Celery

 Why am I thinking about celery? I don't know but here are some ideas.

Some people like celery. Some find it very uninteresting. And some dislike its characteristic flavor. Stalks of celery rarely appear as the main ingredient in frequently-served American or French recipes. The ingredient is more often in the background of complex dishes; for example, celery contributes flavor to stocks and stews. I often save the leafy tops from a package of celery, freezing them along with the stems of herbs like parsley or green onions and a few nice chicken bones for the stock pot.

Some classics like tuna salad, coleslaw, or Waldorf salad use celery for extra crunch as well as for the added flavor. French dishes like celery remoulade and celery puree use celery root (also called celeriac) which is pictured above. The Larousse Gastronomique, an encyclopedia of French cuisine, offers quite a few celery preparations, though these seem kind of obscure. It can be cooked in butter or stock or served raw with various salad dressings. Many of the specified dishes follow a recipe originally written for some other vegetable (such as artichokes) and say just substitute celery, for example Celery a la Grecque, made with the standard ingredients including olive oil and spices like coriander seeds and cilantro leaves. 

It's strange, but I've never tried Campbell's cream of celery soup, or for that matter any other celery soup -- though that's another classic use for this vegetable. Braised celery (which is simply celery browned in butter and cooked in stock) is another dish I haven't tried, though I intend to try it some time. Of course I am quite familiar with celery included as one of several roast vegetables along with potatoes and carrots, or as a flavor and texture booster in the most commonly-made stuffing for the Thanksgiving turkey. 

A Little History and Botany

Celery is a member of the same family as carrots, parsley, and parsnips, and the name is derived from the Greek word for parsley: the plant originated in Greece and other Mediterranean countries. Celery is a two-year crop: the first year the plants produce the stalks and leaves, while the second year the plant flowers and produces seeds. Celery grows best in areas with cool temperatures and plenty of moisture; that is much of the US and Europe. Although low in calories, it contains vitamins and minerals as well as the characteristic aromatic flavors. 

From the Larousse Gastronomique:

CELERY. CÉLERI- A cultivated form of wild celery.

Used a great deal by the Romans, celery did not come into cultivation until the sixteenth century. In some cases growers have tried to develop the leaves, in others the root.

This plant contains an essential oil, which is highly aromatic. According to the different varieties, either the stems are eaten, elongated by trussing or culture in the dark, or the roots (celeriac). Both are eaten raw, in salad, or cooked.

Although for a lot of people the celery fin turkey stuffing is an essential element of Thanksgiving dinner, the celery plant wouldn't have made it from Europe to the American continent in time for the first Thanksgiving. In fact, celery didn't become popular here until the late 18th century: by 1806, four varieties of celery were being grown in the US. Nowadays, we mainly only see one variety -- this seems to be the way things go, a small number of varieties of vegetables and fruit, or just one, seem to dominate the markets! For more information on the history and cultivation of celery, see  Celery: A Brief History

Asian Dishes with Celery

Some of my Chinese cookbooks feature celery as a central ingredient, often combined with meat or fish. These recipes sound a lot more flavorful than western celery preparations; for example celery with hot peppers and garlic! Two exotic-sounding dishes I found are titled "Squid and Celery" and "Cold Kidney and Celery." These appear in The Chinese Cookbook by Craig Claiborne and Virginia Lee (published in 1976) which I would say was ahead of its time. Fuchsia Dunlop's cookbook Every Grain of Rice (published 2012) also offers several recipes that feature celery. Stir-fried celery with lily bulb and macadamia nuts is most intriguing!

Online searches turn up other interesting Asian recipes, such as several ways to include celery in the famous Korean condiment Kim Chee, and several Vietnamese soup recipes containing celery. I also found a few recipes for Chinese celery, which is a different type of celery than the American/French standard. From The Spruce Eats website:

"Chinese celery is somewhat different from the celery that typically lines most produce shelves in American supermarkets. It has a much stronger flavor than Western celery, and the stalks of Chinese celery are thinner, often with a hollow middle. Although more slender than the celery we use for tuna salad and Bloody Marys, it is recommended that you gently crush the celery stalks before adding to a recipe, which will result in better texture and more flavor. Chinese celery is rarely eaten raw as it is pungent and somewhat peppery; when cooked, however, it becomes sweet and mellow with a pleasant, soft texture."

 

Celery Remoulade Right Now!

