Food city area

Fritz Brenner Cooks... so does Nero Wolfe

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tRfrZVkGySYvcSp70faaEm-aU_m9KGGA6UqoXM25ueXW5XOSXSNpnbIuXpOsneOEWuKcbSneDBZRc6nTUzHcv9baqEnJz1hUZ3M7oSU_CMNvy-rimejo4IoE3sqrn4ZyfVD9PsVAao0C/s1600/nerowolfecookbook.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708079906731998434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tRfrZVkGySYvcSp70faaEm-aU_m9KGGA6UqoXM25ueXW5XOSXSNpnbIuXpOsneOEWuKcbSneDBZRc6nTUzHcv9baqEnJz1hUZ3M7oSU_CMNvy-rimejo4IoE3sqrn4ZyfVD9PsVAao0C/s400/nerowolfecookbook.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 236px; height: 300px;" /></a>What's fun about my new Nero Wolfe cookbook? I find it fun that throughout the entire book, it keeps up the fiction that Nero Wolfe is a New York detective who almost never leaves his home -- he solves crimes by thinking and interviewing people who come to him, and by sending out Archie Goodwin, his trusty sidekick. The recipes are attributed to his cook, Fritz Brenner, or to the other characters in the stories where the recipes are mentioned or described, including the chefs of "famous restaurants" or hotels, and even a few suspects.<div><br /></div><div>The recipes sound marvelous! Will I ever try them? Well, some are ruled out by my lack of access to wild ducks, foie gras, chickens fed only with blueberries, hogs fed only with peanuts, and other exotica like caviar. Or by my reluctance to try really challenging techniques. But maybe I'll try something from this amusing book. I've been wanting a copy for a long time. </div>

Fritz Brenner Cooks... so does Nero Wolfe

What's fun about my new Nero Wolfe cookbook? I find it fun that throughout the entire book, it keeps up the fiction that Nero Wolfe is a...

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19.03

Pizza

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7CS3-332NAlaFV2AXPrV2tFyUthoL9-s-RZvBE2iiY5zBUXublWKASaL4V5O6w7TnO3GZvIR7fFvVubxgWbYT1k9nFaEhtnKnkkUJwlSdP89NDF9w6zCLdxGewt4nN5JRuDYay_w8cmd/s1600/pizza0323.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706094245803426290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7CS3-332NAlaFV2AXPrV2tFyUthoL9-s-RZvBE2iiY5zBUXublWKASaL4V5O6w7TnO3GZvIR7fFvVubxgWbYT1k9nFaEhtnKnkkUJwlSdP89NDF9w6zCLdxGewt4nN5JRuDYay_w8cmd/s400/pizza0323.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />Americans ate pizza  yesterday -- one estimate, 4.4 million pies. Why should we be different? Well, for one thing, we weren't watching the super bowl, we went to see "The Iron Lady" with Meryl Streep instead, <a href="http://maetravels.blogspot.com/2012/02/iron-lady.html">as I wrote here</a>. But I did make pizza, using my old recipe and my new cookbook stand. I have now stored my recipes on the iPad, and the plexiglass stand keeps splatters away, at least so far. Much better than splashing tomato sauce on the back of the large screen of the desktop