Ahhhh! Friday was nuts - I had paying work, and then there were groceries to do and all. I'd say it won't happen again, but who am I kidding? It will happen again.
Ok. Week one of Romance Novel month. I've decided on four sub-genres: Historical, Contemporary, Supernatural, and Suspense. This week's novel, Night of the Highland Dragon, is technically an historical romance, but I think the historical aspects take a decided second-place to the fantasy/supernatural elements. Plus, if I make this my supernatural, then I can use Johanna Lindsey as my historical for this week - so it's a win-win!
So. I've reviewed some of Isobel Cooper's work previously. I like her writing style and her literary sensibilities. I know Isobel from several online communities (although I've never met her in person - isn't the Internet the coolest thing? I really think it will catch on and go places...), and so it is interesting to see her voice come through in her published fiction. With that in mind, it is perhaps not a huge surprise that I quite enjoyed this book.
Let's unpack the genre a little, though. What are the key elements of a romance novel? Obviously, there has to be a central romance: boy meets girl, they fall in love (and get married/coupled) is more or less the driving focus of the literary form. William Arrundel and Judith MacAlasdair provide that critical role. William is a detective working for a special branch of the British government focused on supernatural crimes. Judith is an ancient dragon who can take the form of a human woman. Together, they solve crimes!
Second, there must be complications. It would not do for boy and girl to meet in chapter one, get married in chapter two, and be deliriously happy for the rest of the novel. (Getting married in chapter one is an acceptable plot opener, of course - it's the being deliriously happy part that must be avoided.) So - complications: William doesn't know that Judith is a dragon, and Judith doesn't know that William is a detective/secret agent. Oh, and William is investigating a murder which looks like a ritual sacrifice - and which might be sustaining the unnatural youth of a woman - is Judith a vampire (no, she's an ancient dragon, but William doesn't know that - you see how the plot thickens?). Also, social convention (which Judith disapproves of) prevents Judith from giving in to her desires, and she doesn't want to reveal that she is an ancient dragon.
Third, circumstances must allow the central couple to overcome the complications and succumb to their passion. I gather that earlier romance novels were coy about this, and there remain some genre conventions around describing the act of physical love. Cooper's sex scenes are a delight, with hot consent and lots of mutual respect and no rape-y overtones at all, yum. Also, well written, and anatomically plausible, so that's all good too.
Finally, I think that there should be an element of disposability to the works within the genre. That makes me sound all snobby, doesn't it? That's not really what I mean, though. The books should be a) good enough that you want to recommend/give them to a friend but b) not so timeless that you are upset when friend does not return them. These are popcorn books, though - you should be able to read them easily over a day or two, find them enjoyable (maybe even thought provoking), but be able to set aside after they are done - and that's actually not that easy to accomplish. Cooper does an exemplary job. Evidence? This is the third book in a series, and my library does not have books 1 or 2. There are obvious places in this book where books 1 and 2 could provide a little context (Judith has brothers - 2 of them! - and they have recently found love themselves!), but I feel no gaping lack of prior information. I AM intrigued by William's government agency, and I would love to see how he and Judith go forward in their approach to the presence of supernatural menace within the Empire - but only from the point of view of appreciating world-building and such. I would be happy to read further in this setting, but I won't be crushed if that never happens.
Anyway, if you like romance novels, and the Scottish highlands, and dragons, and supernatural mysteries, and passionate moments of consensual and mutually satisfying sex on British trains, then this book is a good fit for you.
Monday, April 4, 2016
Friday, March 25, 2016
Book 4 of the Food Books, _Fried Chicken_ by Damon Lee Fowler, 3/25/2016
This week, I am reviewing a cookbook. I chose a book focused on chicken, because I had an abundance of chicken in the freezer already. (Of course, one of the pieces of advice early in the book is not to freeze the chicken before cooking. Oh well.) What became quickly apparent, however, is that I have no real idea how to review a cookbook. Ideally, I would prepare a significant number of the recipes contained therein and report back. However, I think that an attempt to feed my family fried chicken more than once or twice in the course of week would result in mutiny, so. Here is what I have done. I have read the front material explaining the premise of the book and the matter of equipment and basic ingredients. I have also made one of the recipes. I will report on that.
