Books I Wished I Loved More

I have said in my posts that I own a lot of cookbooks. Too many, really. I am currently contemplating which ones to get rid of. There are are very many that I will keep even though I don't use them too much. There are ones that I just like to look at, and series of books that I like to retain as a set. One such set is the Chez Panisse books, the only one of which I use consistently is the masterful, Chez Panisse Desserts, by Lindsey Remolif Shere. The Chez Panisse books are gorgeous, and the recipes are great whenever I do dip into them and make something. It helps that I had dinner at the restaurant a few years ago, thanks to my dear friend Jean, who surprised me with a visit there after I consulted with her about pamphlet cataloging in her library at the Hoover Institution on War, Revolution and Peace at Stanford for a week. I will always have fond memories of chick peas with cardoons and old vine zin upstairs in the Chez Panisse Café. But, do I grab a Chez Panisse cookbook when I am rooting around trying to decide what to make for dinner all week? Not so much.

Even the perfectly-bound The Art of Simple Food, which I thought I might use more than the others, I do not use. Aspects of it miss the mark for me, with my idiosyncratic tastes. Take the "Four Essential Sauces," for example: Vinaigrette, Salsa Verde, Aïoli and Herb Butter. OK: vinaigrette. I'm on board with that one. But do I need a new recipe for it? Mm, no. Salsa verde? Sounds good = "green sauce." It has parsley, lemon zest, garlic, capers, salt, pepper and olive oil. I use a version of this flavoring when I cook off the cuff, and it's great. Will I use this particular recipe? Probably not. Now aïoli and herb butter, I'm not on board with these. Butter and mayonnaise just hanging out there, not incorporated into something, ruin a dish for me. I am not a bread-and-butter fan. I like bread, even butter-rich brioches and coffee cakes, but the oily slick of butter on the surface of something is intensely unappealing to me. Ditto for mayo. Makes me in the minority--and I hang my head for it.


OK, here's another glitch with this one: Fava bean purée. Do I give in to the lure of fresh fava beans each year? Yes, I do. I grab handsful of the puffy pods each spring and I stand at the kitchen counter peeling each pod and then each bean after that to create a small mound of split, stinky beans. Then I wonder what to do with them. Fava bean purée sounds promising, in fact. But then I look at the recipe: "Bring a pot of water to a boil as you shell the beans from: 4 pounds fava beans." Whoa! Four POUNDS. I might shuck a pound or so, and it takes up all my spare time for the week. OK, so: cut the recipe into fourths, right? Fourths? OK, so: cut it down to: 2 tablespoons of olive oil, one garlic clove, 1/4 branch of rosemary, salt, 2 tablespoons of water and 1 more tablespoon of olive oil. It's doable, but it doesn't seem worth the effort to make a purée from so few beans, so I skip blanching them and I just braise the small mound with some olive oil, garlic, salt and a handful of herbs and skip a recipe altogether. Dang. The Art of Simple Food goes unused yet again.

Unused, yes, but not unloved. I love what Alice Waters and the Chez Panisse people have done for our food culture. Their books are beautiful. Of course, I will keep them, and cherish them. Though I'll have to wait to have fava bean purée until next time I visit the restaurant.

Floor Pie

Since we have a large, healthy rhubarb plant, I often make rhubarb pies in the spring, and again in the fall, when we get our second harvest. In the fall of 2007, I made one, using the recipe from Ken Haedrich's great book, simply called Pie. It was gorgeous--a crisp homemade sugar-dusted butter crust, jam-like sweet-tart filling, perfectly baked. I had remembered to put it on a cookie sheet so the juices that had spilled out were well contained. It was a very satisfying pie-making experience.

Then I went to take it out of the oven.

While the beautiful pie was baking, my pot holder somehow got wet. If you have ever tried to use a wet pot holder to pick up something hot, you know that this does not work. The water conducts the heat from the hot pan instantly, burning you mightily. So that's what happened. I picked up the cookie sheet with the wet pot holder before I realized that anything was wrong and ohh, ohhhhhh, ooooops!!! I dropped the pie to the right of the oven. The whole thing had spilled out onto the floor. I shrieked over and over. My husband and older son thought I was hurt, but no.

