I know it’s not exactly ice cream season any more, at least not here in Philadelphia.  Unfortunately this is yet another recipe that slipped to the bottom of the drafts pool and just now is resurfacing since the weather is cold enough to keep me inside and at my computer with greater frequency.  To make up for the untimely fashion in which I’m getting around to posting this decadent Pear Caramel Ice Cream, I’ll throw in another cookbook review with today’s recipe. 

Falling Cloudberries, written by globetrotting Tessa Kiros, stopped me in my tracks when I saw its beautiful tapestry cover and the striking photos of both the food and places of Tessa’s travels inside its pages.  I was thrilled to have a such a lovely book to have tucked on my bedside table to read a little bit each night.  Tessa has written the book in a style that melds memoir with making delicious dishes out of local ingredients.  Perfect, right? 

Well, while the book is a real stunner and the stories within its pages heartfelt and poetic, I always judge a cookbook not by its cover, but by the recipes in its collection that I test.  I have to be blunt: the recipes in Falling Cloudberries are not really worthy of the price on the dust jacket.  While I love the cultural context in which Tessa chose her recipes, the reality is that the ingredients in many of them are quite hard to find and I couldn’t really think of any substitutes to try for the ones that did get me itching to make them.  In the end, I tried the recipe for her potato salad and for this ice cream.  The potato salad was such a disappointment I’m not even going to post that one.  The original recipe from the book’s pages for this Pear Caramel Ice Cream was also a huge disappointment with the first batch I made, mostly because the caramel process Tessa presents is, in my humble opinion, misguided and resulted in a grainy consistency and not very sweet flavor. 

I decided to make a second batch using my own caramel technique and, lo and behold, the flavor of this ice cream proved to be outstanding!  The pear is soft and smoky from being steeped in the hot caramel and the caramel itself adds an unmistakable yet subtle golden richness to the cream while also adding a little chewy texture and a punch of flavor when drizzled in at the end of the churning to create little veins of gold in each scoop. 

So with the right tweaking, I’m sure there are several recipes worth a look between the gorgeous covers of Falling Cloudberries.  But you must be an adventurous cook willing to make the effort in order to use this book for its recipes.  That being said, if you enjoy food more in spirit than in process, as many a foodie does, this is a book well worth having for its graceful storytelling and poignant photography.  It would make a wonderful gift here at the holidays for the foodie traveler on your list or as a luxury purchase for yourself.  Falling Cloudberries may not be a workhorse in the kitchen, but it certainly is a worthy piece of eye candy in the world of culinary reads. 

Pear Caramel Ice Cream
Loosely adapted from Falling Cloudberries

1 C. sugar
1 1/2 C. heavy whipping cream
2 large very ripe pears, peeled and thinly sliced
1/2 C. sugar
1/2 C. milk
1 vanilla bean, scraped

Begin by making the caramel.  Put 1 cup of sugar in a heavy saucepan over very low heat.  Swirl it around every minute or so until it turns light brown.  Begin stirring as the sugar starts liquefying.  Once the lumps are gone, stir vigorously (do not leave it or it will boil over and burn!) for another two minutes.  The color should be a rich brown. 

Remove the pan from the heat and carefully add 1/3 cup of warm water.  The caramel will sputter and steam as it hardens.  Return the pan to very low heat, stirring constantly, until caramel is liquid again. Add the pears to the pan and stir constantly, cooking until soft, about 3-4 minutes.   Take off the stove and use a slotted spoon to remove the pears, allowing the caramel to drip back off into the pan.   Puree the pears in a food processor or blender until relatively smooth.  Set aside.

Put the half cup of sugar, cream, milk and vanilla scrapings/pod  in a medium saucepan and heat over medium until sugar is dissolved and the mixture is warm.  Fish out the vanilla pod and discard.  Using an electric mixer, whip the cream mixture for several minutes until the mixture thickens and you notice an increase in volume. 

Fold in the pureed pears and half of the slightly cooled caramel.  Pour the mixture into your ice cream machine and freeze according to manufacturer’s directions.  Just before removing the ice cream from the machine, drizzle in the remaining caramel and allow it to mix in slightly for about 30 seconds.  Put ice cream in an air-tight container and place in your refrigerator freezer until firm. 