The front material:
The premise is that every place where there are chickens (which is pretty much every place) has some tradition of frying chickens one way or another. Fowler outlines four basic methods: saute (in which the fat serves mostly as lubricant and flavoring agent, as the food is moved quickly and constantly about the pan), stir fry (which, he concedes, is really very much the same as a saute), pan fried (by which he means the food is no more than half covered in the frying fat, and needs to be turned during the cooking process), and deep fried (in which the food is fully submerged in fat). Thus, the book contains recipes from all over the world, and the American South. Perhaps I could have gotten away with cooking fried chicken more than once, after all.
Fowler contends that the only equipment you really need for frying is a cast iron frying pan. However, a cast iron dutch oven is useful, and a fry skimmer (one of those large spoons of wire mesh for removing things from the oil), a fry basket, a good thermometer, tongs, and wooden spatulas are all good to have. (For the record, I do not have a fry basket, and my tongs are poorly suited to frying things, as they are plastic. Otherwise, I am well set.) I disagree with Fowler on how to care for cast iron - he's of the "never wash with soap" camp, while I'm of the "if it's properly seasoned, soap can't remove the seasoning" camp. However, I'm well aware of the folks in Fowler's camp, and have no particular beef with them - they can wash their pans however they like, frankly.
Fowler's list of basic ingredients is fairly short - chicken, fat, broth.
The chicken should be young - if not young, then small - and he suggests that cutting it up yourself ensures that you get the bits you need in the shape you really want. I started with two leg quarters of chicken (the drumsticks and attached thigh and ribs), and cut them more or less as suggested. Fowler's suggestion that there are obvious places to make the cuts is not wrong, but it does take a little practice to make exactly the right joint cuts - I've done it, but I'm not an expert. Anyway, Fowler lays out the methods of cutting a whole chicken quite clearly and helpfully.
The fat should be either rendered lard (Fowler recommends rendering it yourself) or vegetable oil - Fowler says that peanut oil is recommended as olive oil is too expensive for deep frying. He also says not to re-use oil. (I used mostly corn oil, I did re-use oil [I'm a rebel!], and there was a very faint carry-over of the Indian food I had fried last week. No tears were shed over that. :) )
The broth should be homemade. Fowler lays out two methods for making broth: a quick way if you are caught short, and the right way, if you have time. Both are fairly straightforward, but it's good that he does not assume that his readers already know how to make broth.
The recipes:
Each recipe has a little note about where the recipe is from, how it is prepared and eaten there, and maybe some additional thoughts. The instructions are clear, and assume that the reader has only very moderate knowledge of cooking, offering a great deal of detailed direction. When an ingredient is uncommon - like tamarind paste - Fowler offers suggestions as to where one might find it, and also an alternative. I've flipped through, and none of the recipes has more than six steps, most are four or five steps. In short, the recipes are not particularly intimidating.
The range of recipes is excellent, from fairly simple recipes to fawncy ones like chicken cordon bleu and chicken kiev. There are a variety of chicken wing recipes, and a very good section of stir fry recipes (which I think I will have to return to). There's even one recipe that involves deep frying a whole chicken - outside, over propane, VERY carefully. That one, I probably won't attempt.
I chose to make a Cuban style fried chicken with an orange marinade. But, because I'm a rebel (and because I did not have an orange of any sort), I made it with a mix of lemon and lime juice. I particularly liked Fowler's method for preparing garlic - in a pestle, with a healthy amount of salt (I used kosher), ground to a paste. The salt acts to grind the garlic, and the result is a smooth, garlic-y salty paste which blended easily and quickly with the rest of the marinade. This recipe called for a quick fry, followed by a protracted steaming in the reserved marinade, followed by a second fry to re-crisp the skin. I had trouble with the last stage - the skin (as Fowler warned) was quite delicate at that stage. Perhaps because I used half as much chicken (I'm not sure I could have fit a whole chicken in my pan - perhaps a small one?), but all of the marinade, the end result was (while absolutely delicious) not as crispy as I had hoped. Also, the other 3/4 of my family immediately peeled the skin off, losing a good portion of the flavor as a result. The chicken had a potent citrus kick - I served it with rice and black beans, which balanced nicely. I was happy with the results, but would like to try it again.