The knob of celery root pictured at the beginning of this post has now become a dish of celery remoulade, which is julienned celery root mixed with mayonnaise, lemon juice, and other flavorings. I served it on lettuce leaves garnished with capers, a lemon wedge, and red pepper, along with some cottage cheese, as illustrated. This would definitely not be the way I would expect to see it in France!

How might this dish be served in France? Celery remoulade or alternatively, celery root in a vinaigrette sauce, often appears in the standard appetizer called crudités.  We often saw this on menus in small, modest restaurants in France: celery root, shredded carrots, sliced tomatoes, julienned beetroot or other similar vegetables in vinaigrette. The term crudités can designate any fresh vegetables. In the US now it refers to just about any snack-like vegetable platter or if you are really sophisticated, could mean vegetables arranged on a board. 

As an aside, it's amusing to recall that word crudités became an issue in a recent election to the US Senate, when one candidate (whom I prefer to forget) seemed snobbish for employing the French word instead of English. The other candidate, John Fetterman, tweeted: "In PA we call this a veggie tray." As you no doubt know, Fetterman won the election -- and served a veggie tray at his victory party.

Blog post and photos © 2023 mae sander

French Regional Cooking

Recently, a friend asked me to recommend some regional French cookbooks. I found quite a few books about the cuisine of Provence and southern France, but quite a few regions are missing from my collection. To be thorough I would need to find cookbooks that featured the Basque region, Normandy, Brittany (especially for crepes!), Lyons, Alsace (especially recipes for the famous choucroute), and several other regions. My favorite regional French recipes are for Gratin Dauphinois (blogged here) and Salade Niçoise (blogged here), but these are now so popular that you can find recipes in a variety of cookbooks and online sources, and you can order them at many American restaurants as well.

As I looked through my shelves I did find quite a few relevant cookbooks. I've written about many of them before, over my years of blogging. Here's a list of my books that emphasize French regional cooking, with links to previous posts. This list reflects only books that I own, so it's not meant to be comprehensive or systematic in any way.

• French Provincial Cooking by Elizabeth David (editions in 1960, 1977, and 1983) includes an overview of the cuisine of a number of regions, and then provides recipes and techniques for French cooking.
• The Cooking of South-West France by Paula Wolfert (1983) describes the agricultural products of this region, along with many recipes.
• The Cuisine of the Sun: Classical French cooking from Nice and Provence by Mireille Johnston (1976) offers many good recipes, which I've been trying -- most recently a daube, the famous Provençal stew (blogged here).
• Cézanne and the Provençal Table by Jean-Bernard Naudin and others (1995) is an amusing discussion of the environment in which the artist lived and worked -- with recipes and many illustrations (blogged here).
• La Cuisine Corse by Christiane Schapira (1979) is unfortunately in French, but I find it intriguing to learn about Corsica, a somewhat exotic region of France; I'm including it because it's my most obscure French regional cookbook!





• The Auberge of the Flowering Hearth by Roy Andries De Groot (1973) documents his stay in an auberge in the Dauphiné region, with descriptions of the meals served to guests there, accounts of the way the owners shopped and cooked, and also recipes (blogged here).
  
  
  
  
• Madeleine Kamman's Savoie: The Land, People, and Food of the French Alps (1989) presents the cuisine of the next region over from De Groot's book.
• Simca's Cuisine by Simone Beck (1972) is a general French cookbook with many regional recipes; it's often overlooked in preference to her collaborative work with Julia Child.
• Madame Maigret's Recipes by Robert J. Courtine (1975) includes some of the cuisine of Alsace, home of the wife of the famous detective. If you've read the many police procedurals by Georges Simenon (who of course invented Inspector Maigret, his wife, and her cooking) you'll appreciate this cookbook (blogged here).
• Quiches, Kugels, and Couscous: My Search for Jewish Cooking in France by Joan Nathan (2010) is not about a region, but about the multi-ethnic Jewish cuisine of France (blogged here).

... of course, if you want to know everything, you can always consult the Larousse Gastronomique!

French food has always been Americans' model of quality and excellence starting when Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson described it to their fellow citizens. French cooking, both in restaurants and homes, has reflected an identity of its own in the US. In particular, we have not been as conscious of French regional differences as French people are. In the late 20th century, Julia Child made a big difference both to Americans' cooking and awareness of French food; since her peak of influence, many English-language works have appeared in books, magazine articles, TV programs, and online, and I would say that French regional cuisine is of increasing interest.

Why do so many English mysteries include food?