(makes 1 quart)

There are many benefits to being a food blogger.  You meet a lot of awesome people for starters.  You also occasionally get asked to review a cookbook that you’d already been anxious to get your hands on because it’s written by a fellow food blogger whose work you adore.   Bou-YA! 

I’ve been a fan of The Pioneer Woman blog just about since Ree Drummond started it in 2007 to document her zany life as the “accidental country girl” wife of a cattle rancher.  When I heard tell she was working on a cookbook, I was thrilled to see yet another food blogger join the ranks of “real” (i.e., the kind that make money at it) food writers.  I especially love Ree’s honest and sometimes unexpected viewpoint on life and food and how she ties it all together.  Her photos of her ranch always take my breath away and make me dream of meeting my own steely-eyed cowboy and saddling up a mustang.  Or something like that.  It’s escapism at its best, folks.  Trust me.  Or, better yet, visit her blog and find out for yourself.

Now, to get back to business.  I got her cookbook, appropriately titled The Pioneer Woman Cooks,  the other day and I promptly sat down to read it from cover to cover.  I’ve never seen a cookbook so stuffed full of photos.  There are glorious photos of Ree’s ranch, family, and food. It’s evident that Ree, who shot all her own photos, has a serious artist’s eye for nature.  In addition, each recipe has a photo for every single step!!   That’s right, every single step!   And there’s a parade of cute country sketches of butterflies and roosters and such across the pages.   Cover to cover, it’s a stunner.

After gobbling it up as a “light read”, I took the book into the kitchen.  Here’s where I unfortunately started to lose my love for it.  While having a photo inserted with every single step in every single recipe is probably great for new cooks that need lots of visual aids, it makes it rather tricky to use efficiently if you’re an experienced cook who just wants an easy-to-read recipe that you can bang out in a hurry.  

The next hurdle for me, and again, this is specific to my own personal style and taste buds, was the lack of vegetable-centric or vegetarian-adaptable recipes.  Of course, Ree’s a rancher’s wife so one can’t really expect anything but a meat-heavy book from her.  It just meant that it was hard for me to find recipes to test.   

In addition…or maybe in conjunction… it was also tricky to find a handful of solid recipes for seasonal use.  I had loads of autumn’s glorious produce on my counter, but each one I went to look up in the cookbook index turned up nothing, until I went with the potatoes I’d just bought at the farmers market.    There are plenty of recipes for potatoes in the book , of which I decided to make the PW’s Potato Skins to see if they had a unique twist that made them all Ree’s very own.  Plus I could easily substitute the meat in this recipe (bacon) with a soy product to make it vegetarian without really compromising the final dish.

The potato skins were really tasty, though maybe a little heavy on the oil.  Definitely an indulgence and good party food or game-day fare.  It’s a solid basic recipe, one that’s good to have in your repertoire, but not anything very different from what I’ve had many times before. 

The Pioneer Woman Cooks is a book you’ll likely either love or not really use.  I happen to fall into the latter category because I want cookbooks with imaginative recipes that push me to try something new; recipes in a more traditional format that let me “tick” things off in my head; and fresh seasonal produce as the main subject of the majority of dishes.  I also wish, in this particular case, that Ree had developed the memoir portion of her book more.  That’s why I love her blog — that glimpse into her unique life and perspective is charming and inspiring. The photos in the book serve to whet the appetite for more “ranch life”, and I found that I really wanted some longer stories mixed into the pages. 

All that being said, if you are a relatively new cook who loves a diet of wholesome “meat and potatoes” (or have someone to feed that does) and want lots of step-by-step photos in your recipes and quirky comments and photos of ranch life in between, this is the perfect book for you.  If you’re more interested in a more traditional cookbook featuring vegetarian or seasonal fare, The Pioneer Woman Cooks probably isn’t going to ring your dinner bell.

PW’s Potato Skins
Taken from The Pioneer Woman Cooks

8 slices of bacon (the soy variety works too)
8 russet potatoes, scrubbed clean
canola oil
kosher salt
1 1/2 C. grated sharp cheddar cheese
1 C. sour cream
4 green onions, sliced

Preheat the oven to 400 F (I actually increased my oven to 450 as the skins weren’t crisping up).

Rub the outside of the scrubbed potatoes with canola oil.  Place on foil lined baking sheet and bake for 45 minutes to an hour or until the potatoes are fork tender.   Let potatoes cool so they are easy to handle.*  Slice in half lengthwise. 

