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.

Oranges

From Lincoln, Nebraska, there are no mountains to drive to, no significant bodies of water within reasonable driving distance, Chicago, Minneapolis and Denver are each about eight hours away by car. Omaha is grand in its way, and historic Kansas City is not that far, but that's about it for larger cities within reach. So, when we get out of town, we might head over to Nebraska City for the day, or up to Niobrara State Park for a few days.

Arbor Day Farm is in Nebraska City. We went there last year to buy apples and honey and they happened to be having a book close-out sale just then. Oh, my. So I pawed through the piles and found Oranges by John McPhee, the New Yorker writer. It is a slim volume, and I started reading it before we got home. The back cover reads: "A classic of reportage, Oranges was first conceived as a magazine article, but John McPhee kept encountering so much irresistible information that he wrote a book ...McPhee writes about the botany, history, and industry of oranges, from the great orangeries of European monarchs to a fascinating profile of Ben Hill Griffin of Frostproof, Florida, who may be the last of the individual orange barons." A really delightful read, the book was published in 1966 so, although no longer current, it is a snapshot of the U.S. orange industry from back then.

One of the interesting tidbits from Oranges is that oranges only turn the color orange if they go through a cool spell while they are still on the tree. In some always-warm places in the world where oranges grow, oranges remain green even though in their fully-ripe state. So, I learned, do not reject an orange just because it has some green on it.

Oranges are one of my favorite fruits, and that's saying a lot because I am such a fruit lover that it is almost too much. I ate two whole--large--watermelons all by myself the summer I was expecting my first child. To me, the sweet-tart contrast of a good orange, plus its complex pulpy texture and its supreme juiciness are what make it so fabulous. As much as I love oranges, the assertive floral nature of orange flower water is even more alluring. Any cake or cookie containing it is sure to win me over.

I purchased a cookbook recently called Oranges & Lemons: Recipes from the Mediterranean by Sarah Woodward. I bought it on a whim because the cover looked beautiful online, I love citrus fruits, and the price was reasonable. Sometimes I really hit the jackpot when I take a chance on an unknown book and this was one of those instances. It has so many good recipes in it, like: A'ddas (Spiced lemon and lentil soup), Carrot, cardamom & orange soup, Trout in orange marinade, Lamb kebabs with tahini & orange sauce, Tagine de kefta au citron (Lamb meatballs in lemon sauce), Lemon couscous, Lemon bruschetta, Moroccan breakfast bread, Creamed spinach with orange, Figs baked with orange, Lemon syllabub, and Orange-flower-water tea. I hardly know what to make first. I'd love a huge feast with all at once!

A while back, my very dear friend Jean gave my sons The Orange Book by Richard McGuire (Children's Universe, 1992), a charming book, illustrated with blue line drawings on dark cream-colored paper, about the variously-harrowing fate of 14 oranges from the same tree. The text goes like this:

There once was a tree with fourteen oranges.
One was sent to a sick friend.
Two was used in a juggling act.
Three went to art school.
Four was squeezed for the juice.
Five was served with fortune cookies.
Six was used for marmalade.
Seven was divided among the crew.
Eight rolled overboard.
Nine was used in a strange experiment.
Ten was eaten by a famous pianist.
Eleven ended up on the train tracks.
Twelve was on TV...
...Thirteen was not as lucky.
Fourteen was bought by someone you know...
...and may be the next one you eat.

Coffee and Tea

Our coffee pot is a barometer of sorts. My husband is the coffee drinker in our house, and when he makes his coffee in the morning, I can gauge how he's feeling based on his coffee prep. Five to six cups of coffee = feeling pretty good today. Seven or eight cups = tired; semi-surly mood. Nine cups = watch out, I am not fit for human interaction. I mentioned this to him recently and he was amused. He said that he had honestly not noticed this correlation. I suppose that for many years now I have used this indicator as a gauge without thinking about it much.

I am the family tea drinker. Oh, I love coffee and drink it regularly, but tea is my beverage of choice. My tea barometer is probably more like this. Time to make tea = got basically enough sleep. No time to make tea = tired; needed to sleep until the last second.