Hercule Poirot in the kitchen from the TV version titled "Hickory Dickory Dock"

Food, food, glorious English food! An English murder mystery runs on meals, especially when set in a village vicarage, aristocratic country house, exotic vacation villa, the enclosed environment of a first-class train or seaside hotel, or a mansion bought with the profits from ill-gotten gains of social upstarts.

After the war, in the early 50s, Agatha Christie had to expand her settings; for example in Hickory Dickory Death, the murder victims live in a rooming hostel for students and young professional workers, but their dynamics very much resemble that of aristocratic weekenders at a country house she might have used for a 1930s setting. An Italian cook for the hostel makes dinner of "excellent minestrone... from a big tureen. This was followed by a piping hot dish of spaghetti and meat balls." But dinner is just as much a part of the story as a breakfast in that country house. (p. 23, Pocket Book Edition, first published 1955).

Murder on the Menu by Jeanine Larmoth is a wonderful, rather snarky, study of English murder mysteries, including Christie and the other big names -- Allingham, Marsh, Sayers, Innes, and others. Larmoth creates and explores stereotypes of all the main mystery-story characters: Lords, Ladies, butlers, maids, nannies, village spinsters, cooks, amateur detectives, police inspectors, constables (as distinct from chief constables who are higher class!), ordinary policemen, and so on. Above all, Larmoth describes what they eat.

One of Larmoth's most interesting topics is the question of WHY so much food appears in these fictions. I've often wondered that while writing about food in detective fiction (click on the link for all my posts including this one). Here's what she has to say:

"Hidden within each mystery writer is a gourmet; guiding each stroke of the writer's pen is a chef of chef d'oeuvres. If mysteries contain menus and recipes for murder, happily they contain menus and recipes for meals as well Between shudders of fear and apprehension at a past or coming crime are delightful islands where the principal consideration is the next dish, and the shudders are solely pleasurable. The aroma of herbs or fresh bread rises in the air, ginger cake lurks in the larder, a pan sizzles anticipating Yorkshire pudding, a bottle of burgundy makes a sound Margery Alligham describes... as a 'ghost of a pop; ... a beautiful sound, regretful, grateful, kind.'" -- Murder on the Menu, p. 155

Yet, after all the food scenes, Larmoth continues: "one stops to wonder 'why.' Why, and wherefore, all the food?" She cites Agatha Christie for using food as a hiding place, as a trap, as a test to see if the victim has eaten what he was alleged to have eaten, and as a vehicle, of course, for poison. She lists several more practical reasons in plotting mysteries.

"Food indicates setting," as in a country weekend at a great house, for example. Food descriptions among the detective's activities show the reader "This is not ... a story being told; this is real life. In mysteries, food is, in fact, one of the few means of creating an impression of life... giving a sense of reality." (p. 157)

"The Proof of the Pudding" is the title of Larmoth's last chapter, and her conclusion is:

"When the last fork has been laid on the plate, the last crumb of a treacle tart has been eaten, the last Admirable Eccentric has daubed his mustache with a starched white napkin... the case is definitely proved. Not against the murderer. For a way of life. 

"The case for thin slices of bread and butter with tea, and drapes drawn, before rising in the morning.... The case for buttery muffins, grandmother's receipts, brandy for the fainting, meat pies for the police, curry for poisoning. For butlers serving breath-light soufflés, and solicitously bending over one's chair. ... 

"We have tasted, smelled enjoyed -- for all of these can be done with the imagination. ... The only thing we haven't done is eaten, really eaten. This, for all our authors' care, is up to us. ... There is nothing to do but to step hastily into the kitchen, and serve it forth." (p 253-255)

Published in 1972, Murder on the Menu could be a perfect description of many later TV series about English aristocracy; in fact, it was evidently written at about the same time as the production of "Upstairs Downstairs," the series that began in 1971 and helped define a TV genre.

Most chapters of this book include an impressive set of appropriate recipes -- like "Library Snacks," "The Post-Funeral Lunch," "The Tea-Trolley," or "The All Day Buffet." In reading the recipes, I wonder: exactly how wonderful was the food in those idyllic yet fatal settings? It's often very bland, and the meat recipes sometimes call for hours of simmering or boiling what might be nice cuts of pork, beef, veal, or even a chicken. The recipes given in the book are probably quite authentic, as they were written by Charlotte Turgeon (1912-2009). Note: Turgeon was the translator of the Larousse Gastronomique and other French cookbooks. A college classmate of Julia Child, she remained Child's lifelong friend.