With a spoon or small scoop, scrape out the inner flesh of the potatoes, leaving a small margin of potato in the skins.*  Brush both sides of the potato skins with canola oil and salt liberally.  Place the skins cut side down on the pan and return to the oven.  Bake for 7 minutes  and then flip the skins over to the other side.  Bake for 7 minutes more or until the skins are crispy (mine too nearly 30 minutes, thus I raised the temperature). 

Meanwhile, cook the bacon in a skillet and chop into small bits.  Set aside.  Grate the cheese if you haven’t already. 

When the skins are crisp,  remove them from the oven and sprinkle each with cheese and bacon pieces.  Return to the oven just until the cheese melts (2 minutes).  Just before serving, spoon sour cream onto each skin and sprinkle with sliced green onion.   Serve piping hot.

*I stopped the process at both of these points, leaving the whole baked potatoes sit from early morning to late afternoon before slicing them.   I also then left the scooped out skins, unbaked, sit overnight because I ran out of daylight for shooting the photos and wanted to wait until the next day.   Stopping the recipe half way through didn’t seem to hurt the final skins at all. 

**While the original recipe doesn’t mention this, I have tried freezing a few of the skins at the stage where they have the melted cheese and bacon in them.  I plan to bring them out and pop them straight into a hot 450F oven until they are piping hot again and then serve with the sour cream and onions.  Will let you know if this worked by updating the post next week. 

(makes 16 )

There are many perks to being a food blogger.  Good food, great readers, and a comfy space in which to share my passions, among other things.  One of those “other things” is occasionally being asked to review a hot-off-the-presses cookbook.   I’m repeatedly blown away by how beautiful and savvy cookbooks have become in recent years, and The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook is certainly a stand-out among a worthy field of competitors.  Any time I crack a new cookbook, I always flip the pages to look at the photos first.  Big Sur’s certainly got stunning captures of both the recipes and the natural landscapes surrounding the restaurant’s tiny town that clings to the edge of California’s coast. 

Once I finished my visual indulgence, I got down to business reading the text and choosing a recipe to test.  After all, the prettiest of cookbooks is just a glorified paperweight if it’s recipe collection is a dud, isn’t it?  I really loved reading the producer profiles that are peppered throughout the book – beekeeper, butcher, poke pole fisherman, hunter/forager, even porch farmers (a young couple that produces microgreens from their deck).  All of these folks sell directly to Big Sur Bakery, and their products are featured in the book’s wholesome recipes.  Reading these profiles reminds me of how different life is out on the west coast.  I’m really rather certain there aren’t too many people here on the east coast making a living spearing fish in the surf to sell to local restaurants.  If you know of someone doing this, please let me know as I’d love to tag along with them for a day! 

Usually when I crack the cover of a new cookbook, I have a hard time deciding where to start with the actual cooking from its pages. Like a kid in a candy shop, everything I see is so tantalizing.  Not that the recipes in Big Sur didn’t all read like the chalkboard menu of my dreams, but picking the first dish out of this book turned out to be very easy.  I was immediately captivated by the photo of Breakfast Pizza and found myself brooding on the ingredient list (eggs and bacon on a pizza crust?!?) until I was able to find time to make the pizza for myself last weekend. 

The concoction of a hungry and hurried chef right before a Saturday brunch service, this pizza proved incredibly tasty and satisfying.  I have to admit that I’ve had my fair share of cold pizza for breakfast (mostly back in college, but once or twice since) and always felt a tad ashamed for eating this doughy dish so early in the day.  Not so with Breakfast Pizza.  It seems perfectly natural to chow down on this – morning, noon and night.   In fact, after having it for dinner Sunday night, I happily had the (cold) leftovers for breakfast while driving to work on Monday. 

This one is a definite repeat and earns The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook a spot on the top of the stack.   I’m already thumbing through it, looking for the next recipe to try.  I have to say, I’m very tempted to hop on a plane bound for California to visit the Big Sur Bakery in person.  These folks seem like kindred spirits for sure, and I’d love to sit down at their long family-style table and chat about the food.  

Do you have a cookbook from a restaurant that makes you want to go eat there, even if it’s on the other side of the country? 