There are lots of books available about coffee and tea, and I own several. It's terrible to admit that I am not drawn to history as a subject, and so I don't often make my way through an entire book on either coffee or tea. One I have is The Story of Tea: A Cultural History and Drinking Guide by Mary Lou Heiss and Robert J. Heiss. It has beautiful photographs and a nice heft. There are even recipes in the back with tea as an ingredient: Clams in sweet white miso and green tea broth, Green tea pot de crème, Lapsong souchong and jasmine tea ice cream. I love tea-infused ice cream--ohhh, a favorite flavor option, absolutely.

There are also: Tea and Sympathy: The Life of an English Teashop in New York by Anita Naughton and Nicola Perry, Having Tea: Recipes & Table Settings by Tricia Foley, The Afternoon Tea Book by Michael Smith, The Harney & Sons Guide to Tea by Michael Harney, and Starbucks Passion for Coffee, which a great little book because the recipe developers are Lora Brody and John Phillip Carroll. The recipes in it are fantastic. In fact, my favorite homemade granola comes from this book. I make it often.

Grand City Granola

1/2 cup butter
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 cup honey
1/2 cup pure maple syrup
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 cups rolled oats
2 2/3 cups barley flakes
1 1/3 cups rye flakes
1 1/3 cups wheat flakes
3 1/2 cups nut pieces
2/3 cup coarsely shredded unsweetened coconut
11 ounces dried fruit, cut into 3/8-inch pieces
1 cup dark raisins

For optimum taste and texture, use rolled oats, equal amounts of almond slices, walnuts, pecans and cashews for the nut pieces, and equal quantities of dates, prunes and apricots for the dried fruit. Enjoy with caffè latte or a bright Central American varietal.

Place the butter, vegetable oil, honey, maple syrup, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla in a large saucepan over medium-low heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the butter is fully melted.

Preheat an oven to 300°F. In a large bowl, mix together the rolled oats, barley, rye and wheat flakes, nut pieces and coconut. Pour the warm butter mixture over the grains and toss with your hands or two large spoons until the grains are evenly coated.

Like a baking sheet with aluminum foil. Spread the grain mixture evenly over the foil and bake, turning the mixture every 10 minutes with a spoon or spatula, until the flakes begin to turn golden, 20-30 minutes. Be sure to turn all corners and surfaces so that the granola bakes evenly. The grains will seem a little sticky when done but will crisp as they cool.

Immediately after removing the granola from the oven, mix in the dried fruit and raisins and combine thoroughly. Let the granola cool completely and then store in an air tight container. It will keep for two weeks when stored in a cool place.

Makes about 4 pounds granola.

What Is a (Cook)Book Worth?

In October last year, I attended a day-long pre-conference session titled "What Is a Book Worth?" I was interested in the concept of book value because I had just finished cataloging 4,000 books in a small research library at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. The books I cataloged were old science books from the late 1800s to the 1980s, primarily, and I wondered if any of them might be valuable.

Sid Berger of Simmons College very energetically explained to us what makes a used book valuable, namely, rarity, desirability, provenance and perfect condition, above all. What about science books?, I asked him. Generally, he said, across the board, WORTHLESS. Worth the paper they're printed on and nothing more. Why? Answer: Not desirable, and they rarely have notable provenance. That helps, I thought. I can tell the curator not to worry too much about protecting the millions he thought he might be sitting on. Then Berger added, "You think science books are bad--cookbooks are worth even LESS. They're not even worth the paper they're printed on! A dollar apiece!" Well, I thought, that answers THAT question.

He said that collectors care about condition and they care about rarity. Well, when it comes to my cookbooks, I don't care so much about condition and I certainly don't care about rarity. Does that mean I am not a "collector"? I wondered. Over lunch, I dared to tell him about my huge cookbook collection and he asked me if I consider myself a collector. I said I did consider myself to be a collector. He asked me, "When did you know that you were a collector, and not just someone who has a bunch of books?" I said, "When I knew that I would never look in detail at all of the books that I have, and when I started to wonder how to bequeath my collection after I am gone." I felt like a student again, my answer solicited such a positive reaction from him. Gold star for me, yippee.

Sid Berger gave a great presentation that day. I may have learned that my cookbooks are not worth very much on the market, but I also discovered that I don't care one bit about that.