The Larousse Gastronomique

Since the Larousse is alphabetical, every
chapter has its own decorated letter.

The Larousse Gastronomique is an encyclopedic cookbook covering all things French or of interest to French cooks and gourmands. The author, Prosper Montagné (1865 – 1948), was a well-known chef and food writer. He was a friend and colleague of many great chefs of his era such as Escoffier, who wrote the book's introduction. Despite its great length and breadth of contents, Montagné completed it in just a few years' time, with an expert's help on the chemistry and nutritional areas.

The first American edition of the Larousse Gastronomique didn't appear until 1961 – the same year as the publication of Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child et. al. While both books made a splash, only the Larousse made it onto the New York Times best seller list that year.

This tome was my very first cookbook, as a friend gave it to me as a wedding present. I found the recipes very challenging as they assume you know all the standard techniques and classic French sauces already. Though I had just been living in France for several months, I was quite a novice cook. I managed to make a few good dishes from the Larousse's sketchy recipes, and have occasionally tried some since as well. Luckily, soon afterwards I obtained my copy of Julia Child's book with its carefully explained methods, and have been using it ever since.

The main translator and editor of the English-language Larousse was Charlotte Snyder Turgeon (1912 – 2009), a food writer and book reviewer who had popularized French food for many years. Turgeon coincidentally went to college with Julia Child; they were lifelong friends.

Obviously, the translated version was an instant classic. Evidence for this: if you search the New York Times archive for "Larousse Gastronomique" you'll see dozens of references in food articles, wherever the author wanted an authoritative definition or description of a French standard ingredient or recipe. And in fact, relying on the Larousse as a reference source is what I've been doing all this time.

What's special about the Larousse Gastronomique?

Can you eat hermit crab? Yes, says Larousse!

How can I describe this very large book with well over 1000 pages, packed with alphabetical entries? Well, I thought I would concentrate on one letter, and I chose the letter H. Here are several examples:

Some entries are very brief: "Hedgehog, Hérisson – An insect-eating mammal, regarded by some people as very good to eat." That's all.

Some entries are unexpectedly detailed, such as Hermit-Crab which includes the image above, the French name, as do all entries; a description of the creature's behavior, taking over other animals' shells; and a quote from Alexander Dumas: "the Creator, who had started to dress him as a lobster, was disturbed, or became absent-minded in the middle of the job, and finished him dressed as a slug...." Finally, the entry states: "Hermit-crab can be cooked in the same way as shrimps..."

Some choices are unexpected: "Hippopotamus. – A large amphibious pachyderm whose flesh is much sought after for food by the African natives." Or the entries for Hippocras and Hydromel, the spiced wine or honey beverages from ancient and medieval times, for which there are historic quotations and recipes.

Some are unremarkable, such as the description of Horseradish, giving a description of the plant and a few recipes. Or Haddock, giving recipes for the fish and mentioning where it's popular.

Some are extraordinarily long, such as Hors-D'Oeuvre, which begins: "By definition these snacks are additional to the menu. They should therefore be light and very delicate...." This definition is followed by approximately 32 double-column pages of possible hot and cold hors-d'oeuvres. Recommendations include fourteen ways to serve anchovies; six ways to serve beets; many types of canapés; various egg, tomato, artichoke, and cucumber dishes; escabèche of various fishes; salad of ox tongue; timbales, tartlets, varéniki à la polonaise, and many other little pastries; and lots more ... you get the idea.

"There is clearly no volume in this country [the USA] that has done for the nation's kitchens what Larousse Gastronomique has done for the French," said Pierre Franey, New York Times food columnist in 1981. I don't think any competitors have been published since that time, either.

Besides the invaluable contents, the Larousse is full of beautiful illustrations. Unfortunately, time has somewhat faded the colors in my copy, but the black and white photos and line drawings are still exciting. For example, I love the many images of dishes made from eels, including one of coiled up eels on a platter!

Salade Niçoise: The Larousse recipe calls for anchovies but not tuna!

Later editions of the Larousse have added to the work and modernized the information. Florence Fabricant, reviewing the revised edition of 1984, translated into English in 1988, noted added entries for "banana split, kiwi, spring roll, food additives, microwave ovens, dietetic food and labeling." At the same time the 260 methods of preparing chicken included in the 1961 edition were reduced to a mere 85!

"If there is a culinary bible, it is Larousse Gastronomique," Fabricant said.