Big Sur Bakery Breakfast Pizza

1/2  batch of prepared pizza dough
6 strips of bacon
1/2 C. grated Parmesan
2 C. grated mozzarella
6 eggs
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 T. minced parsley
2 T. minced chives
2 scallions, thinly sliced
1 shallot, minced

Adjust the oven rack to the lowest position and put in the baking stone or tray you’ll be using.  Preheat oven at highest temperature possible while you prepare the pizza. 

In a skillet, cook the bacon just until golden brown.  Set aside on a paper towel.

Generously dust the surface of a pizza peel or heat-proof cutting board (or, if you have neither, try a sturdy piece of cardboard) with flour.  On a floured surface, roll out the dough as thinly as possible and place on the pizza peel/board. 

Sprinkle dough with cheeses and crumbled bacon bits.   Make six little wells in the cheese  (this helps keep the eggs from running off the sides) and crack an egg into each. 

Carefully slide the pizza directly onto the baking stone or tray in the hot oven.  Turn heat down to 450 F.  Bake for 8-10 minutes, checking after a few minutes to rotate if one side is browning faster than the other. 

When the crust is golden and the egg yolks set, remove from oven and allow to cool for a few minutes before sprinkling with herbs and shallot.  Slice and serve immediately. 

(serves 6-8 )

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m absolutely smitten.  I haven’t been this taken with someone or something since the day I met D.  You know how that first encounter makes you wish for more time together.  You dream of being curled up on the couch together, basking in the soft puddle of light from a solitary lamp, maybe an afghan pulled over your knees.  “When?  When will be we together again? Can I see you tonight? I’ll cancel my meeting…”

Now for the shocking confession:  I’m talking about a cookbook!  It’s true!  Anne Bramley’s Eat Feed Autumn Winter cookbook is utterly irresistible and, yes, so charming it will sweep you off your feet.  And guess what?  The recipes are delicious too! 

When Anne asked me to review this gorgeous book, I had no idea what I was in for.  To start with, the talent of the team that put this book together is incredible.  The elegance of the layout, the styling of the food, the quality of the photos, the wit of the sidebars, and the overall welcoming soft atmosphere speaks volumes even before you’ve tried a single recipe.  I spent two days just hungrily reading this book before I even started contemplating what recipe to try first.  Really, it’s just plain addictive. 

Now, about that title:  I too was a bit confused when I first read it.  See, Anne, unbeknownst to me until I got this book, has a hugely successful podcast – an online radio show in essence – called Eat Feed.  Since discovering this, I’ve been listening to as many of her archives as I can fit into my spare time (along with thumbing the pages of her book) and have come to realize this woman really knows how to spin a tale about food.  I’m immensely impressed with her all around.  

So, anyway, back to the title of the book.  The remainder of the title bears tribute to the theme of the book, which is “30 ways to celebrate when the mercury drops”.  Anne compiles her recipes into said number of vignettes, such as “Highlands Hogmanay”, “Fireside Chat”, and “Traveling the Spice Route”.  Each of these creative themes includes three or four recipes and usually a historical quip or two.  The overarching idea being to present fun excuses for gathering friends and family together during the dark short days of winter to light them up with good food and merriment.  Like I said, “charming.” 

To step aside for a moment from my tween-like-cyber-squeeling-at-the-sight-of-the-coolest-cookbook-ever, I do have one little bitty piece of criticism about the book.  On the inside of the jacket, in the introduction where I, being the good literature major, naturally started my reading, it says “Everybody talks about eating seasonally.  But that’s easier to accomplish in summer….Being a consummate (and truly seasonal) cold-weather cook takes real creativity – and a deep enthusiasm for the fortifying pleasures of the autumn and wintertime table.”  Oh how I almost jumped for glee in my reading chair!  Finally, I was going to get loads of great recipes for winter squash, rutabaga, celery root, kale, collards, parsnips and all those other tricky cold-season vegetables.  

Well, there are a few recipes for most of those, but really, I don’t think Anne’s goal in this book, even if it came across in that very first introductory paragraph, was to present recipes for locally grown produce in autumn and winter.  Or, if that was her goal, she fell a bit short when she listed citrus and chocolate as main staples in the winter pantry.  Neither of those are easy to come by locally in most of the continental United States in January. 

