by Holly Hughes
More Praise for the Best Food Writing series
“There’s a mess of vital, provocative, funny and tender stuff ... in these pages.”—USA Today
“An exceptional collection worth revisiting, this will be a surefire hit with epicureans and cooks.”—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“If you’re looking to find new authors and voices about food, there’s an abundance to chew on here.”—Tampa Tribune
“Fascinating to read now, this book will also be interesting to pick up a year from now, or ten years from now.”—Popmatters.com
“Some of these stories can make you burn with a need to taste what they’re writing about.”—Los Angeles Times
“Reflects not only a well-developed esthetic but also increasingly a perceptive politics that demands attention to agricultural and nutritional policies by both individuals and governments.”
—Booklist
“This is a book worth devouring.”—Sacramento Bee
“The cream of the crop of food writing compilations.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“The book captures the gastronomic zeitgeist in a broad range of essays.”—San Jose Mercury News
“There are a few recipes among the stories, but mostly it’s just delicious tales about eating out, cooking at home and even the politics surrounding the food on our plates.”—Spokesman-Review
“The next best thing to eating there is.”—New York Metro
“Stories for connoisseurs, celebrations of the specialized, the odd, or simply the excellent.”—Entertainment Weekly
“Spans the globe and palate.”—Houston Chronicle
“The perfect gift for the literate food lover.”
—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
best
Food
WRITING
2011
ALSO EDITED BY HOLLY HUGHES
Best Food Writing 2010
Best Food Writing 2009
Best Food Writing 2008
Best Food Writing 2007
Best Food Writing 2006
Best Food Writing 2005
Best Food Writing 2004
Best Food Writing 2003
Best Food Writing 2002
Best Food Writing 2001
Best Food Writing 2000
ALSO BY HOLLY HUGHES
Frommer’s 500 Places for Food and Wine Lovers
Frommer’s 500 Places to See Before They Disappear
Frommer’s 500 Places to Take the Kids
Before They Grow Up
best
Food
WRITING
2011
Edited by
HOLLY HUGHES
A Member of the Perseus Books Group
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and Da Capo Press was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed in initial capital letters.
Copyright © 2011 by Holly Hughes
Pages 302-305 constitute an extension of the copyright page.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Printed in the United States of America.
Set in 11 point Bembo by the Perseus Books Group
Cataloging-in-Publication data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
First Da Capo Press edition 2011
ISBN 978-0-7382-1531-0
Published by Da Capo Press
A Member of the Perseus Books Group
www.dacapopress.com
Da Capo Press books are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the United States by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 255-1514, or e-mail [email protected].
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CONTENTS
Introduction
FOODWAYS
Everything Comes from the Sea, From Departures
By Colman Andrews
We Shall Not Be Moved, From High on the Hog
By Jessica B. Harris
From Kenya, With Love, From the Minneapolis Star-Tribune
By Rick Nelson
Peasants, From Tin House
By Geoff Nicholson
I Believe I Can Fry, From Texas Monthly
By Katy Vine
Fried-Cheese Epiphany at a Street Fair, From Salon.com
By Francis Lam
HOME COOKING
Prep School, From The New York Times Magazine
By Pete Wells
How to Become an Intuitive Cook, From Food & Wine
By Daniel Duane
Purple Reign, From Blood-And-Thunder.com
By Alan Brouilette
Saints, Cakes, and Redemption, From LeitesCulinaria.com
By Allison Parker
Mock Turtle Soup, From Fannie’s Last Supper
By Christopher Kimball
Nathan Myhrvold’s Method Makes Science of Cooking, From The San Francisco Chronicle
By Sophie Brickman
The Case for Handwriting, From ZesterDaily.com
By Deborah Madison
The Famous Recipe, From Colorado Review