It was actually lovely just lying there, half smashed. It didn't know it wasn't supposed to be there. It smelled great. I had worked hard on it. My son, who was three at the time, asked if we could eat it anyway. I told him that only ants and dogs really ate Floor Pie. But, I said, we can have a few bites from the top, where it had not touched the floor. So we three sat there, gingerly selecting small bites from the top. It was really good. But we restrained ourselves and only had a smidgen. Then I threw the rest out. It was surprisingly easy to clean up, all that pie.

Here is a picture of my latest effort. My friend, Ann, who I wrote about in an earlier post, gave me the nifty pie bird. This is the first time I've used it. More reason not to drop another pie--wouldn't want to break the bird.



Here is the recipe I used from Pie:

All-Rhubarb Pie

Alaskan Eskimos and Afghans--Waverly Root tells us in Food (Simon and Schuster, 1980)--eat rhubarb raw. The rest of us, when we eat it at all, like it cooked in a pie. (Rhubarb is, after all, also known as pie plant.) Here's a pie recipe for those who like their rhubarb straight up, without infringement from other fruit such as strawberries or raspberries, two common pie companions. There's a fair amount of sugar in the pie, to counter rhubarb's tart flavor, and a little orange juice and zest for added zing. Rhubarb gives off a lot of juice, so do let the pie rest for several hours before serving to give the juices plenty of time to set.

Makes 8 servings.

[1 recipe for a double pie crust]

Filling
5 cups fresh rhubarb stalks sliced crosswise 1/2 inch thick
1 1/4 cups plus 2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons orange juice
Grated zest of 1/2 orange
Big pinch of salt
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3 tablespoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

Glaze
Milk or light cream
Sugar

1. If you haven't already, prepare the pastry and refrigerate until firm enough to roll, 1 to 1 1/2 hours.
2. On a sheet of lightly floured waxed paper, roll the larger portion of the pastry into a 12-inch circle with a floured rolling pin. Invert the pastry over a 9-inch standard pie pan, center, and peel off the paper. Gently tuck the pastry into the pan, without stretching it, and let the overhang drape over the edge. Place in the refrigerator for 15 minutes.
3. Combine the rhubarb, 1 1/4 cups of the sugar, the orange juice, orange zest, salt, and nutmeg in a large bowl. Mix well, then set aside for 20 minutes. Preheat the oven to 400°F.
4. Combine the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar and the cornstarch in a small bowl, then stir the mixture into the rhubarb. Turn the filling into the chilled pie shell and smooth the top of the fruit with your hands. Dot the filling with butter.
5. Roll the other half of the pastry into a 10-inch circle on a sheet of lightly floured waxed paper. Moisten the outer edge of the pie shell with a pastry brush. Invert the top pastry over the filling, center, and peel off the paper. Press the top and bottom pastries together along the dampened edge. Using a pair of scissors, trim the pastry to an even 1/2-inch overhang all around. Turn the pastry back and under, sculpting the edge edge into an upstanding ridge. Poke several steam vents into the top of the pie with a fork or paring knife, including a couple along the edge so you can check the juices there later. To glaze the pie, brush the top pastry with a little milk and sprinkle lightly with sugar.
6. Place the pie on the center oven rack and bake for 30 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 375°F and rotate the pie 180 degrees, so that the part that faced the back of the oven now faces forward. Just in case, slide a large aluminum foil-lined baking sheet onto the rack below to catch any spills. Continue to bake until the pie is golden brown, about 25 minutes. When done, you should notice thick juices bubbling out of the steam vents along the edge.
7. Transfer the pie to a wire rack and let cool for at least 3 hours, preferably longer, before serving.

Recipe for success
* Because of the red color, rhubarb makes an attractive lattice-top pie.
* Even though this is an all-rhubarb pie, feel free to substitute a cup or two of raspberries for an equal amount of sliced rhubarb.
* If your rhubarb comes with leaves attached, do not eat them. They contain something called oxalic acid, which can cause sickness or even death.

(Blogger's note: Not often do you see a recipe that ends with the word "death," eh? That's some pie!)