A final note - Fowler also includes an end section on sauces and sides which is excellent. A very good cookbook, especially for cooks in the skilled novice to well seasoned dilettante range. If you like chicken, especially fried chicken, and short historical, sociological notes, this is a good book for you.
The front material:
The premise is that every place where there are chickens (which is pretty much every place) has some tradition of frying chickens one way or another. Fowler outlines four basic methods: saute (in which the fat serves mostly as lubricant and flavoring agent, as the food is moved quickly and constantly about the pan), stir fry (which, he concedes, is really very much the same as a saute), pan fried (by which he means the food is no more than half covered in the frying fat, and needs to be turned during the cooking process), and deep fried (in which the food is fully submerged in fat). Thus, the book contains recipes from all over the world, and the American South. Perhaps I could have gotten away with cooking fried chicken more than once, after all.
Fowler contends that the only equipment you really need for frying is a cast iron frying pan. However, a cast iron dutch oven is useful, and a fry skimmer (one of those large spoons of wire mesh for removing things from the oil), a fry basket, a good thermometer, tongs, and wooden spatulas are all good to have. (For the record, I do not have a fry basket, and my tongs are poorly suited to frying things, as they are plastic. Otherwise, I am well set.) I disagree with Fowler on how to care for cast iron - he's of the "never wash with soap" camp, while I'm of the "if it's properly seasoned, soap can't remove the seasoning" camp. However, I'm well aware of the folks in Fowler's camp, and have no particular beef with them - they can wash their pans however they like, frankly.
Fowler's list of basic ingredients is fairly short - chicken, fat, broth.
The chicken should be young - if not young, then small - and he suggests that cutting it up yourself ensures that you get the bits you need in the shape you really want. I started with two leg quarters of chicken (the drumsticks and attached thigh and ribs), and cut them more or less as suggested. Fowler's suggestion that there are obvious places to make the cuts is not wrong, but it does take a little practice to make exactly the right joint cuts - I've done it, but I'm not an expert. Anyway, Fowler lays out the methods of cutting a whole chicken quite clearly and helpfully.
The fat should be either rendered lard (Fowler recommends rendering it yourself) or vegetable oil - Fowler says that peanut oil is recommended as olive oil is too expensive for deep frying. He also says not to re-use oil. (I used mostly corn oil, I did re-use oil [I'm a rebel!], and there was a very faint carry-over of the Indian food I had fried last week. No tears were shed over that. :) )
The broth should be homemade. Fowler lays out two methods for making broth: a quick way if you are caught short, and the right way, if you have time. Both are fairly straightforward, but it's good that he does not assume that his readers already know how to make broth.
The recipes:
Each recipe has a little note about where the recipe is from, how it is prepared and eaten there, and maybe some additional thoughts. The instructions are clear, and assume that the reader has only very moderate knowledge of cooking, offering a great deal of detailed direction. When an ingredient is uncommon - like tamarind paste - Fowler offers suggestions as to where one might find it, and also an alternative. I've flipped through, and none of the recipes has more than six steps, most are four or five steps. In short, the recipes are not particularly intimidating.
The range of recipes is excellent, from fairly simple recipes to fawncy ones like chicken cordon bleu and chicken kiev. There are a variety of chicken wing recipes, and a very good section of stir fry recipes (which I think I will have to return to). There's even one recipe that involves deep frying a whole chicken - outside, over propane, VERY carefully. That one, I probably won't attempt.