But, hey, having said that, guess what I’m about to do?  I’m going to use some locally grown lemons in a recipe from Eat Feed Autumn Winter!  Ha!! How’s that for irony?  I happen to have friends who have the world’s most productive indoor lemon tree growing in their kitchen.  These same friends also happen to throw intimate dinner parties about every other week or so.  When I got an invite to the last one, I immediately remembered seeing Anne’s recipe for a loaf of lemon tea bread.  

In a post way back in the archives somewhere (oh yes, it’s here), I’d once experimented with pairing lemon and rosemary together and I quite liked it.  So, I decided to add a little to this new recipe to make Lemon Rosemary Tea Bread and dressed it up a bit with some fluffy frosting and flower garnish to make it presentable for dessert after a nice dinner. 

This is the part where I get to tell you that Anne’s book isn’t just another pretty cover on the shelf, it’s also quite useful in the kitchen.  This bread-turned-cake was superbly moist, subtly sweet, lemony and quite happy with the addition of the rosemary.  Really, it’s not just for tea.  I happily ate slices from a second unfrosted loaf for breakfast, lunch and, well, a mid-afternoon snack that did involve a cup of tea. 

If you have a foodie on your holiday gift list, this book is sure to be a huge hit with them.  And if you happen to need one last gift idea for yourself so your dear old great aunt doesn’t give you yet another sweater three sizes too big, I pretty confident you’d be much happier suggesting she get you a copy of Eat Feed Autumn Winter.  

More Recipes from Eat Feed Autumn Winter
Quick & Easy Italian Soup
Honey-Ginger Carrot & Parsnip Latkes

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~__~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~__~

Lemon Rosemary Tea Bread (cake really)
Adapted from Eat Feed Autumn Winter

CAKE

2 C. flour
1 t. baking powder
½ t. baking soda
½ t. salt
¼ t. freshly grated nutmeg
½ C. freshly squeezed lemon juice (about 5 lemons)
½ C. buttermilk
4 T. unsalted butter, softened
1 ¼ C. sugar
Zest of 3 lemons
2 t. finely minced fresh rosemary
1 large egg

ICING (optional)

1/4 C. all-purpose flour
¼ t. salt
3/4 C. milk (soy milk works fine too)
1 C. vegetable shortening
3 ½ – 4 c. confectioners’ sugar
3 t. vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 F.  Grease a 9 x 5 inched loaf pan. 

In a medium mixing bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg.  In a small bowl, combine lemon juice and buttermilk.  Set aside.

Using an electric mixer, cream together the butter and sugar.  Add lemon zest and rosemary.  Beat in the egg.  Add half the lemon juice mixture and mix well.  Add half of the dry ingredients and mix well.  Add remaining lemon juice mixture and then the remaining dry ingredients, being careful not to over mix (ingredients should be incorporated evenly, but batter does not need to be smooth).

Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and bake for 50 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.  Cool 10 minutes before removing from the pan.  Cool completely before serving.  Store in the fridge but serve at room temperature for full flavor.  Tastes even better the second day.

If making the icing, combine the flour and salt in a saucepan. Gradually whisk in milk until smooth; cook and stir over medium heat for 5-7 minutes or until thickened. Cover and refrigerate until completely cooled.

In a mixing bowl, cream shortening, 3 ½ cups confectioners’ sugar and vanilla. Add chilled milk mixture; beat for 7 minutes or until fluffy. Taste and add more sugar as desired.  Frost cake and serve.

(makes 1 loaf/cake)

I’m a huge fan of public television and even more so of cooking shows on public television.  See, as snazzy and slick as Food Network is, the shows on PBS are much more realistic and focused on the cooking, not the hosts.  That being said, if I could order just one cable station, it’d be Food Network.  Shhh, don’t tell.  In any case, when I was asked to review a new cookbook just released by PBS’s Toni Fiore, host of the food show Totally Vegetarian, I was keen to dive into it. 

As I flipped through my fresh copy just ripped from its packaging, I had a few misgivings.  For me, a good cookbook needs good photos of each and every recipe.  That’s the food photographer and blogger in me, I’m sure.  After all, I’m a little obsessive about my own photos for recipes here on this very site.  Well, to be honest, Totally Vegetarian doesn’t really impress me in the photo category.   I might have set it back down in the bookstore, but I’d have been missing out. 

