providing the secrets for deviled lamb’s kidneys, black pudding wontons, breast of lamb Sainte-Ménéhould, and the like.
How to Roast a Lamb, Michael Psilakis. Michael Sand, executive editor of the imprint that published this volume, sent me Chef Psilakis’s book with a gracious note attached: “You’re one of the few people I could envision trying the recipe on page 208,” it said. The recipe is for olokliro arni stin souvla, or whole spit-roasted lamb. I don’t intend to let either Michael down.
Craig Claiborne’s Southern Cooking, Craig Claiborne. This is the first cookbook I ever bought. I was inspired by the blackened redfish craze that depleted the Gulf Coast fishery back in the mid-1980s. But rather than pull one of Paul Prudhomme’s cookbooks off the shelf, I was drawn to the sophisticated gentility and great story-telling in Claiborne’s paean to his origins. The recipes with pages most spattered by ingredients are those for smothered chicken with mushrooms, Kentucky burgoo, and hoppin’ John.
An Omelette and a Glass of Wine, Elizabeth David. A sense of time and place, one both meditative and humane, is the great gift of all David’s work. I am drawn to the tranquil determination of the title essay, but I usually return to my thoroughly throttled paperback edition by flipping it open at random.
La Terra Fortunata, Fred Plotkin. I traveled to Friuli–Venezia Giulia (sort of the Maine of Italy, but with a much richer culinary tradition and no proper lobsters) with my friend Fred in the winter of 2000. The intellectual curiosity through which he expresses a love of all Italian foodways is inspiring, but his exploration of this often overlooked but complex region makes this my favorite of his many books. Fred and I share a love for paparot , a garlic-infused spinach and polenta soup.
Unmentionable Cuisine, Calvin W. Schwabe. If this cookbook were ever turned into a movie, it would not be Scott Rudin, Nora Ephron, and the rest of the clever clogs who brought you Julie and Julia. No, this culinary romp would be presented on the silver screen by Peter Block, James Wan, and the crew behind the shockingly gruesome Saw franchise. The recipe for battered trotters is exactly six lines long, and nowhere in this book can one find an ingredient list. But if you’re in the mood for hon tsao go zo, gedörrtes hundefleisch, or any of nine other preparations for dog, this is as good a starting point as I’ve found. Schwabe provides similar inspiration for palm worms, goose necks, winkles, and field mice (try souris à la crème, mice in cream).
Roger Vergé’s Vegetables in the French Style, Roger Vergé. This is the only cookbook dedicated solely to vegetables that I have ever purchased. I never saw the utility in such a text. I don’t know if I do now, but I opened the tabloid-size volume and instantly fell in love with the photography within. I first cooked lettuce following Vergé’s instructions for laitues braisées à la sarriette, braised lettuce with fresh savory. And who else but the venerated proprietor of Moulin de Mougins could lend the moral fortitude to serve crémée de carottes à la ciboulette (eight carrots served atop two tablespoons of butter, one teaspoon each of sugar and salt, and two tablespoons heavy cream, along with “a small bunch of chives” and a pinch of nutmeg)?
The Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson. Alan Davidson is not the first person I’d invite to dinner, but he’s the first guy I’d consult to find out whether the tuber galangal is a stolon or a rhizome.
Mrs. Balbir Singh’s Indian Cookery, Mrs. Balbir Singh. I spirited this 1961 ghee-spattered cookbook off my father’s bookshelf a decade or so ago. It remains my most treasured hand-me-down. I have used the vindaloo recipe as a jumping-off point and I’m proud to report that I have very nearly mastered a proper Goan pork curry.
IN THE TRENCHES
Fifty-year-old Jack Schatz, a professional trombonist, spends
How to Roast a Lamb, Michael Psilakis. Michael Sand, executive editor of the imprint that published this volume, sent me Chef Psilakis’s book with a gracious note attached: “You’re one of the few people I could envision trying the recipe on page 208,” it said. The recipe is for olokliro arni stin souvla, or whole spit-roasted lamb. I don’t intend to let either Michael down.
Craig Claiborne’s Southern Cooking, Craig Claiborne. This is the first cookbook I ever bought. I was inspired by the blackened redfish craze that depleted the Gulf Coast fishery back in the mid-1980s. But rather than pull one of Paul Prudhomme’s cookbooks off the shelf, I was drawn to the sophisticated gentility and great story-telling in Claiborne’s paean to his origins. The recipes with pages most spattered by ingredients are those for smothered chicken with mushrooms, Kentucky burgoo, and hoppin’ John.
An Omelette and a Glass of Wine, Elizabeth David. A sense of time and place, one both meditative and humane, is the great gift of all David’s work. I am drawn to the tranquil determination of the title essay, but I usually return to my thoroughly throttled paperback edition by flipping it open at random.
La Terra Fortunata, Fred Plotkin. I traveled to Friuli–Venezia Giulia (sort of the Maine of Italy, but with a much richer culinary tradition and no proper lobsters) with my friend Fred in the winter of 2000. The intellectual curiosity through which he expresses a love of all Italian foodways is inspiring, but his exploration of this often overlooked but complex region makes this my favorite of his many books. Fred and I share a love for paparot , a garlic-infused spinach and polenta soup.
Unmentionable Cuisine, Calvin W. Schwabe. If this cookbook were ever turned into a movie, it would not be Scott Rudin, Nora Ephron, and the rest of the clever clogs who brought you Julie and Julia. No, this culinary romp would be presented on the silver screen by Peter Block, James Wan, and the crew behind the shockingly gruesome Saw franchise. The recipe for battered trotters is exactly six lines long, and nowhere in this book can one find an ingredient list. But if you’re in the mood for hon tsao go zo, gedörrtes hundefleisch, or any of nine other preparations for dog, this is as good a starting point as I’ve found. Schwabe provides similar inspiration for palm worms, goose necks, winkles, and field mice (try souris à la crème, mice in cream).
Roger Vergé’s Vegetables in the French Style, Roger Vergé. This is the only cookbook dedicated solely to vegetables that I have ever purchased. I never saw the utility in such a text. I don’t know if I do now, but I opened the tabloid-size volume and instantly fell in love with the photography within. I first cooked lettuce following Vergé’s instructions for laitues braisées à la sarriette, braised lettuce with fresh savory. And who else but the venerated proprietor of Moulin de Mougins could lend the moral fortitude to serve crémée de carottes à la ciboulette (eight carrots served atop two tablespoons of butter, one teaspoon each of sugar and salt, and two tablespoons heavy cream, along with “a small bunch of chives” and a pinch of nutmeg)?
The Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson. Alan Davidson is not the first person I’d invite to dinner, but he’s the first guy I’d consult to find out whether the tuber galangal is a stolon or a rhizome.
Mrs. Balbir Singh’s Indian Cookery, Mrs. Balbir Singh. I spirited this 1961 ghee-spattered cookbook off my father’s bookshelf a decade or so ago. It remains my most treasured hand-me-down. I have used the vindaloo recipe as a jumping-off point and I’m proud to report that I have very nearly mastered a proper Goan pork curry.
IN THE TRENCHES
Fifty-year-old Jack Schatz, a professional trombonist, spends
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