I chose to make a Cuban style fried chicken with an orange marinade. But, because I'm a rebel (and because I did not have an orange of any sort), I made it with a mix of lemon and lime juice. I particularly liked Fowler's method for preparing garlic - in a pestle, with a healthy amount of salt (I used kosher), ground to a paste. The salt acts to grind the garlic, and the result is a smooth, garlic-y salty paste which blended easily and quickly with the rest of the marinade. This recipe called for a quick fry, followed by a protracted steaming in the reserved marinade, followed by a second fry to re-crisp the skin. I had trouble with the last stage - the skin (as Fowler warned) was quite delicate at that stage. Perhaps because I used half as much chicken (I'm not sure I could have fit a whole chicken in my pan - perhaps a small one?), but all of the marinade, the end result was (while absolutely delicious) not as crispy as I had hoped. Also, the other 3/4 of my family immediately peeled the skin off, losing a good portion of the flavor as a result. The chicken had a potent citrus kick - I served it with rice and black beans, which balanced nicely. I was happy with the results, but would like to try it again.
A final note - Fowler also includes an end section on sauces and sides which is excellent. A very good cookbook, especially for cooks in the skilled novice to well seasoned dilettante range. If you like chicken, especially fried chicken, and short historical, sociological notes, this is a good book for you.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Book 3 of the Food Books, 3/18/2016, _Twain's Feast_, by Andrew Beahrs
I currently live in Elmira, NY, which is solidly part of Twain Country (a broad and not at all contiguous country, because Sam Clemens traveled broadly and extensively). Twain's wife Olivia [Livy] Langdon was from here, and attended Elmira College here in town. The Clemens summered here at the Langon farm, Quarry Farm, just outside of town. Twain and his family are all buried here. As such, when I saw Beahrs' book at my local library while looking for food books, I felt compelled to grab it. I'm very glad I did, because Twain's Feast was, itself, a feast of a book.
Beahrs' premise is delightful in its simplicity. In 1879, Twain and his family toured Europe extensively. Twain hated the food he encountered at European hotels, and longed for American food. In A Tramp Abroad, Twain published a "feast" that he wished he could be served, listing all of the things he wished he could be served as soon as he stepped off the boat in New York. The list is long, ranging from radishes through multiple types of bread (both Northern and Southern style), numerous forms of seafood including various fish and oysters, lots of fowl, both wild and domestic (including canvasback ducks), and ending with a lavish selection of American desserts and pastries. It's quite a thing, and it makes me, first, hungry, and then, merely through reading the list, sated and even overly stuffed. Anyway, Beahrs decided to investigate several, indeed, many, of the foods on Twain's list, and discuss what made them, at their heart, American foods. He concludes that the foods, and the ways in which Twain (in Tramp and elsewhere) describes these foods being prepared and served, are intensely regional - that, separate from the places (and, indeed, the specific moments) that Twain experienced them, the foods would not have been as appealing to Twain. This book is, then, an ode to the idea of terroir (not unlike the book American Terroir, which I reviewed here).
It is also an ode to "wild" food and "local" food. Beahrs, like much of the current body of food writers (see Pollan [whom Beahrs name-checks], Bittman, and others), is a strong advocate for the "locovore"movement and a strong critic of modern American foodways based largely on corn and non-local food. I am sympathetic to the idea, and Beahrs' descriptions (and the descriptions he borrows from Twain and his contemporaries) do little to erode that sympathy - locally (and naturally) grown and produced foods sound wonderful. Beahrs' depiction of coffee being poured over fresh non-pasturized cream - "I coaxed the raw, almost clotted cream from the bottle with gentle taps, spreading it thickly on the bottom of two cups with the back of a spoon. Then I let dark streams of coffee ripple under the cream's edge, raising it like a hot-air balloon's yellow silk." (page 6)- wow. I'm afraid to try it, because I know I can't afford the $14 for half a pint he paid for the privilege. Likewise the grass-fed beef and non-vegetarian farm raised eggs - "Their yolks are a deep gold, approaching amber; recently five Soul Food Farm yolks survived over a minute of whisking by Erik, which any parent of a four-year-old will recognize as evidence of almost metaphysical strength" (page 114-115) - I simply can't afford to indulge. And that's the fundamental problem with the locovore, natural food, movement - it's great if your budget can sustain it, but if not, it's unattainable. And if the movement is unattainable, Beahrs' presentation of the food you can afford can feel insulting, even scolding. Which is not, I think, his intention. Sadly, however, that consideration detracted from my pleasure as I read this otherwise delightful book.