By Floyd Skloot
STOCKING THE PANTRY
Broccolini®: What’s in a Name?, From Gastronomica
By Thomas Livingston
A Tomme at Twig Farm, From Immortal Milk
By Eric LeMay
Breadwinners, From Edible Manhattan
By Indrani Sen
A Fig by Any Other Name, From Gastronomica
By Gary Paul Nabhan
Going Full Boar in Hawaii, From Bon Appétit
By Hugh Garvey
Fruits of Desire, From Saveur
By Mike Madison
FOOD FIGHTS
Shark’s Fin: Understanding the Political Soup, From San Francisco Weekly
By Jonathan Kauffman
Life in a Food Desert, From The Kansas City Star
By Jill Wendholt Silva
A Tale of Two Dairies, From Gastronomica
By Barry Estabrook
The Feed Frenzy, From 7x7 Magazine
By Sara Deseran
A Digerati’s Food Diary, From Food & Wine
By Nick Fauchald
Everyone’s a Critic, From The Boston Globe
By Ike DeLorenzo
New Orleans Family Oyster Company Devises New Business Model to Stay Alive, From The Times-Picayune
By Brett Anderson
GUILTY PLEASURES
Reflections on a Tin of Vienna Sausages, From www.good.is
By John Thorne
800 Words on Tater Tots (No, Seriously), From The Chicago Tribune
By Kevin Pang
Area Burger Joints Take the Junk out of Fast Food, From Edible Boston
By Steve Holt
Fry Girl’s Year of Eating Dangerously, From Phoenix New Times
By Laura Hahnefeld
Craving the Food of Depravity, From PoorMansFeast.com
By Elissa Altman
In Defence of Shite Food, From Fire & Knives
By Bryce Elder
SOMEONE’S IN THE KITCHEN
The Apostle of Indulgence, From Playboy
By Julian Sancton
Hooked on Classics, From Saveur
By Jay Rayner
Chinese Takeout Artist, From Chow.com
By Lessley Anderson
The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef, From Blood, Bones and Butter
By Gabrielle Hamilton
Expression, From The Sorcerer’s Apprentices
By Lisa Abend
Is The Willows Inn All That?, From The Stranger
By Bethany Jean Clement
PERSONAL TASTES
Reconsider the Oyster, From Fire & Knives
By Tim Hayward
Magical Dinners, From The New Yorker
By Chang-Rae Lee
The Golden Silver Palate, From Alimentum
By Ann Hood
When Food Doesn’t Heal, From LeitesCulinaria.com
By David Leite
Befriending Your Palate, From Reading Between the Wines
By Terry Theise
On Toast, From FoodForTheThoughtless.com
By Michael Procopio
Recipe Index
Permissions Acknowledgments
About the Editor
INTRODUCTION
By Holly Hughes
After four months, takeout—even New York City takeout—can get really, really old.
But what else do you do—what else can you do—when your kitchen is under renovation for four months? (Six to eight weeks, the contractor estimated—HA!) The old kitchen had lasted us for twenty-four years, but the appliances were dying one by one, like needles dropping off an old Christmas tree. A wall had to be knocked down; clogged exhaust vents needed to be ripped out; my family of five (it was just me and Bob when we did the first reno) needed a table we could all sit around at the same time.
And so the demolition proceeded. Meanwhile, we fell into a routine. Pizza one night, Chinese another, hamburgers and fries (yes, I caved) another. The delivery guy from Texas Rotisserie came to our apartment so often, he’d just laugh when we opened the door: “Me again!” A roasted chicken and bagged salad from the supermarket was the closest we got to home cooking. On school nights, homework meant we couldn’t go out for dinner, despite the temptation of at least 10 good restaurants within a 5-minute walk. Instead, we sat in the dining room, squeezed amidst stacked cardboard boxes of dishes and pots and pans, pulling each evening’s repast out of plastic carrier bags, then rummaging for the packets of plastic cutlery, napkins, and salt and pepper pouches.
For four months.
The renovation might have been a little less painful if I had been able to ignore food—but unfortunately, it coincided with the time of year when I annually immerse myself in a gorge of reading for this year’s Best Food Writing selections. And the hungrier my reading made me, the harder it was to drum up enthusiasm for yet another aluminum pan of greasy arroz con pollo.
