LesGensFaims

Outlaw Cook

John Thorne’s Outlaw Cook is a must have for your gastronomical library. His writing is refreshing, informative, and very modest.

 

There is less pomp and more circumstance in Thorne’s writing. He takes you on a gustatory journey beginning with his early year’s in Manhattan’s lower east side where he skimmed the poverty belt as well as learned how to eat. Whether perfecting his omelet flipping technique or wandering through Chinatown to frequenting the Empanada stands, Thorne discovers that there is more to just being a writer in the Big Apple. Rather, it involves a little sustenance, which soon becomes his muse.

 

The rest of Outlaw Cook, demonstrates that Thorne is an authority on food he is just  a very modest and laid back one, which makes him even more appealing. While he invests in a wood oven stove for some serious bread making, he is also relaxed about the annals of gastronomy and takes pleasure in stirring a pot of chili with a beer in hand. Whether the dish is a success or gastronomical landmark does not matter so much. Rather, it is the process and probably the company, too.

 

In his chapter titled, On Not Being A Good Cook, he simply states:

 

Professional food folk, especially, are confused and sometimes upset by my lack of interest in the sorts of competencies that most interest them. Why do I write about food at all if I’m not an expert in the art of good cooking, nor do I want my readers to be? Because I think you don’t have to be a good cook, or even aspire to be one, to be an interested cook.

 

Here, the reader begins to see that the author is wise and ahead of his years surpassing the foodie snobs and elites proving that simple interest and appetite are all a good food writer needs.

 

Les Gens Ont Faims

 

There is the presumption that because you write about food, you are somehow a skilled and superior cook. I am afraid this is a falsehood and now I would like to put the record straight. If one writes about something, it does not mean that person embodies every aspect of it. If you write about art, are you in fact Cezanne? No, probably not and far from it. No one is but you understand the significance of his work and perhaps identify with the fact that he was a late bloomer while Picasso was not. The main thing is your writing which is your art.

When people realize that I write about food, they assume I can cook anything or identify the different appellations of wines. It’s unlikely and while I do have a wealth of knowledge about some things – I am no expert or culinary wizard.

More so, I am not very detailed in the annals of my metier and prefer to observe the people who are the actual cooks, producers, oenophiles, etc. They gives me my fodder and not to mention my food. So I resolve to wash the dishes aka write, when they are done.

Of course, I do lament that I am not a better cook or a more organized and trained one for that matter. Everything I know is from experience, from watching my Mom, to simply flipping through cookbooks and deciding what looks good, or eating out one night at restaurant thinking to myself – I could cook this at home. I suppose the gut reigns supreme but I don’t go out of my way to push my culinary skills to the test in order to improve my writing. If I did, I would be fooling myself and I would forget my key ingredient: people.

So, I stay interested in food mainly by observing the people in it -their raison d’être, their background, their favorite things to eat and to cook – what makes them tick is far more interesting to me than learning the differences between a béchamel and hollandaise sauce.

Why people do things? How people eat? How they treat and view food and incorporate into their lives – however subtle or profound it may be. It’s curious how much it can reveal about a person, a place – think of the seasons.

From time to time, certain details can be interesting – some clue down a dark alleyway and suddenly you are enlightened. Admittedly, I was happy to learn that marmalade did not come from oranges but from quince, when I was in Portugal. That was defintely interesting, as was our overzealous and often domineering tour guide, Victor and our jamon loving bus driver, Pepe.

My point is that because I am not a very good cook (I am disorganized, messy, and I always leave the grocery list at home) or spend the wee hours of the night studying the Oxford Companion to food that I am a bad food writer. It's just that my focus and inspiration lies elsewehere and it still includes food – just a little differently.

Rather, it is with the people – les gens ont faims (the hungry people) both inconnu (unknown) and connu (known). Afterall, they let me taste food a second time. 

 

Summer Reading: Take 1

Anyone interested in escaping mainstream food writing, should pick up a copy of The Penguin Book of Food Drink, edited by food writer and Chairman of the Oxford Symposium, Paul Levy.

This anthology demonsrates that there is a significant strand of English literature that takes food and drink as its subject.  With essays from both the British and American vernacular, we find a style of food writing that is erudite, tenacious, and endlessly curious. From the works of Elizabeth David, Claudia Roden, Jane Grigson, MFK Fisher, John Thorne, and AJ Liebling, you can be sure to find something that suits your palette and piques your mind.

And with summer on the horizon and the inevitable montage of barbeques and outdoor imbibing, this may be the perfect compliment even for those beach body conscious souls. 

 

The Pig

 

I would be lying if I said that the pig does not resonate deeply with me. If any animal symbolizes this past year’s unabashed gustatory exploration (and occasional overindulgence), it may as well as be the pig.

