cook up a mess o' limas midafternoon and sit on the porch eating as many as they desired. Come to think of it, I'm sending Mummy this thead. She thanks you too!

If they're smoked oysters, wrap them in bacon, spear with toothpick, bake until the bacon is crisp. Consume with cocktails or beverage of choice. I love them.

I'll celebrate a day that will live in infamy with a pitcher of Bacardis. In 1914 my English Grandfather stole his brother's long trousers and joined His Majesty's Navy. Shipboard food was short for a growing boy, so he traded his rum ration for food. He used to talk about Pepper Soup, which was, you guessed it, water and pepper. I believe that his malnutrition in his teens wrecked his health forever. The effin' Great War.

While I can understand that this closing is like a grenade thrown into the Shaw/Shapiro household, (and those of its fancy-dancy neighbors,) it makes me feel pretty damn smug about being a suburbanite. Manhattanites, I can get in my car and drive a tenth of a mile to a 24 hour convenience store --Mexican, with a great butcher counter. And I can park. Yeah, yeah you have all that culture and stuff. It doesn't count as much when you need a Dove Bar and cat food at 2:00 am.

An addiction that scrambles your brain-- Keeps you busy on airplane or train The Limerick's a curse But it could be much worse You might need a drink in Bahrain.

Phawless Lady: Your Mexican dinner, all your meals and your week as a locovore has been inspriring. It also points up how some parts of the country (yours), and, say , California, are blessed with the possibility of eating within the hundred mile radius. If I tried to take it on, I'd be eating a lot of corn , soybeans, and tainted Great Lakes fish. I want to be a locovore, but unless I buy a farm it ain't happening. I know the sourcing has been a drag for you this week, but you are luckier than most of us. And I'm luckier than people who live in the Badlands, the Yukon, Alaska or Oklahoma. A hundred-odd years ago most people were locovores, ate a limited diet and probably would have yearned for a Trader Joe's. Thank you for doing this for all of us.

Wonderful recountings of a dinner I missed -- I was one of those buffoons who made Alex change reservations a few times. That cold corn chowder -- I want a vat right now. (Alex seems to conjure random moments: We both own a piece by the Toronto artist Arto Yusbasiyan. That's pretty random!)

My birthday cake -- Martha Stewart's Pineapple/Mango Unside Down cake from her new baking book. Sensationally good, but you know -- I sort of miss the maraschino cherries.

Dorine: I'm jealous that you and your family still live the Sunday Dinner life. I agree, returning from church hungry is the best appetitie stimulant in the world. I'm so glad the young 'uns in your family know the slow roast method, and the value of Sunday dinner. What a concept: sharing a meal every week with the folks you love best.

115,379. Welcome laurel and Saara -- you're in this secret CA (Cookbooks Anonymous) meeting with your fellow happy addicts.

Ah , Sweet Home Chicago. My sushi, yakitori, korean BBQ LA transplant daughter was in town for the weekend. First order of business --an Italian beef sandwich. Second order of business, a Chicago Dawg from the superb Zippie's. Made the Super Dawg way.

Cue cawing seagulls, and the lyrics of the only rock band that could actually channel Coleridge and H.P. Lovecraft -- Procul Harum, and their stunning song "A Salty Dog." A sample: "We fired the guns, and burned the mast, The captain cried, we sailors wept, Our tears were tears of joy! Now many moons and many Junes, Have passed since we made land. A Salty Dog, the seaman's log, Your witness, my own hand. " Well, that's the first thing I think about when I hear about Salty Dogs. The second thing is a long drink of fresh squeezed grapefruit juice and gin It's not a terribly sexy drink-- a tad sour and mildly medicinal. But I love them. Chris; Your version sounds great, except that I (my wrongheaded prejudice) think that vodka is a tasteless odorless gateway drug. I can get that Mexican grapefruit pop within three minutes of my house, and , thanks to your post, I'll pick some up tomorrow.

The book has been on my shelf since it came out in paperback, and I agree that it's a real treasure trove -- in fact I think it's hands down, the best vegetarian cookbook ever published.

Brooks. Babe. Relax. Try thinking about fondant the way you'd think of a lady's face. Fondant is a sweet sticky pancake makeup that preserves the sweet cake therein. And I've actually tasted good fondant. Not that I make fondant -- I'm a buttercream/cream cheese frosting kinda woman. But that flawless layer over petit fours or a wedding cake is like a mid-nineteeth century sketch of a stage set for "Swan Lake." And it's still better than frosting from a can.

Nina: My mother is a great cook, and she and your mother's kitchens would share many things -- she is a faithful shopper at Ottawa's Byward market during the growing season -- tragically shorter than what your family had in Virginia, but a local, sustainable market nonetheless, and open every day for the season. Ottawa is a backwater capital city of a great democracy, but the population, compared to New York, Chicago, Boston or LA is modest. As I remember, the farmers must farm within thirty miles of Ottawa, but my best memory of the Byward Market is civil servants stopping in every day with string bags to buy fruit and veg for dinner. Butchers, fishmongers and cheesemongers with their year-round shops. And I stop every year at Christmas at my personal maple syrup man and load up on syrup and maple sugar, proudly labelled and addressed from his farm. I guess the point I'm trying to make is that a real Farmers Market, open every day, shoudn't be a luxury or a frou-frou thing. If your Dad can buy a few local tomatoes, strawberries and green beans on the way home from work, at a good price, from a local farmer, everyone benefits. Why can't this work in Chicago or LA as an everyday place to shop? You have made a superb case for eating our veggies.

As I mentioned awhile ago Orange Crush.

I had an onion ring road to Damascus incident last week, straight from Scott Peacock (a Georgia boy) and Edna Lewis's Gift of Southern Cooking a cookbook so excellent I use it at least four times a month. Peacock's onion ring recipe is actually a garnish for his excellent Country Captain. Slice onions 1/16 of an inch thick. Toss them in flour seasoned with cayenne, salt and pepper. Shake off excess flour. Heat at least three inches of oil in a skillet or pot and fry the onion rings in batches until golden brown-- a couple of minutes. Thin, crispy, oniony heaven.