After assessing the photo spreads in the book, I delved into the text a bit more.  Again, I wasn’t hugely impressed at the outset as a good portion of the book focuses on very basic information about becoming a vegetarian/vegan and how to find appropriate meat substitutes and so forth.  Good information if you’re a newbie cook or newbie vegetarian, but not really what I would have personally been looking for in a cookbook.  Again, I might have set it back on the shelf at this point, but fortunately for me, I needed to try a few recipes to make sure I gave it a fair review.

Dear readers, when you get right down to the recipes, this book rocks!  The dishes I have tried so far are all fantastic and very easy.  Ms. Fiore is a cook after my own heart, showcasing fresh vegetables in straightforward preparations that always manage to surprise you just a little bit (in a good way).  I’ve already dog-eared several pages.

For instance, take this Roasted Red Pepper Dip/Spread.  I’m sure many of you, like me, have had a few versions of this classic party menu item in your life.  I’ve never been a huge fan because I usually find them too heavy and really not all that flavorful, at least not in the roasted pepper department.  But since I had several large red peppers from the garden starting to languish in the fridge, I figured roasting them was the best way to preserve them.  And then once they were roasted, I needed a way to use them and so I turned to my new cookbook.

Totally Vegetarian changes up this classic a bit by using tofu, instead of the more typical sour cream, as the emulsifier and suddenly it’s a whole new condiment!  The roasted pepper flavor is at the forefront, and there’s some inner satisfaction in knowing that you’re getting a few grams of protein from your new and improved ketchup replacement.  I usually have a sandwich for lunch and I lather this stuff on thick as butter cream frosting on a birthday cake each any ever time.  It’s like a whole new sandwich world for me!  And it will be for you too when you give this recipe and Totally Vegetarian a try.  Look for more recipes from the book in upcoming posts. 

Roasted Red Pepper Spread/Dip
Adapted from Totally Vegetarian

14 oz. package of firm tofu, drained and dried on paper towels
1/3 C. extra virigin olive oil
¼ C. lemon juice
1 T. cider vinegar
1 t. salt
3 large red peppers
Fresh parsley for garnish

To roast the peppers, place your oven rack at the top position and preheat the broiler for a few minutes.  Place the peppers on a foil-lined baking sheet and slide under the broiler.  When peppers are nicely brown and beginning to char, use tongs to turn them a quarter turn.  Continue to broil on each side until completely roasted and the pepper starts to collapse.  The entire process takes about 15 minutes. 

When the peppers are roasted, remove the sheet from the oven and immediately pull up the sides of the foil over the peppers and crimp the edges closed.  Allow peppers to rest in the foil for at least 15 minutes or until cool enough to handle.  Pull apart the stem and seeds and the skin should slip off easily.  Discard.  Roughly chop the roasted peppers.  They can be stored in a sealed container with a little olive oil in the refrigerator for up to a week.

To make the spread, combine the tofu, oil, lemon juice, vinegar and salt in a food processor or blender.  Process until smooth and creamy.  Add the roasted peppers and process until very smooth (takes a minute or two). Garnish with the parsley before serving as a dip.  Alternatively, spread on hearty breads for sandwiches or spoon over cooked vegetables. 

(makes about 2 cups)

Amidst my browsing of the pleasantly cluttered and charmingly disorganized shelves of Walk A Crocked Mile Books, previously touted here on SFTF, I stumbled upon what may be the best cookbook to ever be printed.  Well, really, let me refine that brash statement.  Tassajara Cooking, printed by Shambhala Publications in 1973 for the Zen Center of San Francisco, may just be the best ever cooking philosophy book that happens to also contain some excellent recipes and practical how-to for the beginner and intermediate cook.
 
You read right: this is a book about the philosophy behind cooking.  I find it utterly fascinating to flip through its pages at bedtime as it has such a wonderfully relaxed approach to preparing food that nourishes not only bodies, but also souls.   It’s all very “zen.”  Sadly, I think this original version is out of print, but if you have a lovely used book shop near you, perhaps good karma will yield you your very own copy.

It was this tidy summary on the back jacket of the book that prompted me to lay out the princely sum of three dollars that was needed to make it mine. “This is a book to help you actually cook – a cooking book.  The recipes are not for you to follow, they are for you to create, invent, test.  It explains things you need to know, and things to watch out for.  There are plenty of things left for you to discover, learn, stumble, upon.  Blessings.  You’re on your own.  Together with everything.” 