Dust jacket from the 1961 edition (the one I have). The dust jacket from my copy disintegrated years ago,
but the little shop called "Found" in Kerrytown Marketplace allowed me to photograph the copy they had for sale.
Aside: Found is a WONDERFUL little shop full of intriguing antiques and remade things.

I don't feel as if I need to obtain the latest edition of the Larousse Gastronomique. The one I have offers way more material than I can ever assimilate!

It's Cookbook Wednesday again at Months of Edible Celebrations, so I'm linking this post to that of Louise over there.

A Devil's Choice: Print Cookbook or iPad App?

New iPad App, old print cookbook.

To make a classic recipe, Devil's Food Cake, I looked in a classic cookbook -- The Joy of Cooking. Perfect for Cookbook Wednesday (though I baked it Sunday morning). As it happens I have a very old copy of the printed book as well as a copy of the Joy of Cooking App for my iPad.

Devil's Food Cake ingredients all ready to go: egg whites in mixer,
flour, sugar, chocolate mixture, egg yolks, milk, butter.
Devil's Food Cake continues my theme of devil-titled foods for Halloween.

Examining the instructions for the same recipe from the two different formats offered me a chance to compare the standard, in fact old-fashioned, cookbook with the app. The cookbook wins for several reasons, though these are not intrinsic problems with using apps, just with the way this one is implemented.

To begin with, the cookbook instructions are all on one page, while the app requires scrolling with your sticky, floury hands. A smeary iPad screen will be annoying a few hours later when you try to do Sudoku, check email, or read on your Kindle app. But if you touch the page of the old book or splatter it with batter, you get a permanent stain on the recipe which is kind of amusing as the years go by.

Both versions of this recipe call for the same ingredients and essentially the same method, but the old cookbook seems to think you know more about baking. For example, the print version says to sift the flour, add salt & soda, and resift (which I did). The app version says sift the flour, put it in a bowl, and then thoroughly stir in the salt and soda, which takes more time and probably isn't as good a way to do it.

It's easier to find things in the old-fashioned print index. If the iPad app has an index like this, I haven't been able to find it. At left: the entries for "Deviled" foods in the printed Joy of Cooking. It takes a while to locate a recipe in the electronic version. It shouldn't be that hard.
Notes: 
• I don't have anything against e-recipes in general. I typed in most of my own recipes starting on a very early Macintosh in around 1990, and now use them on the iPad. I also find many cooking ideas and recipes online. My remarks about e-book issues are specifically about the Joy of Cooking App.
• For much more information on the history of the original Joy of Cooking, there's a biography of its two authors, Rombauer and Becker. I reviewed the book, here: Stand Facing the Stove.

About Devil's Food Cake

A piece of the cake I baked, as we served it for dessert at Nat's house.

According to the Food Timeline: "Recipes for rich, chocolate cakes similar to devil's food were fairly common in late 19th century cookbooks, but they were not named such. They were typically listed under the generic name 'chocolate cake.' Recipes titled devil's food proliferated, sometimes with interesting and creative twists, in the first decades of the 20th century. Red Devil appears in the 1930s. ...How this chocolate cake came to be called devil's food no one knows although it may have been a play on opposites: it was as dark and rich as angel food was light and airy."

The traditional difference between just a chocolate cake and a devil's food cake is more chocolate. "When the larger amount of chocolate is used, it is a black, rich Devil's Food," said the first Joy of Cooking (1931 p. 236, cited in the Food Timeline). For a selection of mid-twentieth century recipes see this post at Dying for Chocolate.

1950 Devil's Food Cake Mix ad
from Swans Down

Devil's Food was a natural for cake mixes, though I'm not sure when the very first mix for Devil's Food Cake was introduced. Mixers and cake mixes both became very popular in the early 50s -- though both had existed as less widespread products prior to that. My mother started using both of them at that time.

One time in the early 1950s, our neighbor (who worked for a survey outfit) recruited my mother to bake several cakes from unmarked boxes of cake mix and fill out a questionnaire about how she liked each one. I've always wondered if my mother contributed to the cake mix makers' belief that women prefer a mix that requires the addition of real eggs. At about this time, Betty Crocker, Duncan Hines, Swans Down and the rest formulated most cake mixes to require 2 or 3 eggs instead of including powdered eggs with the other powdered ingredients.

As I baked on Sunday, I was thinking how much work it would have been to bake even a mix without an electric mixer! These two convenience products obviously made cake baking much easier.