Erma Mabel's Rhubarb Cake

Over the years, I have collected all of the Moosewood cookbooks, just because. They were written by different people each time, and some of the books are better than others. I purchased the Moosewood Restaurant Book of Desserts when it came out in 1997. I leafed through it when I got it and saw lots of things that I wanted to try. The Navajo Peach Crumble was outstanding, made with fresh, super-ripe peaches and a cornmeal topping. The sandy cornmeal with the baked peach compote underneath was a perfect combination. The Butterscotch Banana Cream Pie was very good, and so was the Pumpkin Cheesecake, the 110th Street Walnut Crescents and the Cornmeal Cookies. Etc. A few of the spiced items are a little under-spicy for me, but I just add more cinnamon, nutmeg, or whatever, to those things and then they are great.

The really great recipe from this book, though, has turned out to be the rhubarb cake. I make it two or three times a year when rhubarb is in season, and it's always devoured within hours. It's very easy to make and is spongy and a little bit eggy tasting. It is the right sweetness for the amount of rhubarb that is called for. As I have been writing, I had a piece. Then I went back for another just after that.

Here is the recipe. If you make it, let me know what you think of it.

Erma Mabel's Rhubarb Cake

Rhubarb is one of those welcome, reliable, carefree perennials that herald the spring in gardens throughout the whole eastern United States, and out West, too. The beautiful ruby stalks make great pies, cakes, and sauces. They cook up soft and have a tangy fruit flavor. Thankfully, rhubarb stalks are available seasonally in markets everywhere. The leaves of the plant are always discarded because they are inedible and poisonous.

Here is a recipe that originated many generations ago in the hills and hollows of north central West Virginia. It made its way to Ithaca, New York, and onto the Moosewood menu via Erma Mabel's granddaughter, Lisa Wichman, and great granddaughter, Robin Wichman--both dessert chefs at the restaurant.

Serves 8

1/2 cup butter, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
1 1/2 cups unbleached white flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups chopped rhubarb* (about 4 stalks)
*Cut the rhubarb into 3/4- to 1-inch pieces

Preheat the oven to 350°. Butter the baking dish and lightly dust it with flour.

With an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar until light. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Combine the milk and vanilla in a small bowl or cup. Alternate adding the dry and the wet ingredients to the butter mixture, beating well after each addition.

Spread about 2/3 of the batter into the prepared pan. Sprinkle it with all of the rhubarb pieces. Top with the rest of the batter, spreading it as evenly as possible but with a light touch--try not to push the rhubarb pieces into the bottom layer of batter. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean and the cake is golden brown.

Variation Replace the rhubarb with 2 1/2 cups of fresh blackberries.

Preparation time: 30 minutes
Baking time: 35 to 40 minutes
Equipment: 7 x 11-inch nonreactive baking dish, electric mixer

The Vegetarian Epicure: Book Two

In high school, I had two friends who were brothers. Their father had had cancer when he was a young man and thought that becoming vegetarian might be a healthy lifestyle choice, so he had given up eating meat years before. I had never known a vegetarian before I knew this family and it seemed so exotic and fancy to me that someone would actually, really not eat meat. I visited their house a lot and they always had huge vats of things cooking, like lentil soup and vegetarian chili, and they were good and generous cooks.

One of the brothers and I were out one night in my neighborhood (in Buffalo, New York) with my beloved part-beagle, Merle. We were sitting on a stoop on a corner and it was very quiet out--no traffic, no people walking around. Merle was sitting on the sidewalk just in front of us. Then we heard a motorcycle coming down the road behind us, out of sight from where we were sitting, then a very loud, strange sound, and then another strange sound--hard to place what we had heard. Moments later, a motorcycle skidded by on the sidewalk, a foot in front of us, with no one on it, and it hit my sweet dog. Merle went barking off somewhere. My friend and I sat shell-shocked for a moment, and then we realized what had happened. So we ran behind us, and there was the poor lost soul whose last act was riding his motorcycle too fast around a curve on a quiet night near Fillmore and Clinton Streets. He was face-down. We felt his wrist. He was gone, just that fast.

My friend and I were 14 when this happened. There were no cell phones then, so we ran the two blocks to my house to have my parents call the police. We learned later that the young man who died was only 18. The end of his life was a galvanizing moment in mine.

The day before this happened, my dog and I shared a wonderful corned beef and cabbage dinner together. For every bite I took, he also had one that I tossed from my plate. Right then and there, in honor of my dog, who of course did not survive the impact, and in honor of that poor boy who lost his life, and inspired by my friend's dad, on my birthday a few days later, when I turned 15, I became vegetarian. Just like that.