And the book IS delightful. Beahrs traces Twain's voyage from Hannibal, MO to New Orleans, and then out west to Nevada and California. Beahrs himself travels from San Francisco to Illinois to look at prairie chickens, and the Baltimore to look at terrapins, to Arkansas to eat raccoon, and to Vermont to enjoy maple syrup. He discusses the social history of consuming oysters, canvas-back ducks, terrapins and lobsters (among other things). The book is peppered with historical recipes for the food being discussed, some of which look like something I could cook, and some of which lack basic elements, like numerical measures of ingredients. Beahrs is exceptionally skilled at describing food, both as a cook and as a diner. He also has a fine ear for the descriptions of others, selecting perfect passages from Twain and his contemporaries which evoke both the food and also the time in which the food was prepared and consumed.
So. If you like historical and social analysis of food, or Mark Twain, or travel books, or sumptuous descriptions of food (including boiled raccoon), then this is a good choice for you.
________________________________________________________________________
This week featured both Pi Day (on Monday) and St. Patrick's Day (on Thursday), two notable days which (at least here) are celebrated through the production and consumption of specific foods. On Monday, I baked a tarte au sucre - a Quebecois sugar pie (recipe here), and my wife made a pumpkin pie, and we had a delightful shepherd's pie for dinner. I've been using a technique that Jamie Oliver discusses here, wherein mashed potatoes form an entire crust for the pie, bottoms and side, and not just the top. My recipe is pretty basic - fried ground beef on the bottom, then a layer of frozen mixed veg, then a layer of baked beans, and then mashed potatoes. Historically, I have put shredded cheddar cheese on top, but my eldest child does not like "roasted" cheese, so, in deference to her, I chose not to do so this week. Instead, I dotted the top with butter, and broiled it before serving, making for pleasantly crispy potatoes on top. Everything was yummy, and we had pie for breakfast through Wednesday.
Yesterday, I made a fairly simple potato soup with an Irish soda bread (this is my go-to recipe - the first one, with the whole-wheat flour - I am not entirely above food-snobbery autheticism; I just can't afford all natural foods), and that was also well received. We have all eaten well this week!
Beahrs' premise is delightful in its simplicity. In 1879, Twain and his family toured Europe extensively. Twain hated the food he encountered at European hotels, and longed for American food. In A Tramp Abroad, Twain published a "feast" that he wished he could be served, listing all of the things he wished he could be served as soon as he stepped off the boat in New York. The list is long, ranging from radishes through multiple types of bread (both Northern and Southern style), numerous forms of seafood including various fish and oysters, lots of fowl, both wild and domestic (including canvasback ducks), and ending with a lavish selection of American desserts and pastries. It's quite a thing, and it makes me, first, hungry, and then, merely through reading the list, sated and even overly stuffed. Anyway, Beahrs decided to investigate several, indeed, many, of the foods on Twain's list, and discuss what made them, at their heart, American foods. He concludes that the foods, and the ways in which Twain (in Tramp and elsewhere) describes these foods being prepared and served, are intensely regional - that, separate from the places (and, indeed, the specific moments) that Twain experienced them, the foods would not have been as appealing to Twain. This book is, then, an ode to the idea of terroir (not unlike the book American Terroir, which I reviewed here).