While devil's food cakes and cupcakes are often featured for Halloween, they are obviously well loved all year around. Not like pumpkin!

Main Course: Poulet Diable

We took my cake to Nat's house Sunday night, for dinner with Nat and Carol. To complement the Devil's Food Cake, Carol prepared a recipe for Poulet Diable; that is, chicken with a piquant sauce of Dijon mustard, shallots, white wine, and cream. I think she used Dorie Greenspan's recipe.

Devilish Dinner: Carol's Poulet Diable and two Devil-Themed Wines at Nat's house. Followed by the cake.

Poulet Diable, in some form or other, seems to be a classic -- as illustrated by several French cookbooks. In celebration of Cookbook Wednesday, I also give you this list of references to the dish from cookbooks published between the 1930s and 1960s:

• Mastering the Art of French Cooking has a recipe for Poulet Grillé à la Diable: chicken halves or quarters broiled with mustard, herbs, and breadcrumbs. (Beck, Bertholle and Child, p. 265).
• Both the Larousse Gastronomique entry for "Devilled" and the glossary of Raymond Oliver's La Cuisine define the method of cooking chicken called à la Diable to consist of slitting the bird along the back, spreading it out flat, and grilling it with various spices or sauce. In the "Sauce" entry, Larousse also provides three recipes for a Sauce Diable for grilled chicken, with vinegar, shallots, thyme, cayenne pepper and other ingredients.
• In his cookbook Ma Gastronomie the very famous chef Fernand Point gives a recipe for Poulet Grillé à la Diable. He calls for a chicken cut as described above, with a sauce made from vinegar, parsley, peppercorns, tarragon, egg yolk, and butter (p. 170).  

I wondered why the name of the dish was "à la Diable." I found out that it's short for à la façon du Diable; that is, in the manner of the devil. There are various derivations for this expression, but none of them have anything to do with Halloween customs. Like devil's food cake the dish would be good at any time of year!

Salade Nicoise

Here are the ingredients for salade nicoise, which we had for dinner recently. The eggs and vegetables were from the farmers market; though I don't think of it as a seasonal dish, of course it's better when the vegetables are in season.

I can't remember whether I saw this dish in France prior to making it from Mastering the Art of French Cooking (p. 542, except I leave out the anchovies). I distinctly recall eating the potato component (pommes a l'huile, p. 541) in the incredibly cheap restautrants where we sometimes ate on our first trip to France, but if I remember correctly, they were usually served as an appetizer with one small fish filet like an anchovy or herring.

At various times, salade nicoise has been trendy on both sides of the Atlantic. On this side of the ocean, there's a tendency to upscale the dish by using fresh tuna. This is probably closer to the original version served in Nice -- after all, that's a fishing port famous for fresh Mediterranean seafood. Fresh Mediterranean tuna is something to dream about.

In the less expensive types of French casual dining places, it can actually be pretty bad. I have been especially disappointed when I find rice instead of the potato salad, or find canned green beans or even canned corn instead of what I think of as the classic ingredients.

Julia Child's version is what I've internalized -- as I've mentioned, I make a number of her recipes without looking in the book, and this is one of them. There are many variations in other cookbooks. In La Cuisine pour Tous, Ginette Mathiot almost agrees with Julia Child: she adds bell pepper (which I also do). The Larousse Gastronomiqe mentions ONLY anchovies, not tuna at all. Mireille Johnston's Provencal/Nicoise cookbook The Cuisine of the Sun lists every Mediterranean vegetable you can think of. Raymond Olivier, in La Cusine (a French classic) lists the ingredients as rice, carrots, onions, eggs, anchovies, tomatoes, herrings, sweet and hot peppers, and green and black olives. Really different!

What did Napoleon eat?

Cooking for Kings: the Life of Antonin Careme, the First Celebrity Chef was the selection for my new culinary book club at Motte and Bailey Booksellers last night. Part of the discussion was about Napoleon, for whom Careme cooked occasional banquets. He especially contributed to public events to celebrate such things as the imperial coronation:

"All Paris wanted to fete their new emperor. And before Napoleon left Paris to campaign in Germany the newly appointed 'Imperial' generals threw a ball for him at the Salle de l'Opera. Talleyrand recommended Careme, who created over 30 towering 'suedois' -- eye-catching layers of fruit in syrup presented in moulds with aspic and jelly." (p. 68)

More frequently, lavish entertainments -- catered by Careme -- took place at the palace of Talleyrand, who was much more into that type of thing. Napoleon said "Only if you want to eat quickly, eat chez moi." He wasn't that into the Careme style with large decorative architectural creations arranged symmetrically for the admiration of guests, and several removes of foods taking hours.