For three years, I ate no meat products of any kind--every cracker and cookie had lard in it back then, cheese was made with rennet, etc., and I was really hard-core. Dairy, eggs, ok, but no meat or meat products. After three years, I went out with the other brother-friend from that same family and treated us to a lobster dinner. After that, for 21 more years, I ate only vegetarian foods and seafoods. So, for 24 years, I was a completely strict fish-eating vegetarian.

I won't talk now about why I switched back to meat when I did, but I will mention that my very first cookbook was given to me as a high school graduation gift by that same family I've written about here. It was the Vegetarian Epicure: Book Two by Anna Thomas, and it remains near and dear to me to this day. Because it was my only cookbook for a long time, I got to know it very well. It is a wonderful book and I still make certain things out of it; they have become staples, like: Cranberry bread, Split pea soup, Sauerkraut soup, Mushroom stew, Chocolate cheesecake and Pumpkin pie.

The Mushroom Stew became a perennial favorite with my family at Thanksgiving. Here is the recipe:

Mushroom Stew

5 Tbs. butter
1 Tbs. olive oil
2 bay leaves
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 large yellow onion, chopped
2 Tbs. flour
1 cup vegetable broth
1 cup tomato juice
2 cups peeled, quartered tomatoes
1 tsp. thyme
1 1/2 lbs. mushrooms, washed
1 lb. boiling onions
red wine to taste
chopped fresh parsley to taste
salt and pepper
1 cup pitted ripe green olives

In a medium-sized saucepan, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter with 1 tablespoon olive oil and add to it the bay leaves, garlic, and onions. Sauté until the onions are golden and then stir in the flour and lower the heat.

Cook this roux for several minutes, stirring constantly, and then add the vegetable broth and tomato juice. Stir with a whisk to remove all lumps, and add the peeled tomatoes.

In another, larger pot, melt the remaining 3 tablespoons butter and add the thyme and the washed mushrooms. Sauté the mushrooms over a high flame for several minutes, turning them over often, and then adding the boiling onions and the tomato sauce. Turn down the heat and simmer the stew for about 20 minutes. Add a little red wine, some chopped parsley, and salt and pepper to taste. Last, but not least, toss in the green olives. Cook only a few more minutes, and serve hot, with a good bread and some red wine.

Serves 6.

My Herb Garden

When I was a college student and even after I had my first few jobs after school was done, I moved around a lot. I lived in apartments. I knew it would be a sign that I had finally arrived when I could have my own culinary herb garden. The house I live in is the first house I've owned, and I have the most exquisite herb garden I could wish for. It is small but contains all that I need. Many of the plants are perennials here but I add annuals to it every year, too. I never take it for granted; every time I use it, I feel so lucky. The giddiness has not worn off after all this time.

In the late spring, all summer and early fall, I use herbs from it any day that I cook. I have flat-leaf parsely, two kinds of sage, several kinds of basil, oregano, marjoram, winter and summer savory, a few kinds of thyme, two kinds of mint, French tarragon, two kinds of rosemary, bay leaf, lemongrass, chives, nasturtiums, lavender, verbena, patchouli and moujean tea. My older son hangs out with me while I clean up the garden in the spring, and often when I go out to harvest from it. He always asks nicely, "Mom, can I have some sage?" And then he eats many sage leaves. I am altogether too proud of him that he does this. I'm just so glad he likes to hang out there with me, and that he will try any herb, and he snacks on sage leaves (!).

The flavor the fresh herbs bring to foods is so special. Just-dried ones also have a really fantastic quality, and it's more pronounced than the just-picked kind. Edna Lewis, doyenne of American cookery, wrote that she preferred dried herbs in all cases. If they are quite freshly dried, they do have an intensity that is unmatched by the fresh form. Each year, I leave plates of herbs out on my dining room table for weeks after the snow has started to fly, and I let them dessicate in the ever-less humid, and warm, air of the house. Then I remove the leaves from the dried stems and keep the leaves in air-tight jars (and I put the stems into stocks). These herbs are true treasures all winter long.

