maggiethecat

Le Creuset the shade of a pack of Gitanes. Glass knives. Not only is this thread moving and personal, it's a treasure trove of arcana. Thank you all. Happily, my mother is still buying upscale kitchen equipment, antique sterling and cooking up a storm. The two hundred year old Blue Willow, the sardine caskets, the pre-revolution silver and cloisonne Russian snifters will come to me "When I don't need it anymore." Trust me, I can wait forever. Actually, I don't need a picture. I have it from my Nonna-in-law's kit. I think she used it for removing cannoli shells from the fryer. So do I.I do have eight lovely teacups, thin and translucent as a sliver of alabaster-- Shelley, Royal Crown Derby, Royal Doulton. In Canada in the fifties I guess a pretty teacup was a standard shower gift, or bridge party prize. Mummy had dozens of teacups and begged me to clear up some cabinet space. Oh, tea does taste better from a thin, delicate cup. I use my late, beloved mother-in-laws's Revere double boiler with the steamer insert three times a week, minimum. and think of her noble loving life every time I steam some rice. My great-aunt Chi was a Southern Ontario bluestocking who went to high school with Robertson Davies and "Kenny" Galbraith. She met her husband, Arnold Parrote (Uncle Polly) Cramp in a munitions factory in Drummondville Quebec in 1917. Polly was a Yankee mechanical engineer (later chief engineer for the Hoover Dam,) and his imposing mother gave Chi six dozen two- foot square double damask napkins. I have twelve of them, and ninety years on I use them every Thanksgiving.

90, 892. (Hooray! Found the cookbook calculator under a slipper.)

90, 716. Welcome to all the first-timees here, and please keep us updated. Susan, I understand that moment where you realize you can't continue to check out a cookbook from the library forever. That's why I own "Jacques and Julia." Hey, Jude: I've missed you, the backbone of this thread, and I'm delighted you had a good day. And chromedome, I'm partnering you in the Happy Dance. What a great haul.

89.590.

Priscilla: How well I remember the flap about Craig Claiborne's diner Chez Denis. I had no idea that Carl was involved in that culinary bit of hoopla; thanks for biographical tidbit. Lucy, I have to say that I have yet to come across a single copy of Pleasures of Cooking online, in a second hand bookstore, or on a kitchen bookshelf. The circulation figure in July of 1987 was 97,000;certainly not a huge run, but not exactly small press numbers. (Come to Chicago and you can dip into my sticky stack any time.) Carl touted it as a "cooking class in print," and it was. I like to think that he'd approve of the eGCI. And to all for their kind words, thank you.

As always, the discussion is illimunating. Thank you. About the machine: The Cuiz puts out, it doesn't tire, it's reliable faithful and true. I love my KA, but unless I pull out the annoying anti- splatter attachment, I know that I'll be wearing flour, and so will my counter. I use my mandoline all the time, but its' results depend on my digital caution, and it can't produce pizza dough. The Cuiz is utterly predictable -- a safe harbor in a cluttered kitchen. And you can't kill it. About the magazine: Marlene brings up some excellent questions. One of the virtues of "Pleasures of Cooking" is the intelligent layout;you aren't flipping to page 198 for the rest of the recipes -- every story can be consumed in a gulp. The level of writing and photography (and the No Ads) and the historic joyful 70's-80s renasissance of the cooking gene makes for compelling reading. The great analogy to eGullet is the fabulous evangelical engaged tone of the writers. They are jumping out of their skins to convince you that Welsh food is worth a twirl around the dance floor. The range of subjects should make any current food magazine hang it's head. In the evolving neo-foodie atmosphere it catered to, Pleasures feels like a conversation with your favorite eGull. Priscilla alludes to Craig Claiborne and the his role in creating the culinary world view. Add Julia Child (in her strapping 50s) and Louis Szathmary. I believe that Carl was, in his way, equally important.

I pulled one of the containers of beans from the freezer (yes, fifi, I could have fed Sherman's Army if I'd made a single cauldron!) added tomatoes, broccoli rabe, potaotes, carrots, zukes. Talk about an easy and fabulous midweek minestrone. Related note: I took the frozen remainders of the Mushroom Soup I made yonks ago from the Les Halles Cookbook and used it for the base of a mushroom risotto. Words cannot describe how earthy and mushroomy it was.

Hie thee to RecipeGullet.

Babe: I feel your exhaustion and frustration, and remember the sleepnessness, breastfeeding issues and hormones gone wild. Take a deep breath and tell yourself: I am the mother. I am the boss. I love my children and want the best for them. And it's time they understand all of that. If you can find a copy of an obscure Mark Twain satirical piece called "The Appetite Cure" it tells it all. Practically, plan dinner with a mental list of your kids's likes, and include one from each. Say: Kid one likes chicken, Kid Two likes mashed potatoes, Kid Three likes carrots. They will all make yummy noises about their favorite dish, and perhaps encourage the sibs to give it a try. All the other advice here has been just excellent. I think the key is the dinnertime ritual. If you and the Dude sit down, calm and expectant of good food and good manners, the kiddies will get the hint. Do the retro thing: Mom and Dad at the heads of the table, food on platters with serving pieces, a thoughtful menu (I hated asparagus as a kid!) but No Way Out. This is dinner: Eat it or leave it. No whining, no grilled cheese substitute, no frozen chicken tenders. And don't make them eat anything that makes them gag. They won't starve. And I am not above the Dessert Bribe: "Eat your spaghetti with the scab-colored sauce and you can have ice cream." And get some rest: I'd be toasted too if my feet were in your Manolos.