One of the many innovations at which Careme participated was the increasing importance of diplomatic banquets. Talleyrand, backed by Careme, arranged at least four such banquets a week with 36 or more guests at each over-the-top event. The many inventions and pivotal new ideas of Careme are indeed one of the most interesting things in the book, as we discussed last night.

I was quietly wondering about another Napoleonic food first: the invention of chicken Marengo by the chef Dunand. According to the Larousse Gastronomique, at Marengo on June 14, 1800, Napoleon ate nothing before the battle. Having defeated the Austrians, he was a long way from his supply wagons, and the quartermaster could find only "three eggs, four tomatoes, six crayfish, a small hen, a little garlic, some oil and a saucepan. Using his bread ration, Dunand first made a panade with oil and water... ." Bonaparte insisted on having this simple rustic dish over and over again for good luck, and objected to any changes, though Dunanad wanted to improve and make the dish more classical. I like the contrast between this Napoleon and the one in the Careme book that we discussed last night (along with lots of other topics).

Best Seller

Julia Child, my all-time favorite cookbook author, has made it big, says the New York Times:

Julia Child Finally Has a Big Best Seller

Almost 48 years after it was first published, “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” is topping the best-seller list.

My copy of the book dates from 1964. It was my second cookbook because a friend had already given me the Larousse Gastronomique as a wedding present. So I didn't just learn to cook French food from Julia Child -- I learned to cook from Julia Child. Believe me, you can't learn to cook from the Larousse! It assumes you know everything except a few details. We had just returned from a long stay in France (on Len's post-graduate Fullbright fellowship) so we knew we wanted to eat French food; the timing was perfect.

I have memorized many of the recipes, and over the years have bought most of her other books as well. I loved her autobiography, My Life in France, which I read when it was published. Now I just have to see the movie.

Rhubarb

I love rhubarb. The crumble in the photo, which I baked this evening, was really good. Do you remember the Laura Ingalls Wilder story about how, as a young bride, she made pie from rhubarb (she called it pie plant) and forgot the sugar? I think Almanzo ate it anyway: just sprinkled some sugar on it.

According to the Larousse Gastronomique, my favorite culinary reference, rhubarb originated in northern Asia. Its first European use was by monks, as a medicinal plant, in the 14th century. This normally impeccable source claims that you can eat the leaves "like spinach" -- totally false -- they're poisonous!

A quick web search turned up the technicalities of this well-known danger: "Oxalates are contained in all parts of rhubarb plants, especially in the green leaves." The stems, explains the website, have a very low level of this toxin. "During World War I rhubarb leaves were recommended as a substitute for other veggies that the war made unavailable. Apparently there were cases of acute poisoning and even some deaths." From The Rhubarb Compendium.

The recipes in the Larousse Gastronomique suggest cutting peeled rhubarb stems into 2 to 3 inch pieces when you make compote, jam, or "English-style" pies and tarts. My mother did it this way, and her rhubarb compote was delicious but full of stringy things around 2 or 3 inches long. I am in the habit of using the food processor to make extremely thin slices of rhubarb -- as shown. This process is very fast, avoids the need to peel the stems, and thus preserves the beautiful red color. Also: no strings! I also pour a kettle of boiling water over the slices to reduce the acidity.

Rhubarb Crumble Recipe
For one 8-9 inch greased pan -- serves 4.

Rhubarb filling:
1 egg
3/4 cups sugar
2 tbs. flour
3 cups sliced rhubarb (wash & slice in food processor before measuring)
A few strawberries, chopped (optional)
Pour boiling water over rhubarb and drain well to remove some of the acid. Beat egg, stir in flour & sugar, and mix with rhubarb. Reserve strawberries for assembly.
NOTE: Rhubarb may be increased to 4 cups, other ingredients proportionally increased.

Crust:
Combine the following ingredients into crumb-like topping:
4 tablespoons butter
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup oatmeal

To Assemble and Bake:
Butter the pan and spread the chopped strawberries in it. Place rhubarb filling in pan, and sprinkle topping evenly over the rhubarb. Dot with more butter.

Bake at 350 degrees, 40 minutes.