There are so many good cookbooks out there that feature herbs, and many more that are about herbs (and spices) themselves. When these are done well, they are so much fun to leaf through. They often have gorgeous pictures and sometimes have good recipes. One I have had for a long time is the Moosewood Restuarant Kitchen Garden by David Hirsch. I have the old edition, but I know that a revised edition came out in 2005. This is a book full of practical gardening information for many food plants, and he covers herbs well. Another really useful book is Jill Norman's Herbs & Spices. This one is so great because she really covers the gamut of herbs and spices; it is not West-centric. If you are wondering about grains of paradise, wattle seeds, akudjura, nigella, mugwort, rau ram, micromeria, hyssop, amchoor, sansho, et al., you may well find information on what you're looking for here.

An outright cookbook that is herb-oriented is The Herbfarm Cookbook by Jerry Traunfeld. From the acclaimed Herbfarm Restaurant in Washington State, so many very good herby recipes can be found in here, like: Seafood in scented dashi, Green gazpacho, Roasted asparagus salad with fried sage, Balsamic potato salad, Green goddess grilled chicken salad, Grilled peach salad, Bite-size Cheddar and thyme gougères, Potatoes in herbed cream, Bay laurel roasted chicken, Marjoram corn bread, Herbal chocolate truffles, Chocolate-mint sorbet, Dill and apricot mustard and Plum and lavender chutney. I have made things from this book and they have been fantastic.

I also have an old book, The Spice Cookbook by Avanelle Day and Lillie Stuckey, whose cover description is, "A complete book of spice and herb cookery--containing 1,400 suberb recipes for traditional American and classic international cuisine" (David White Company, 1964). I have not made anything out of this book, but it looks like it has some good recipes. However, it too often calls for things like dried onion flakes, instant minced garlic, margarine and shortening, that I am not compelled to explore it deeply. I also own Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz's The Encyclopedia of Herbs, Spices and Flavorings: A Cook's Compendium, a beautiful and useful book in the classic Dorling Kindersley style.

The currently very popular Flavor Bible by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg covers herbs and spices, of course. For savory, for instance, they say that its weight is "medium, tough-leaved," and that it goes especially well with beans. They also suggest pairing it with cheeses, chicken, eggs, fish, garlic, mushrooms, peas, potatoes, tomatoes, among other things. Vitaly Paley, of Paley's Place in Portland, Oregon, is quoted in the entry as loving savory above all other herbs, and Marcel Desaulniers suggests that savory could be used any way that thyme is used.

Herb season is well underway now. I have been using a few leaves from the tiny, just-planted herbs already. I'm sure a little bit of fresh herb will make its way into almost everything I make for many months to come.

Trotter's Lobster Salad Recipe

Here's a recipe from the The Kitchen Sessions with Charlie Trotter Lobster chapter:

Tropical Fruit and Lobster Salad with Black Pepper-Vanilla Bean Vinaigrette

The sweetness and acid present in most tropical fruits are a tremendous complement to the lush meatiness of lobster or other shellfish such as shrimp or scallops. The Black Pepper-Vanilla Bean Vinaigrette provides a tropical sensuality and a pleasant, cutting heat, and watercress adds the cleansing quality needed to keep the fruit, lobster, and vinaigrette in perfect balance. This dish would be great for an outdoor luncheon on a hot summer day.

Serves 4

2 1-pound lobsters, boiled and shelled
Black Pepper-Vanilla Bean Vinaigrette
Salt and pepper
4 cups watercress
1 guava
1/2 mango, peeled, pitted, and cut into 1/2-inch-thick slices
1/8 papaya, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1/8-inch-thick slices
1 cup 1/8-inch-thick pineapple wedges
1/4 cup tiny fresh mint leaves
1 passion fruit, halved and pulp reserved

Method-- To prepare the lobster: Cut the lobster claws in half and slice the lobster tail into 1/2-inch-thick medallions. Toss hte lobster meat with enough of the Black Pepper-Vanilla Bean Vinaigrette to coat the lobster. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

To prepare the watercress: Toss the watercress with 1 tablespoon of the Black Pepper-Vanilla Bean Vinaigrette and season to taste with salt and pepper.

To prepare the guava: Cut the peel off of the guava keeping the natural shape intact. Cut thin slices from the outside of the guava, removing any seeds from the guava slices.

To prepare the salad: Toss together the watercress, mango, papaya, pineapple, and guava in a small bowl.

