Spooning Up Mustard, Thick as Tewksbury
“The seede of Mustard pounded with vinegar is an excellent sauce, good to be eaten with any gross meates, either …
Monthly Archives: August 2008
Spice of History, or the Long Winding Road and Some Spice Blends for Today
“Variety’s the spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.” ~~William Cowper, English Poet~~ Picture narrow passages, in some …
Julia Child’s Benedictine-Infused Soul
(Julia Child died four years ago tomorrow, on August 13, 2004. “Julie & Julia,” a film about “The Julia Project,” …
The Metamorphosis of Italian Cooking in America: The Myth and the Reality
Typical Italian-American dishes that one will not find on menus in Italy: Stuffed Shells Penne Alla Vodka Spaghetti w/Garlic and …
Becoming Italian
I’m hardly Italian. Nowhere near it. With a family tree first planted in America in 1632, a seedling from a village not far from Norwich, England, we’ve been in the New World so long that we have no ethnic ties or traditions at all. But for some reason, Italian food and culture and history tapped something in my soul. Through my pots and pans, I’ve adopted Italy’s cooking. And dreams of idyllic Italian style. My house walls glow terra-cotta red in the morning sun. Rows of rosemary, oregano, and mint sprawl in my garden. And I collect Italian cookbooks like a money-mad King Midas wallowing in gold coins.
The REAL Fish‑and‑Chips (and Lost Relatives, Too!)
Britain’s national dish is no longer bloody roasted beef, but rather fish and chips: batter fried fish and French fries, that is. Without fish and chips, eaten by millions of Englishmen everyday, the British economy would probably plummet and the national health care service grapple with more heart patients, no doubt. But fish and chips must be done just so in order to qualify as the REAL thing.
The Lady From Chatham, Virginia
Southern hospitality is not gone with the wind, at least not in Chatham Virginia. Food writer Patricia Mitchell,* owner of the now-closed Sims-Mitchell House Bed & Breakfast, makes sure of that. And you can’t expect anything less from a woman who called her first 1968 Mustang “Penelope.” You know, after Odysseus’s wife, who kept the home fires burning and the soup bubbling while the hero was off slaying monsters and avoiding Sirens.
Every day Mrs. Mitchell’s guests enjoyed baked concoctions at breakfast that would cause Scarlett O’Hara to swoon, even without tight stays or Rhett Butler lurking around.
Shanda, or A Face of AIDS in Africa
On really bad nights, I dream I’m Shanda. The smell always comes first. Not the sickly sweet pungency of pus, …
What’s True About Mexico
Ever think about how a map of Mexico looks a little bit like Italy, only reversed? Mexico’s equivalent of the Italian boot of Puglia is the Yucatan, sticking out into the Gulf of Mexico like a big stubbed toe. The thirty-one states of Mexico, plus the federal district, hint at a culinary diversity that you’ll find only in places like Italy, where mountains and rivers and desert-like terrain prohibited easy hopping about from place to place.
Open-Air Markets, Vanishing Communities?
“How much more French can I get?,” I asked myself as the vendor behind the melons glared at my right hand snaking toward a cantaloupe.
Poking the tomatoes, prodding the chile peppers, breaking off a hunk of fragrant golden ginger, and deliberately bruising cilantro leaves to get a whiff of that perfume, I moved through the Parisian open-air market on Rue de Rennes, the Eiffel Tower looming behind me. There, in front of me, dozens of golden cantaloupes sat, pyramided in a perfect triangle.