It is also an ode to "wild" food and "local" food. Beahrs, like much of the current body of food writers (see Pollan [whom Beahrs name-checks], Bittman, and others), is a strong advocate for the "locovore"movement and a strong critic of modern American foodways based largely on corn and non-local food. I am sympathetic to the idea, and Beahrs' descriptions (and the descriptions he borrows from Twain and his contemporaries) do little to erode that sympathy - locally (and naturally) grown and produced foods sound wonderful. Beahrs' depiction of coffee being poured over fresh non-pasturized cream - "I coaxed the raw, almost clotted cream from the bottle with gentle taps, spreading it thickly on the bottom of two cups with the back of a spoon. Then I let dark streams of coffee ripple under the cream's edge, raising it like a hot-air balloon's yellow silk." (page 6)- wow. I'm afraid to try it, because I know I can't afford the $14 for half a pint he paid for the privilege. Likewise the grass-fed beef and non-vegetarian farm raised eggs - "Their yolks are a deep gold, approaching amber; recently five Soul Food Farm yolks survived over a minute of whisking by Erik, which any parent of a four-year-old will recognize as evidence of almost metaphysical strength" (page 114-115) - I simply can't afford to indulge. And that's the fundamental problem with the locovore, natural food, movement - it's great if your budget can sustain it, but if not, it's unattainable. And if the movement is unattainable, Beahrs' presentation of the food you can afford can feel insulting, even scolding. Which is not, I think, his intention. Sadly, however, that consideration detracted from my pleasure as I read this otherwise delightful book.
And the book IS delightful. Beahrs traces Twain's voyage from Hannibal, MO to New Orleans, and then out west to Nevada and California. Beahrs himself travels from San Francisco to Illinois to look at prairie chickens, and the Baltimore to look at terrapins, to Arkansas to eat raccoon, and to Vermont to enjoy maple syrup. He discusses the social history of consuming oysters, canvas-back ducks, terrapins and lobsters (among other things). The book is peppered with historical recipes for the food being discussed, some of which look like something I could cook, and some of which lack basic elements, like numerical measures of ingredients. Beahrs is exceptionally skilled at describing food, both as a cook and as a diner. He also has a fine ear for the descriptions of others, selecting perfect passages from Twain and his contemporaries which evoke both the food and also the time in which the food was prepared and consumed.
So. If you like historical and social analysis of food, or Mark Twain, or travel books, or sumptuous descriptions of food (including boiled raccoon), then this is a good choice for you.
________________________________________________________________________
This week featured both Pi Day (on Monday) and St. Patrick's Day (on Thursday), two notable days which (at least here) are celebrated through the production and consumption of specific foods. On Monday, I baked a tarte au sucre - a Quebecois sugar pie (recipe here), and my wife made a pumpkin pie, and we had a delightful shepherd's pie for dinner. I've been using a technique that Jamie Oliver discusses here, wherein mashed potatoes form an entire crust for the pie, bottoms and side, and not just the top. My recipe is pretty basic - fried ground beef on the bottom, then a layer of frozen mixed veg, then a layer of baked beans, and then mashed potatoes. Historically, I have put shredded cheddar cheese on top, but my eldest child does not like "roasted" cheese, so, in deference to her, I chose not to do so this week. Instead, I dotted the top with butter, and broiled it before serving, making for pleasantly crispy potatoes on top. Everything was yummy, and we had pie for breakfast through Wednesday.
Yesterday, I made a fairly simple potato soup with an Irish soda bread (this is my go-to recipe - the first one, with the whole-wheat flour - I am not entirely above food-snobbery autheticism; I just can't afford all natural foods), and that was also well received. We have all eaten well this week!
Friday, March 11, 2016
Book 2 of Food Books, _Catching Fire_, Richard Wrangham, March 11, 2016
What makes us human? (I know! It's food month! Why am I looking a philosophy? Bear with me.) This is a HUGE question, obviously, and one that philosophers and religious scholars (among others) have been discussing and debating and answering for millenia. My author this week, Richard Wrangham, is not a philosopher or a religious scholar - he's an anthropologist. He's more interested in what made us human from a social and biological stand point. The full title of his book is Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human, and suddenly the inclusion of this book in food month makes sense, yes?