Assembly-- Place some of the salad in the center of each plate. Arrange the lobster knuckle and tail meat down the center of the salad and top with a lobster claw half. Sprinkle a few of the mint leaves around the plates and spoon some of the Black Pepper-Vanilla Bean Vinaigretts over the lobster and around the plates. Spoon the passion fruit pulp around the plates.

Black Pepper-Vanilla Bean Vinaigrette

Try this with grilled shrimp or lobster.

Yield: 1 cup

1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed orange juice
3 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
Pulp of 1 vanilla bean
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup canola oil
1/4 cup olive oil

Method-- Combine the lemon juice, orange juice, vinegar, vanilla, and black pepper in a small bowl. Slowly whisk in the canola and olive oils. Serve immediately or refrigerate for up to 3 days.

Lobsters

Lately, there's been a lot of food talk about fat: using chicken fat to fry potatoes in, making duck confit, duck-fat fries, rendering your own lard, what oils have the healthy omega fatty acids and which have the bad kinds, etc. You know what, I am all for fat. In theory, anyway. It sounds like a great idea, all that deliciousness, the roundness it gives to foods, how satisfying it can be to eat, and all that...until your gall bladder decides to go out, for instance. I know first hand and I will not describe the scenarios that fat-laden repasts led me to during a certain period. Fortunately, I don't mind dining à la Jack Sprat (more or less).

Good thing, too, because I was recently prescribed Niaspan. Are you aware of this devilish formulation? In its less-concentrated form, you know it as good old niacin, essential B vitamin, friend to all who consume foodstuffs naturally-laden with it. My doctor told me that non-prescription formulations of high-dose niacin are either 1. ineffective or 2. dangerous, so steer clear of both of those. But, he said, Niaspan is properly prepared and, with caveats, encouraged me to give it a try. He said that I must be particular in how I take it. I must take it concurrent with one regular-strength aspirin or ibuprofen. I must eat a LOW-FAT, non-spicy snack with it, preferably plain applesauce. I must take it at bed time. And, he said, he will increase the dose after one month if all goes well in the meantime.

I did as he told, and all was well...until the night I did not get dinner until late. That night I had rich black bean soup with hot red pepper all over it. I had a salad with a hearty mustard dressing on it. I had ice cream. I had some crunchy, salty, snacky thing. I was hungry, so I ate. About an hour after that, I took an ibuprofen then I took my Niaspan. About a half hour after that, I felt like I was undergoing a super-acupuncture session. My skin started to feel tremendously hot. My breathing became quick and shallow. In an agony that only the Incredible Hulk and I have experienced, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought I might be seeing things but, no, I really looked quite a bit like a human-shaped, cooked lobster. I hopped in the shower and the flushing episode was over in about a half hour. Not pleasant. I vowed to not eat for three to four hours before I have my applesauce or plain rye cracker, and then take the Super Lobster pill. Another reason to eschew fashionable fat, I'm afraid.

Since the evening of the Hulk-worthy flushing, I have been thinking quite a bit about lobsters (my new alter ego. You understand.) I have since recalled our ten-day visit from our Parisian friend, Jean-Pierre, several years ago, during which we purchased four lobsters and had a feast. J-P snapped pictures of the live, wily beasts, and then we mercilessly killed the creatures, snapped more pictures, and then ate a really good meal.

John Thorne writes about lobsters in Pot on the Fire, explaining that Maine lobstermen do not eat their quarry. Too expensive, they say. Having grown up among those who practice it readily, I have always been uneasy with reverse elitism. So, let the lobstermen claim that they cannot afford the odd lobster once or twice a year. I can't, either, but I like lobster meat well enough that I will fork out the cash from time to time and have a great meal.

I have mentioned him before in an earlier post, but one chef who interests me is Charlie Trotter. I have a book of his, The Kitchen Sessions with Charlie Trotter, in which there is a chapter on lobsters. A whole chapter on lobster preparations! I like that; it is honest, and the recipes are so enticing, like Lobster Tabbouleh with Apricot Curry Sauce, and Lobster en Barigoule.

I will continue to take the Niaspan. I risk more flushing episodes but, as long as I remain cool-headed while I'm leaping around all hot and lobster-like, I think I will let the humor of it pull me through. And then, of course, for my diligence, I will treat myself to a certain special supper.