I bought a lot of rhubarb, and prepped it all at once. While my crumble was baking, I made a pot of compote (AKA rhubarb sauce) from rhubarb, strawberries, and sugar. Cooking the very thin slices goes fast. It was done quite a bit before the crumble. I added a bit of vanilla after cooking. Isn't the color beautiful? We'll eat it later: it keeps in the refrigerator.

Finally, when I open a book like the Larousse Gastronomique, there's no telling what I'll find. Here is an obscure and silly fact: the entry just before rhubarb is rhinoceros, whose flesh "is edible." In fact: "It is preferred," says this revered source, "to that of the elephant by natives who consider hippopotamus meat to be even better." I wonder if that's more accurate than the claim that rhubarb leaves are edible.

Another Bookshelf

Continuing my project of documenting my food and cooking books, here are the five shelves of the bookcase in the dining room. I'm not going to try to catalog all the books today, but if you click on the photos, you can see much more detail.

Top shelf: food history books, such as works by Waverley Root, Calvin Trillin, Ruth Reichel.

Second shelf: quite a few good books! The Splendid Table at far right is an admirable book, but its recipes defeat me with their complexity.

Third shelf: many Sunset books (which I like despite the contempt that many foodies have for them). Far right: the Larousse Gastronomiqe.

Next shelf: not really food books, but note the complete Harry Potter in editions from all over the place!

Bottom shelf: mainly library books and books about Shakespeare. Far right: Richard Halliburton's Book of Marvels -- a childhood favorite. These are mostly not food books, except for the library books at left, which include The Magic Harvest and Paradox of Plenty.

Food Bookshelves, Second Part

On this shelf:

• Delos, The World of Cognac
• Parker, Wine Buyer’s Guide
• Larousse, Wines and Vineyards of France
• Parker, Wine Buyer’s Guide
• Wine Album (filled in with wine we drank long ago)
• Johnson, Pocket Encyclopedia of Wine, 2000
• Kingsolver, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
• Water, Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook
• Spang, The Invention of the Restaurant
• Laszlo, Citrus
• Wechsberg, Blue Trout and Black Truffles
• Clark, The Oysters of Locmariaquer
• Corson, The Secret Life of Lobsters
• Bestor, Tsukiji
• Six Haggadahs
• Reichl, The Gourmet Cookbook

On this shelf:

• Lying on its side: Lee, The Fortune Cookie Chronicles
• Standage, A History of the World in Six Glasses
• Wansink, Mindless Eating
• Nabhan, Why Some Like it Hot
• Lee, The Fortune Cookie Chronicles (proof copy)
• Pollan, In Defense of Food
• Pollan, The Botany of Desire
• Pollan, The Omnivore’s Dilemma
• Jordan & Brady, eds, The World is a Kitchen
• Barnes, The Pedant in the Kitchen
• Simieti & Grammatico, Bitter Almonds
• Ortiz, The Book of Latin American Cooking
• Moosewood Collective, Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home
• Palermo Tourist Bureau, Palermo Provincia: Cooking History and Traditions
• Hsiung, Chinese Regional Cooking
• Roden, A Book of Middle Eastern Food
• Stacey, Consumed: Why Americans Love, Hate, and Fear Food
• Hobhouse, Seeds of Change
• Sahni, Moghul Microwave
• Jaffrey, World Vegetarian
• Singh, Indian Cookery
• McGee, On Food and Cooking
• Algar, Classical Turkish Cooking
• Yazgan, ed. Specialities of Turkish Cuisine
• Riley, Painters & Food: Renaissance Recipes
• Barry, Old English Recipes, Classic Recipes from English Country Houses

And on this shelf:

• In front: Hannah Montana Valentine from Miriam
• Sideways: Westervelt, Hawaiian Legends of Volcanoes
• Argyriou et. al. eds: The 200 years History of Australian Cooking
• Isaacs, Bush Food: Aboriginal Food and Herbal Medicine
• Yood, Feasting: A Celebration of Food in Art
• Davidson, The Oxford Companion to Food
• Child, Baking with Julia
• Child, Julia Child & Company
• Child et. al. Mastering the Art of French Cooking
• Child et. al. Mastering the Art of French Cooking Vol. Two
• Child, From Julia Child’s Kitchen
• Child, My Life in France
• Child, The French Chef Cookbook
• Johnston, The Cuisine of the Sun
• Beck, Simca’s Cuisine
• Oliver, La Cuisine
• Toklas, The Alice B. Toklas Cookbook
• Poilane, Guide de l’amateur de Pain
• Clayton, The Breads of France
• Claiborne, The New York Times Cookbook