jude’s culinary journey

Bedtime reading

By JUDE WATERSTON
Posted 12/23/24

A lot of people I know climb into bed at night with a good mystery. I, on the other hand, can be found clutching the works of the food writer. M.F.K. Fisher. She wrote extensively in the 1940s, was …

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jude’s culinary journey

Bedtime reading

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A lot of people I know climb into bed at night with a good mystery. I, on the other hand, can be found clutching the works of the food writer. M.F.K. Fisher. She wrote extensively in the 1940s, was one of the most exceptional and respected food writers ever, and I’ve gobbled up every word she’s written that I can get my hands on. She always includes recipes in her books, as well as in-depth descriptions and anecdotes. And she’s opinionated, but in a good way. Come to think of it, this seems to be a consistent trait in food writers, and more often than not, wit is another.

With titles like “How to Cook a Wolf” and “Consider the Oyster,” you can imagine the treats that lie in store for the readers of Fisher’s books. She spent a great deal of her life eating in restaurants throughout France, and you are made to feel as if you are sitting at the table with her as she extols the virtues of a certain cheese or a glass of wine. Of her own cooking techniques, she could be humble. “I can make amazingly bad fried eggs, and in spite of what people tell me about this method and that, I continue to make amazingly bad fried eggs: tough, with edges like some kind of dirty starched lace, and a taste part sulfur and part singed newspaper. The best way to find a trustworthy method, I think, is to ask almost anyone but me. Or look in a cookbook. Or experiment.”

Speaking of opinionated, two other writers come to mind. One is the late Anthony Bourdain, the executive chef of the restaurant Les Halles. His first book about the food world and about being a chef is called “Kitchen Confidential.” I have read both that and his second, “A Cook’s Tour.” This guy minced no words and edited virtually none of his thoughts or opinions. He had an honesty and biting wit that I liked, but he could’ve lightened up on the cynicism. Years ago, on a trip to Mexico, he spent some time being feted by the family of his restaurant’s grill man. After visiting the family farm, where everything was made from scratch, he wrote, “Proximity to livestock and animal feces, I have found in my travels, is not necessarily an indicator of a bad meal. More often than not, in recent experience, it’s an indicator of something good on the way. Still living close to the source of your food, you often don’t have a refrigerator or freezer. You can’t be lazy—because no option other than the old way exists. Try a salsa or a sauce hand-ground with a stone mortar and pestle and you’ll see what I mean.” 

The other writer I’m referring to is the irrepressible Jeffrey Steingarten, the former food critic of Vogue magazine, who has written “The Man Who Ate Everything” and “It Must Have Been Something I Ate.” He so exhaustively researches his topics of interest that he often sounds more like a mad scientist than a mere mortal trying to master the art of stuffing a sausage.

I met Steingarten when I was running the cookbook department at the gourmet food store Dean and Deluca. I found him scanning the bookshelves to see if we were carrying his book. “Why don’t you hire me to work for you?” I asked him, pointblank, not then knowing his reputation for being, shall we say, difficult and somewhat tyrannical. His response was a tight smile before he moved on to the next row of books.

While trying to compare over 30 ketchups Steingarten wrote, “I worried that eating 33 hamburgers in a row would be impractical, as was, I would soon discover, cutting a single hamburger into 33 wedges. I set out to design a miniature hamburger the diameter of a quarter (four millimeters thick), with a tiny little hamburger bun on top and bottom.”

Calvin Trillin, who has written for The New Yorker magazine for many years, is a favorite of mine. His books about his relentless search for local specialties throughout the world are warmly written, and he writes so naturally and humorously that I feel I know him. As a matter of fact, when I daydream about one day having my own book of anecdotes and recipes published, I envision him writing the introduction. After all, he lives in the Village, not from where I lived for 40 years, so we were practically neighbors. Of his lack of wine savvy he says, “I have never denied that when I’m trying to select a bottle of wine in a liquor store I’m strongly influenced by the picture on the label. (I like a nice mountain, preferably in the middle distance.)”

Another writer who feels like a friend is the late Laurie Colwin, a novelist and short story writer who wrote two wonderfully open (and yes, opinionated) books called “Home Cooking” and “More Home Cooking.” She was not afraid to show her flaws and foibles, which is one of the things that make her writing so endearing. On the other hand, she bluntly stated, “As everyone knows, there is only one way to fry chicken correctly. Unfortunately, most people think their method is best, but most people are wrong. Mine is the only right way, and on this subject I feel almost evangelical.”

My obsession with food and cooking led me to all of these people. I never tire of reading about what makes them tick because I have the same affliction. I hope I always do. For those of you out there who feel similarly, seek out these writers. Read one and you’ll be hungry for more. In general, it’s guaranteed you’ll simply find yourself hungry.

I am sure that each of the above writers has a dish or two that they can prepare in their sleep. It might be their signature dish, or more likely it’s just a comfort to make and to eat. Mine is a spinach gratin. Imagine cheesy creamed spinach baked in the oven until bubbly. It’s soothing served over wide egg noodles or plop it in a bowl and eat it slowly with a big spoon.

judes culinary journey, how to cook a wolf, consider the oyster, creamed spinach gratin

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