So. Wrangham argues, somewhat convincingly, that there were a pair of critical biological and social shifts which took place first 2.5 million years ago when homo habilis emerged from australopithecus, and then 1.8 million years ago, when homo erectus emerged from homo habilis. 2.5 million years ago, he contends, habilines started eating meat more frequently and also (and this is key, and one of the places where he differs with his peers) processing that meat and additional plant matter, to make it softer and easier to chew. 1.8 million years ago, homo erectus began to use fire to cook their food. This is the other place Wrangham differs with his peers, in that the general consensus has been that use of fire and cooking were separate events. Wrangham argues that cooking and fire had to have been very closely related, or else we would see another significant biological shift on the level of the ones 2.5 million years ago and 1.8 million years ago. The shift from erectus to sapiens is, he contends, not a significant biological shift in re: teeth and guts, but rather in terms of brain size.
So, first of all, I'm not an anthropologist. My wife is, and we discussed the book a little, but she contends that she's not the same sort of anthropologist that Wrangham is, so our discussion was not overly heated. Also, she hasn't read the book. With that proviso, I am a) not sure I entirely followed Wrangham's argument and b) even so, I'm not sure I agree. He's positing a very fast evolution - over the course of a generation or two - which seems not quite what I learned about evolution. Which, you know, was a long time ago, and in high school, so. But, if he's correct, that increased meat, and then cooking of food produced the evolutionary response, are we still evolving? My wife says we are, a little, but that our group dynamics, and our desire to have as many people survive and breed as possible have blunted the "survival of the fittest" aspect of evolution. Which would be consistent with Wrangham's argument, which is that cooking results in a communal society in which food (especially hunted food) is shared (something that other animals do not do - theft of food, yes; voluntary sharing of food, no). So there's that.
Second, Wrangham does seem to be making a gender essentialist argument in regards to the gendered division of labor. That is, he argues that females gravitated towards the "gathering" part of hunter-gatherer, and thus also to the cooking of food - that, indeed, having someone available to tend the fire and cook vegetable staples was essential to the hunter-gatherer system. Without readily available cooked food, the hunter could not maintain the ability to hunt. And, since hunting required greater physical strength (1.8 million years ago, mind), males gravitated towards the hunting, and females were excluded. Which, all right, I accept in theory. And Wrangham doesn't actually say "that's the way it's always been, and that's the way it should be forever and ever, amen," but he doesn't not say that either. And he does say that, while men CAN cook (thanks for that), there are no (traditional) societies in which they do so on a regular basis (and many in which they absolutely refuse to do so, even if it means starving). So, there's that too, I guess.
Anyway. Here in the industrial "west", we don't cook over an open fire unless we are camping. And, by and large, the meat in our diet is not dependent upon the ability of males to go into the wild and come back with a tapir or a wild goat or something. Consequently, I think that our next evolutionary step - and maybe we're already seeing it - is a societal step away from the gendered division of labor. And, I further think that our ability to change and grow is one of the things which makes us human in a spiritual and philosophical sense (and, maybe, in a biological, anthropological sense too).
___________________________________________________
This week's adventure in cooking requires a little historical background. For Christmas, my parents gave us (well, ok, we bought for ourselves with money from my parents) an Instant Pot electric pressure cooker. (Some of you are nodding your heads approvingly, some are jealous, and some are baffled - it's one of these, and it's really very cool). This week, I saw a recipe for making bread in the pot - you can use the pot to proof the loaf, but this recipe suggested steaming the bread in the pot, and then tossing it under a broiler to brown it and crustify it a little. I decided to modify the recipe a little by adding whole wheat flour (It was a modification of this recipe. Dough in a pyrex bowl 30 mins to rise on the yogurt setting, then cover the dough with foil, 20 mins under pressure with 2 cups of water [using the trivet]. Then into the broiler for 5 mins.). And the thing is, whole wheat flour sucks up water a lot more than regular flour, and I should actually know that because I have baked with it before. But, so. The dough was ugly, it didn't cook all the way through properly, and the end result was ... edible, but not really that nice. I'll try it again, with a little more water in the dough. And the ability to make mistakes and learn from them - also something that makes us human.