computer, which is now upstairs. Plus the screen is right where I need it, not facing some other direction. The result was our cheese pizza with Newman's Own Sockarooni sauce, crushed garlic and extra herbs and fennel seeds, and good imported French and Swiss cheese:<br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrhlFDg8R1_XH3h4NMevA1w7t_39piXCSXse65BsNaG9lES7P-AHNr3D3RB2JvqklaKVuOEoWbrm6NFLsb_sVvlqcGb8uz8Cvg-D5hQWxkizWrHVWpNKKa9gnN31QWzfE9-k1lcFXbNab/s1600/pizza9105.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706094244698200578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrhlFDg8R1_XH3h4NMevA1w7t_39piXCSXse65BsNaG9lES7P-AHNr3D3RB2JvqklaKVuOEoWbrm6NFLsb_sVvlqcGb8uz8Cvg-D5hQWxkizWrHVWpNKKa9gnN31QWzfE9-k1lcFXbNab/s400/pizza9105.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div><div>As far as I can see, I've never posted my pizza recipe, and if I can't find it here probably no one can. So here it is.<br /><br /><b>Pizza Dough</b><br /><br />Mix and let stand for 10 minutes:<br />1 package dry yeast<br />1 cup water at 105 degrees (test on forearm -- same temp. as baby's bath water)<br />1 tsp. sugar<br />Place in food processor, using metal blade:<br />2 and 2/3 cups flour: up to 2/3 cup can be whole wheat flour<br />Pinch salt -- optional<br />1/2 tsp. oil<br /><br />With food processor running, add the liquid slowly . Process until dough forms a ball and pulls away from sides of bowl. Add more flour if necessary to make this happen. This is a very sticky dough. Knead in more flour if you like, and place in large oiled bowl. Allow to rise for 1 hour at warm room temperature or several hours in refrigerator (if you want to make the dough in advance and go see a movie).<br /><br />After the dough has risen, oil a round pizza pan and pat dough into place. It will rise a little again while you are placing the toppings on it and heating the oven to 425 degrees F. When the oven is hot, bake for 15 minutes, check for nice brown done crust and browned cheese on top; bake slightly longer if necessary. Allow pizza to firm up for 5 minutes before you cut and serve it.<br /><br />If you want twice as much pizza dough, make two recipes separately in food processor, do not double recipe.<br /><br />Alternate proportions for dough: use the same method with 1 and 1/4 cups water, 1 pkg. yeast and pinch salt. For dry ingredients, use 3 and 1/2 to 4 cups flour, no oil. Makes a heavier dough. Allow this to rise 1/2 to 1 hour at warm room temperature, more in refrigerator.<br /><br />As I said, I topped yesterday's pie with Newman's Own sauce, garlic, herbs, and freshly grated cheese. Other possibilities include using whatever other sauce you prefer (even your own); adding lots of vegetables like onion, olives, sliced tomato, or cooked eggplant; adding salami, meatballs, or ham; or making white pizza with 3-4 oz. goat cheese, herbs, and an egg instead of red sauce and hard cheese.</div>