There I was, reading accounts of spectacular culinary accomplishments—like Colman Andrews’s ode to Venetian seafood (page 2), Jay Rayner’s appreciation of Heston Blumenthal’s artistry (page 225), or Lisa Abend’s behind-the-scenes look at El Bullí (page 249)—while picking through cold leftover Hunan pork with string beans for lunch. How I longed to try out the cooking techniques outlined by Pete Wells (page 42), Daniel Duane (page 46), or Indrani Sen (page 117); how I despaired of ever again being able to fill my refrigerator with artisanal cheeses like Eric LeMay describes (page 110) or Mike Madison’s melons (page 136) or Brett Anderson’s silky, plump fresh oysters (page 176).
As my own eating choices became of necessity weirder and weirder, I couldn’t help but respond to a number of wonderful writers waxing rhapsodic over their secret food indulgences—hence an entire new section titled “Guilty Pleasures.” I can’t say I totally agree with John Thorne’s passion for Vienna sausages (page 184), but Kevin Pang’s tater tots (page 188) and Elissa Altman’s (page 204) midnight hot dogs from Gray’s Papaya? Bring them on.
The book’s other new section this year, “Foodways,” also fell into place as if it had always been there. From Jessica B. Harris’s definitive essay on soul food (page 9) and Katy Vine’s inside look at Texas’ state fair deep-fry champions (page 25), to the cross-cultural musings of Geoff Nicholson (page 20) and Francis Lam (page 37), these examinations of how food defines culture—and vice-versa—were just too good not to highlight at the front of the book.
In the course of the spring, however, I witnessed a tempest roiling the food writing community. I’m talking about self-appointed cultural critic B. R. Myers’s now-famous—or perhaps I should say infamous—article in the March 2011 issue of The Atlantic. You can guess the thrust of it from its title: “The Moral Crusade Against Foodies.” In the interests of full disclosure, I should mention that Myers plucked many quotes from recent Best Food Writing editions to bolster his thesis. I’ll admit, I take that as a badge of honor, to be quoted alongside Anthony Bourdain, Jeffrey Steingarten, Kim Severson, and Michael Pollan, who were cast as the villains in Myers’ anti-foodie scenario.
As the spring passed and food writer after food writer published their own impassioned, articulate responses to Myers’s essay, I faced a dilemma. Could I fairly include those pieces without including the essay that had provoked them? Yet how could I publish Myers’ polemic as an example of “best” food writing, when his techniques—taking quotes out of context, willfully misinterpreting writers’ words, switching logical tacks mid-argument, and choosing deliberately inflammatory language—represent the shabbiest tricks of sham journalism? In the end, I decided not to give Myers’ essay any more coverage than it has already gotten. If you’re curious, you can always find it on line. And while you’re at it, you might want to search on line for the responses by Francis Lam, Jonathan Kauffman, and Elissa Altman—all of whom happen to have been included already in this year’s book—among others.
Myers’ heavy-handed approach may have gone too far, but I have to say, a backlash against foodies was no surprise. American culture has jumped on the gourmet bandwagon all too enthusiastically in the past few years. For every committed locavore, there’s someone else trying out a 100-mile diet just for fun; for every serious gourmet cook, there’s someone else buying a sous vide machine that will eventually gather dust in a closet. The pendulum was bound to swing back eventually.
Nevertheless, searching through this year’s food writing candidates, I was struck by how little self-indulgence and elitism was on display. Food writing nowadays isn’t all about trophy dining or over-the-top culinary extravagances—it’s just as often about food deserts (page 147 [Silva]) and struggling small producers (page 16 [Nelson], page 152 [Estabrook], page 176 [Anderson]), about cooking for charity (page 52 [Brouilette] and page 61—[Parker]) and scrambling to get dinner on the table after a hard working day (page 42 [Wells]). This is the side of the food world that Myers deliberately ignores, so full of vegan self-righteousness that he can’t see the forest for the trees.