Since my program commenced last May, I have grown quite fond of the pig. Despite my complaints from study trips, where meals consisted entirely of pig ranging from the cured meats to greasy chorizos to elegantly whipped rilletes and pates, I always managed to clear my plate and come back for more.

Even my refrigerator in Berlin is testament to my loyalty to the pig. After a late lunch and lazy afternoon, I felt slightly peckish around 9 last night. I looked in my fridge, only to find: milk, butter, bread, pate, and salami. Need, I say more?

When it comes to the pig, I am proud to say that my fellow classmates held their ground this year.  This was particularly evident during our meat tasting class - where we tried almost 30 cured meats. My friend and classmate, Luca did not hide his enthusiasm that day. At one point, I swear I saw him skipping to and from class ecstatic for the next round. During the second half of the tasting, I noticed our teacher; Professor Marconi’s blue eyes get sharper as we tasted more meat.

No doubt, this beast has a strange hold over us. So in honor of the pig and the first day of May, here is some poetry for all you “dancing pigs” to marinate on:

 

The Pig

It was the first of May

A lovely warm spring day
I was strolling down the street in drunken pride,
But my knees were all a-flutter,
And I landed in the gutter
And a pig came up and lay down by my side.

Yes, I lay there in the gutter
Thinking thoughts I could not utter
When a lady passing by did softly say
'You can tell a man who boozes
By the company he chooses' — And the pig got up and slowly walked away.

"The Pig" by Anonymous

 

Les Livres

 

I’m a book lover and a book hoarder. On my last day of school, I carted twelve very overdue books back to the University library. The librarian looked up at me quizzically probably wondering where the last three were. They’re here with me in Berlin. I plan on returning them in May – my own graduation present to the University.

Recently, I re-evaluated my loyalty to les livres. Carting books from city to city was hurting my back as well as thwarting my luggage weight requirements. Was it worth the read?

So I did the unthinkable and purchased a kindle. I love books - the feel and smell of them and found it hard to reckon with my kindle purchase. Would it be the same? Probably not, but one cannot always have their cake and eat it, too. But just like we need to eat, we also need to read.

The kindle finally arrived and I quickly began downloading books. My first purchase was Vintage Did ion. I need Joan’s ineffable style and meter to remind me why writing matters, as well as how much work, I myself, have to do.

My second purchase was Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink. Now, if you love food writing –sharp, witty, unforgettable food writing, this is your cup of tea. It is a fabulous read spanning from restaurant reviews, portraitures, to short story fiction about ego and taste. It’s delightful.

So in the spirit of food and reading, I have decided to share. Ogden Nash nails this one – women, food, and body image. Big gulp. Dainty bite.

Enjoy.

 

CURL UP AND DIET

Ogden Nash

Some ladies smoke too much and some ladies drink too much and some ladies pray too much, But all ladies think that they weight too much. They may be as slender as a sylph or a dryad, But just let them get on the scales and they embark on a doleful jeremiad;

No matter how low the figure the needle happens to touch, they always claim it is a least five pounds too much, No matter how underfed to you a lady’s anatomy may seemeth,

She describes herself as a Leviathan or Behemoth

To the world she may appear slinky and feline but she inspects herself in the mirror and cries,

Oh I look like a sea cow or a manatee,

And if you say, No, my dears she says you are just lying to make her feel better and if you say, yes, my dear, you injure her vanatee,

And in any case her eyes flow like faucets,

And she goes out and buys some new caucets.

Once upon a time there was a girl more beautiful and witty charming than tongue can tell,

And she is now dangerous raving maniac in a padded cell,

And first indication her friends and relatives had that she was mentally overwrought

Was only day when she said, I weigh a hundred and twenty seven, which is exactly what I ought.

Oh, often am I haunted

By the thought that somebody might some day discover a diet that would let ladies reduce just as they wanted,

Because wonder if there is a woman in the world strong –minded enough to shed ten pounds or twenty,

And say, there now, that’s plenty;

And I fear me one ten-pound less would only arose the craving for another,

So it wouldn’t do any good for ladies to get their ambition and look like somebody’ fourteen-year old brother,

Because having accomplished this with ease,

They would next want to look like somebody’s fourteen-year-old brother in the final stages of some obscure disease,

And the more success you have the more you want to get rid of it,

So then their goal would be too look like somebody’s fourteen-year-old brother's ghost, or rather not the ghost itself, which is fairly solid, but a silhouette of it,

So I think it is very nice for ladies to be lithe and lissome,

But not so much so that you cut yourself if you happen to embrace or kissome.

1935, The New Yorker