Pizza

Americans ate pizza yesterday -- one estimate, 4.4 million pies. Why should we be different? Well, for one thing, we weren't watching t...

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10.38

"Hungry Town" -- All about New Orleans

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadd6EOZazqcfOPmhRkA3t6bHzhATOYEebKY02O3lLZr8x8jGeiLu8sSmbWkGyN5JP5bghxyHQBoPkX_Vkfk2GwU78fazssUpt_1MrytE-xE8z_Jg0VGdjnC5_QgPJ6oosuaqk8IZCQa6d/s1600/fitzmorris.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704966156457361730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadd6EOZazqcfOPmhRkA3t6bHzhATOYEebKY02O3lLZr8x8jGeiLu8sSmbWkGyN5JP5bghxyHQBoPkX_Vkfk2GwU78fazssUpt_1MrytE-xE8z_Jg0VGdjnC5_QgPJ6oosuaqk8IZCQa6d/s400/fitzmorris.JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" /></a>Tom Fitzmorris, whom I'd never heard of before reading his memoir <i>Hungry Town,</i> is a food journalist with a widely followed radio show originating in New Orleans. I have only spent a few days in New Orleans in my life, having made several short visits. I already admired the cuisine: he didn't need to convince me of its greatness. Over the years, I've bought regional cookbooks (though none by this author) and remember when NO cooking was a fad in the 1980s. <div><br /></div><div>My slight knowledge of NO food doesn't make me an ideal audience for Fitzmorris's memories, but I found the whole book highly readable and enjoyable. He has a way of making each story vivid and making each dish he describes sound delicious beyond imagining. A small selection of recipes adds to the fun.<div><div><br /></div><div>Three themes intertwine in the book. First, the history of NO cooking and restaurants, beginning mainly with the mid-20th century food trends. Second, the intense importance of food in NO culture. Fitzmorris makes a pretty convincing case that NO people have a deeper interest in food and what he calls a lust for food than those in other parts of the country. Third, the history of the damage and recovery from hurricane Katrina, the largest natural disaster to strike anywhere in the US, at least the largest in any recent memory. His selection of memories of cooks and waiters who died in the floodwaters or otherwise as a result of the storm is poignant (and I usually hate that word).</div><div><br /></div><div>I like Fitzmorris's view of food, food fads, food celebrities, and food hype. His observations of trends that started in NO and were misappropriated elsewhere are interesting -- blackened redfish would be one of them. I've definitely eaten some bad burned fish as a result of that fad, and he suggests that I can't blame the originators as much as the pathetic imitations. Since he has spent his entire life in NO (except a few weeks as a refugee from Katrina) his point of view on this is especially enlightening. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another interesting food trend that Fitzmorris covers is the decline of local and traditional foods; however, what makes this relatively common view more interesting is that he demonstrates that during the rebuilding of NO after the disaster, much of the local food made a comeback. He cites various reasons. For one thing Orleanean's exceptional food fascination is also reflective of their love of their city; when faced with near annihilation, they turned to the past for comfort. </div><div><br /></div><div>As the rebuilding began and progressed, he describes how the locals recreated local restaurants in difficult circumstances; the fast-food places and national chains turned their backs and didn't necessarily reopen. His tales of heroic restaurant rebirths under terrible conditions are amazing. Within a short time after the waters receded, quite a few restauranteurs began serving free food to the clean-up crews and dedicated residents who remained in town. </div><div><br /></div><div>Natives felt that their neighborhoods could only rebuild if they had good comfort food, and that the city as a whole also needed the fine dining establishments that gave the city its character. At times, Fitzmorris says, a small diner serving local specialties could be the only sign of life in a vast stretch of ruined homes; the people who were still there were scarcely visible.</div><div><br /></div><div>I especially enjoyed his stories of east-coast journalists who were convinced that the small restaurants had died out, and how he convinced them that in fact, they were more numerous than before, while the chains were in eclipse. (I wonder what's happening more recently -- his book is a couple of years old, and as the city comes back the predators will surely return, I fear.)</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, this is a really good food memoir. I haven't tried the recipes, but maybe I will.</div>

"Hungry Town" -- All about New Orleans

Tom Fitzmorris, whom I'd never heard of before reading his memoir Hungry Town, is a food journalist with a widely followed radio show o...