As it turned out, four months of being kitchen-deprived was an interesting experiment. Shockingly, teenagers will get tired of pizza if they eat it too often; I now have quantitative proof that a steady take-out diet is not only more expensive and less nutritious than home cooking, it doesn’t really save any time, either. The first meal I cooked in our finished kitchen—by request from the teenagers—was a simple pasta salad, with canned tuna, tri-color rotini, diced bell peppers, and grated parmesan. And it tasted heavenly.
Now that the renovation is finally finished, I have to say, it’s gorgeous. I fully appreciate how lucky I am to have a state-of-the-art kitchen, after so many years of malfunctioning appliances, broken cabinets, and limited counter space. At last I have six burners on my stove, two ovens, and an under-counter refrigerator with a wine drawer. At last I have a built-in spice rack, a pull-out cutting board, a cabinet with vertical dividers for trays and cookie sheets. At last I have shelves for my cookbooks and an extra drawer for the fish poacher and the asparagus steamer. I still have to replace all those grotty nonstick frypans that I threw away rather than pack up, but I’ve begun to restock my discarded spices (who knew fresh powdered ginger had such a kick?).
Now I’ve got to live up to that kitchen. Bri
ng on the cooking lessons!
Foodways
EVERYTHING COMES FROM THE SEA
By Colman Andrews
From Departures
Saveur founder, former Gourmet columnist, and multiple-Beard-award winner Colman Andrews is a gastronomic globetrotter, renowned for his books on Irish, French, and Catalan cuisines. Wherever he sets down—in this case Venice—he somehow always finds the key to the local food culture.
It’s lunchtime in Venice, and my friend Bepi and I are sitting under a red umbrella in front of a restaurant called Busa Alla Torre on the tourist-clogged glassblowing island of Murano. There are tourists here too, but Bepi, a retired bank auditor and part-time glass merchant from neighboring Burano, takes his eating seriously (“The best moment of the day,” he says, “is when your knees are under the table”). Plus, he’s an old friend of the establishment’s proprietor, Lele Masiol, so I’m pretty sure our meal is going to be something special.
Big, red-haired, red-faced and gregarious, Masiol looks like he should be running a pub in County Tipperary, not a trattoria on the Venetian lagoon. But he’s a local boy too, and when Bepi says “Today we want to eat alla Buranese”—Burano-style—Masiol knows exactly what he means and heads for the kitchen.
Five minutes later, he returns with a couple of plates covered in shrimp barely an inch long, lightly floured and fried and still in their edible shells. They are accompanied by a big spoonful of baccalà mantecato, a creamy purée of stockfish (the air-dried brother of salt cod), a dish so important to the local cuisine that there is a confraternità, or brotherhood, dedicated to its appreciation. It also comes with a small slab of grilled white polenta, which is about the most delicious bit of cornmeal mush I think I’ve ever tasted.
We’ve barely finished when the next course arrives: slightly larger shrimp, peeled and quickly boiled, then dressed with olive oil and parsley and served with fried baby artichokes from the garden island of Sant’Erasmo alongside a pool of soft white polenta. Polenta is the defining starch in traditional Venetian cooking (pasta and risotto were rare in working-class homes here until the mid-20th century), and there’s more of it with the next dish. This time it comes with moleche, softshell shore crabs about the size of silver dollars, in saor, which means marinated in vinegar with sweet onions, pine nuts and raisins. “Okay,” says Masiol, “now I’ll give you risotto di gô.” This is a dish found nowhere else but Venice, though rarely on the ten-language tourist menus. Gô (“goby” in English) is a small fish that’s too bony to eat by itself but is used to flavor rice—which many cooks manage by putting poached gô in a linen bag and squeezing the juices into the pot. Because the flavor of gô is mild, Masiol has upped the ante by adding two varieties of minuscule clams, known locally as bevarasse and malgarotte, neither any bigger than a baby’s fingernail.