You’re on your own…together with everything…I love it!  The first chapter, entitled “Beginning”, does indeed outline how to begin: “You follow recipes, you listen to advice, you go your own way.  Even wholehearted effort sometimes falls short, the best intentions do not insure success.  There is no help for it, so go ahead, being and continue: with yourself, with others, with vegetables…The way to be a cook is to cook.”  

Within the pages of the book, there are rough ink drawings that somehow do a brilliant job of illustrating cooking techniques and what to look for in fresh produce.  There is a chapter devoted to talking about the seasons and what is available in each.   The recipes, relegated to the second half of the book behind all the philosophical dialogue on what it means to create food, are spartan and brief in nature, but somehow quite inspiring. 

Advice like this doesn’t come all that often in the current gourmand trends eager to blow your socks off with new inventive dishes:  “When vegetables are in their prime, consider doing as little as possible.  Consider letting them be what they are, rather than making them something else. Hopefully, the simple recipes that follow will prove a guide for doing just that.”  And indeed they do.   

 

There is something oddly magical about this book. If you don’t believe me, click on that picture above and read a little of the text…  The more I read it, the more it unfolds its secrets.  I know that sounds strange, but it is true.  For me, it’s proven to be an ironic volume too since I’d previously been an outspoken proponent for very colorful, fully pictorialized (is that a word?), detailed books of recipes with little other fluff in them.  I still advocate for those cookbooks on a whole; Tassajara Cooking is just in a class of its own.  While I am rather partial to this one’s relaxing zen attitude, do you know of any other books that concentrate on the philosophy of cooking?   A book that concentrates on discussing your approach to cooking and not on providing recipes?  I’d be curious to read more of them. 

And while we’re at it, what’s your personal philosophy on the act of cooking?  How do you approach it?  Methodically?  Creatively?  Haphazardly?  Fearfully? 

Do tell, young grasshoppers!

A former “neighbor” of mine (she lived two doors down from my house but moved to the Lehigh Valley before I even came to the city) got in touch with me quite a while back (embarrasingly long ago, actually), asking if I might like to review the book she had just publish.  Carol Hart is a freelance writer with a penchant for health and science topics.  She’s also a busy woman who’s determined to slow down and eat right.  And by eating “right”, she means following your taste buds.  She puts forth a near-manifesto in her new book, Good Food Tastes Good: An Argument for Trusting Your Senses and Ignoring the Nutritionists. 

What was so enthralling for me as I read this book is that the facts and research she’s pulled together verifies what I’ve always suspected.  If I’m craving something, it’s most likely because my body instinctually knows it needs it (this “guiding light” doesn’t hold true in the case of my sweet tooth though – that thing never shuts off!).  I find myself nearly frothing at the mouth at times for a particular vegetable or protein. It’s most often tomatoes and most recently it’s been soy bacon and yogurt.  All of these cravings signal a depletion in my body of what those particular food items hold – folic acid, protein, salt, calcium, etc.  

“…people ought to trust their instincts rather than Nutrition Facts and RDAs,” is Carol’s basic mantra, within reason.  Obviously she’s not advocating living by chocolate alone (which could very well be my instinct).  What she does explain – support in detail with many facts throughout the book – is that modern society has gotten much more concerned about a bunch of numbers on the side of a box than about getting a diverse selection of good and tasty food into their daily diets.

In a chapter entitled The Tyranny of Shelf Life, Carol writes, “Our food supply has changed enormously over the past 150 years with the introduction first of canned, then frozen foods, followed by processed foods with extended shelf lives, and finally by meal kits, meal substitutes and highly supplemented ‘wellness’ or ‘functional’ foods.”

“One hundred years ago, over 40% of Americans lived or worked on farms.  Those not on a farm had a garden if they could, raising about 30% of their vegetables, on average, and buying the rest. Today less than 3% of U.S. workers are involved in agriculture and less than 3% of vegetables consumed domestically are homegrown.  Among the many consequences of our move away from the land to the cities (and to processed foods) is our lack of knowledge about how food is produced and – just as crucial – ou lack of standards for how it should taste.”

She talks extensively throughout the book about how the barrage of conflicting information from the media and the current diet craze distort our natural instincts to eat as nature intended us to do.  “Whether the studies are done well or not, they are marketing tools.  Consider nutritional claims as little more than infomercials and not as proof that you should eat foods you dislike or shun those that you happen to prefer.”