88,462. (I love spiral-bound cookbooks, and own precious few -- the recipe companions to the Time- Life "Foods of the World."

Mon ami: 88, 460 it is.

Good grief, I've misplaced my cookbook counting calculator!. Ok, with the long columns of manual addition and carrying over, I make it 88, 457.

Vicarious shudder of delight: Bacon Blue Cheese Burger; that's Riot Grrl eating at it's finest. (Here: you can have my pickles.)

I found this in my mailbox at lunch today:

Brooks got there first, and said it so well that I don't have too much to add. But I'd like to emphasize a couple of his points: Dave had help, ruthless nagging, and excellent suggestions from Steven, Marlene and others of their ilk. But Dave provided the vision, the nuts-and bolts, the graphics, the tricky technical twiddly bits, the portal, the banners and that cool pencil in the RecipeGullet header. Can you spell "Sleep Deprivation?" Brooks also mentioned the advantage of instant feedback for the writer. The only way I feel sorry for those New York Times or New Yorker writers is that they have to wait for Letters to the Editor a week out for reaction and feedback. Like any Daily Gullet writer, I got instant opinion from my readers, and, even better, new information on the subject of my piece. (And yes, a year on, I get e-mails from strangers both creepy and deeply politically correct about my Breastfeeding article.) The Daily Gullet. I'm so glad it's back, and again, this was accomplished by dedicated people who sometimes actually have a life. I doff my tiara to them and look forward to the best food writing on the internet-- and hope my stuff makes the cut. Sour note: I remember suggesting that breasts be incorporated into the logo. Beats okra hands down as a food archtype.

Well, there wasn't Eagles or Simon and Garfunkel on the Muzak at Bobaks today. There was a high mass in Polish. OK, twenty three bucks, including a can of tomatoes and some yellow peppers. The protien: 4 lb. fryer 1 lb Bobak's bacon 1 lb Mortadella 2 lbs ground veal 2 lbs grounf chuck 2 lbs amazingly gorgeous sirloin pork chops 2 Lbs Italian sausage 2 lbs andouille Do the math. For the guys: the women working the impeccable meat cases are knockout Polish supermodel 18 year-old blondes-- who were weeping and saying the mass. I love Chicago.

Not only all that, but it's a community kind of place. While I was buying a stamp to affix to a postcard to an ailing great-aunt (who had NO cousins named things like Rip) and asking directions to the nearest postbox---three blocks down Royal-- I felt a tap on my shoulder. The couple behind me in line, late sixties, chic and suave--said "Darlin', as long as you're mailing that postcard, would you mind taking ours too?" Of course I said yes, and had the pleasure of reading theirs. (Hello--wouldn't you?) They were all to buddies in Norwich, UK. Apparently the dapper silver-haired gent was staying in a friend's flat in the quarter and doing some serious painting. Sigh. Verti Marte.

Varmint: Great post, great pictures. It's only been six weeks, but I want to go back. Now. Why Dean, you 'dentical gentleman, you! Verti Marte is exactly the kind of place that I'd set foot into immedietely---and did. I agree: everyone needs a Verti Marte! (I am so attached to VM that I still carry around their take-out menu in my purse, for old times sake!) From the street it looks like an old-time Chicago liqour store, and smells like one too -- musty and dusty. It's tiny. but few institutions in this country do so much for so few as the Verti Marte. It's open 24/7. It delivers. As Dean said, this is superior take-out food; a container of their red beans and rice with andouille is the best Monday morning breakfast anywhere. And I'm sure that eventually, God Willing, I'll get around to trying the French Fry Poor Boy. You can buy a stamp. A newpaper. Cigarettes. Wine, booze, milk, juice. Aspirins at three am. (Go figure!) It's the place I pick up my Community chicory coffee ($4.95 a pound) before I head north. And Grandma's Boarding House Meatloaf special on Wednesday: two sides, five bucks. We all need a Verti Marte.

Um... why does what not surprise you? The acorn and the tree? The Seriously seductive experience of dining out at Upperline?

This was in my inbox tonight. (I'm so glad I put that little leather-covered reporter's notebook in her Christmas stocking.)

A thought. Maybe you should scrunch some aluminum foil around the handle before you put it in, so that you'll pause before you grab it. ← A brilliant, elegant idea. Thanks

We both thank you. I talked to her briefly today and told her I want the details from Day2 before she gets wrapped up in her life and memory dims.

Here's my daughter's report on Day One-- I'm pasting from an email. And she made it to Napoleon House!

All of that, andie. "Joy" is a Desert Island Cookbook, that includes fancy French fripperies, pancake recipes and what to do with a dead possum. And popovers. It may not be the book I pull out most often, cookbook flirt that I am, but if I were limited to one: no contest.

I am embarrassed to admit that I've never, in my life, eaten anywhere but at a table, with cloth napkins in napkin rings. A tray table in from of the TV sounds very relaxing, except that my TV doesn't work.