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09.17

Food can be funny

<p class="MsoNormal">Anything – even hunger -- can be funny in Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov’s sprawling satire of early Soviet times, <i>The Little Golden Calf</i>. Bumbling bureaucrats, resource shortages, redistribution of possessions, and redefined relationships on all levels provided the two writers ample opportunities for broad humor. The novel is episodic: more or less centered around an informal group of con men and opportunistic thieves who take to the road in a car called the Antelope-Gnu. Published in 1936, and now somewhat culturally a bit alien, the novel is still full of really funny scenes.</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">Some chapters in <i>The Little Golden Calf</i> consist of sketches involving other people besides the road trippers -- people who are about to come in contact with the main group. One such diversion is titled “Vasisualy Lokhankin and His Role in the Russian Revolution” (<i>The Little Golden Calf</i>, transl. Fisher, p. 170 -177) It begins: “At exactly four-forty in the afternoon, Vasisualy Lokhankin went on a hunger strike.” </p>  <p class="MsoNormal">Vasisualy’s cause was simple: his wife Varvara had just told him she was leaving him with her lover, Pitburdukov. He says she can’t: “One person can’t leave another person if the other person loves her.” Varvara’s response: “She can too.” He vowed not to eat until she comes back, not “for a whole day. A week. A year. … I’ll lie here just like this, in my suspenders, until I die.”</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">She began to walk away: “I’m leaving. Farewell, Vaisisualy I’m leaving your booklet of bread vouchers on the table.” Now things are clearer even to a 21<sup>st</sup> century American: food was rationed, but he was going on a hunger strike. As she walked toward the door, he ripped up the booklet and shouted “Save me!” She began to take him seriously: “Don’t you dare keep on this hunger strike! … This is stupid Vaisisualy. This is rebellious individualism.”</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">He replied, “You don’t fully comprehend the meaning of individualism, or of the intelligentsia in general.”  In response, she took off her hat “and quickly made an open-faced sandwich with eggplant caviar, muttering ‘crazed animal,’ ‘tyrant,’ and ‘private property owner’ all the while.”</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">She demanded that he eat the sandwich. He refused. “Taking advantage of the hunger-striker’s momentarily open mouth, Varvara deftly shoved the open-faced sandwich into the aperture between his little pharaonic beard and trim Moscow-style mustache.” He spits it out. “Eat, you good-for-nothing!... You intellectual!”</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">Wait a minute, 21<sup>st</sup> century reader. How did such political jargon get into a quarrel between a couple as they are splitting up? What’s really behind this? Lokhankin’s next gesture, while brushing the crumbs out of his beard, was to lie back down on the couch: “He really did not want to part with his wife. As well as a multitude of shortcomings, Varvara had two key advantages: a large white bosom and a job. Vasisualy himself had never worked anywhere. Work would have kept him from thinking about the significance of the Russian intelligentsia, a social group of which he considered himself a member. Thus Lohankin’s extensive ponderings all came back to the same pleasant and deeply personal theme: ‘Vasisualy Lokhankin and his significance,’ ‘Lokhankin and the tragedy of Russian liberalism,’ ‘Lokhankin and his role in the Russian Revolution.’”</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">Later that evening, Varvara’s lover Ptiburdukov arrived, determined to convince her to leave despite the hunger strike. She explained: “There he is! Just lying there! Animal! Vile private property owner! The thing is that this feudal landlord, this serf-owner, has gone on a hunger strike because I want to leave him.” She tried and again failed to force the now-stale eggplant-caviar sandwich on him: “Eat, you vile man. Eat, you serf-owner.”</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning, he said: “There, now the sharp pains in the stomach have started. … And then there’ll be scurvy caused by malnutrition, with loss of hair and teeth.” Wait a minute, modern reader! We are picking up a reference to the real results of real starvation; such starvation had been widespread during the growing pains of the Soviet system a few years before this publication.</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">Ptiburdukov’s brother, a doctor, was called in for a visit. His recommendation: “the patient didn’t need to adhere to any particular diet. He could eat everything. Soup, for example, or meatballs, or compote. He could also have bread, vegetables, and fruits. Fish was also a possibility. He could smoke, within reason, of course. He wouldn’t recommend that the patient start drinking, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to introduce a shot of good port into his system... the doctor didn’t really understand the Lokhankins’ spiritual drama. Puffing up importantly and treading heavily in his boots, he left, declaring in parting that the patient was also not prohibited from bathing in the ocean or riding a bicycle.”</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">How do we read this? Surely we are being told that the doctor is not only not understanding the family drama, but also not understanding what foods would be available even if the “patient” were not on a hunger strike.</p>  <p class="MsoNormal">As time passed, the hunger strike continued. Varvara continued to stay in the apartment with her husband instead of running away. But one night she awakened from a bad dream about the doctor and discovered Vasisualy “standing in front of the open cupboard of the buffet, his back to the bed, chomping loudly. … Having ravaged an entire jar of preserves, he carefully took the lid off the pot, plunged his fingers into the cold borscht, and extracted a piece of meat from it. Even if Varvara had caught her husband at this game during the happiest days of their marriage, Vasisualy would’ve had a bad time of it. Now, however, his fate was sealed.” </p>  <p class="MsoNormal">She left him for good. “Lokhankin suffered openly and majestically. He luxuriated in his woe… His great sorrow gave him the chance to devote even more thought to the significance of the Russian intelligentsia, as well as to the tragedy of Russian liberalism.” </p><p class="MsoNormal">I read <i>The Little Golden Calf</i> as a part of my project on the city of Odessa for <a href="http://hero-or-antihero.blogspot.com/">my other blog</a>. Ilf and Petrov were both natives of Odessa, also the location of the apartment where Vasisualy and Varvara lived. <a href="http://hero-or-antihero.blogspot.com/search/label/Odessa">My posts about Odessa are here.</a></p>