“A balanced diet is not the same as a varied diet, a concept supported by good evidence as well as good sense…”

And finally, a sobering point is made. “There are big political, environmental and social issues involved in the global food exchange: the waste of fuel and resulting pollution; the economic losses to rural communities; and the loss of self-sufficiency in our communities and potentially our nation.  The major East Coast cities have less than a two days’ supply of food, according to Brian Halweil, and are dependent on those semis making their six or seven-day trek across country.  You don’t’ have to b e a doomsday prophet to think this is an unhealthy and unwise food policy.”  

While Carol’s book is not intentionally out to prove the habits of a locavore are the way to go, by the time you’ve wrapped up the last chapter its pretty clear that local food is the freshest and most attuned to meet our body’s natural needs for diverse nutrition according to the seasons and our surrounding environment.  All in all, you’ll learn a lot about food facts from reading Good Food Tastes Good. 

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Port Wine and Pastries:  Yes, my dear readers, I am currently away from my desk/computer, hiking around the steep hills of Lisbon and rural sections of the northern Minho region of pint-sized Portugal.  I can’t wait to get back and tell you all about the rich old-world culture of this unique little country oft forgotten by European travelers intent on getting to Italy and Spain.  In the meantime, enjoy this post for a great food book by a local author and please have patience with my delay in responding to comments. 

Obrigada e adeus (thank you and farewell)!

~ 

With winter sweeping in like a wolf on the hunt, I’m going to be changing the format of the blog (just a teeny eeny bit) to include some posts that aren’t focused on a particular locally grown vegetable and how to cook it.   That’s not to say I won’t find a way to keep cooking local between my own preserves and those of friends and family, as well as with some produce from local farmers that are lucky enough to have greenhouses.

In any case, since my winter months are often imbued with reading (and knitting), I’d like to showcase a couple books over the next several weeks that I feel have powerful messages, as well as the occasional aside of comic relief.   Together, we’ll hopefully get a little more educated about what’s being written on the subject of eating local and supporting small farms, including urban agriculture.

There’s no better place to start than the poignant volume, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, which my coworker Carol was gracious enough to loan me.  Thanks to an elaborate sticky-note system, I’ve managed to curtail my impulse to underline important points and scribble my comments in the margins.   There’s a tremendous amount of discussion-worthy material in this book though.

Already a prolific writer, Kingsolver has now tackled an immensely broad subject (the value and purpose of eating local seasonal food) through her own personal journey.  Full of pause-worthy quotes and a tremendous amount of research disguised as jaunty dialogue, I can’t put this book down.  

Quotes from Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

“What the fad diets don’t offer, though, is any sense of national or biological integrity.  A food culture is not something that gets sold [in advertisements] to people.  It arises out of a place, a soil, a climate, a history, a temperament, a collective sense of belonging… A sturdy food tradition even calls to outsiders; plenty of red-blooded Americans will happily eat Italian, French, Thai, Chinese, you name it.  But try the reverse: hand the Atkins menu to a French person, and run for your life.”

“The baby boom psyche embraces a powerful presumption that education is a key to moving away from manual labor, and dirt — two undeniable ingredients of farming… When we walked as a nation away from the land, our knowledge of food production fell away from us like dirt in a laundry-soap commercial.”

“If every U.S. citizen ate just one meal a week (any meal) composed of locally and organically raised meats and produce, we would reduce our country’s oil consumption by over 1.1 million barrels of oil every week.  That’s not gallons, but barrels.  Small changes in buying habits can make big differences.  Becoming a less energy-dependent nation may just need to start with a good breakfast.”

~ .~.~ 

Each quote makes a tremendous amount of sense to me, but then again I’m closely tied to farming.  I’d love to hear your thoughts about them.  What, in your mind, constitutes a food culture/tradition?  And how do you rebuild one that’s apparently as defunct as America’s?   Or isn’t ours defunct?   At one point Kingsolver goes so far as to suggest American school kids take an entire course on agriculture.  Is this too drastic a measure?  Has our society become too removed from “dirty” work?   Knowing that it will reduce our nation’s oil consumption by so much, are you now going to eat one “local” meal a week?   Let’s get some chatter going here, people!