So. Wrangham argues, somewhat convincingly, that there were a pair of critical biological and social shifts which took place first 2.5 million years ago when homo habilis emerged from australopithecus, and then 1.8 million years ago, when homo erectus emerged from homo habilis. 2.5 million years ago, he contends, habilines started eating meat more frequently and also (and this is key, and one of the places where he differs with his peers) processing that meat and additional plant matter, to make it softer and easier to chew. 1.8 million years ago, homo erectus began to use fire to cook their food. This is the other place Wrangham differs with his peers, in that the general consensus has been that use of fire and cooking were separate events. Wrangham argues that cooking and fire had to have been very closely related, or else we would see another significant biological shift on the level of the ones 2.5 million years ago and 1.8 million years ago. The shift from erectus to sapiens is, he contends, not a significant biological shift in re: teeth and guts, but rather in terms of brain size.
So, first of all, I'm not an anthropologist. My wife is, and we discussed the book a little, but she contends that she's not the same sort of anthropologist that Wrangham is, so our discussion was not overly heated. Also, she hasn't read the book. With that proviso, I am a) not sure I entirely followed Wrangham's argument and b) even so, I'm not sure I agree. He's positing a very fast evolution - over the course of a generation or two - which seems not quite what I learned about evolution. Which, you know, was a long time ago, and in high school, so. But, if he's correct, that increased meat, and then cooking of food produced the evolutionary response, are we still evolving? My wife says we are, a little, but that our group dynamics, and our desire to have as many people survive and breed as possible have blunted the "survival of the fittest" aspect of evolution. Which would be consistent with Wrangham's argument, which is that cooking results in a communal society in which food (especially hunted food) is shared (something that other animals do not do - theft of food, yes; voluntary sharing of food, no). So there's that.
Second, Wrangham does seem to be making a gender essentialist argument in regards to the gendered division of labor. That is, he argues that females gravitated towards the "gathering" part of hunter-gatherer, and thus also to the cooking of food - that, indeed, having someone available to tend the fire and cook vegetable staples was essential to the hunter-gatherer system. Without readily available cooked food, the hunter could not maintain the ability to hunt. And, since hunting required greater physical strength (1.8 million years ago, mind), males gravitated towards the hunting, and females were excluded. Which, all right, I accept in theory. And Wrangham doesn't actually say "that's the way it's always been, and that's the way it should be forever and ever, amen," but he doesn't not say that either. And he does say that, while men CAN cook (thanks for that), there are no (traditional) societies in which they do so on a regular basis (and many in which they absolutely refuse to do so, even if it means starving). So, there's that too, I guess.
Anyway. Here in the industrial "west", we don't cook over an open fire unless we are camping. And, by and large, the meat in our diet is not dependent upon the ability of males to go into the wild and come back with a tapir or a wild goat or something. Consequently, I think that our next evolutionary step - and maybe we're already seeing it - is a societal step away from the gendered division of labor. And, I further think that our ability to change and grow is one of the things which makes us human in a spiritual and philosophical sense (and, maybe, in a biological, anthropological sense too).
___________________________________________________
This week's adventure in cooking requires a little historical background. For Christmas, my parents gave us (well, ok, we bought for ourselves with money from my parents) an Instant Pot electric pressure cooker. (Some of you are nodding your heads approvingly, some are jealous, and some are baffled - it's one of these, and it's really very cool). This week, I saw a recipe for making bread in the pot - you can use the pot to proof the loaf, but this recipe suggested steaming the bread in the pot, and then tossing it under a broiler to brown it and crustify it a little. I decided to modify the recipe a little by adding whole wheat flour (It was a modification of this recipe. Dough in a pyrex bowl 30 mins to rise on the yogurt setting, then cover the dough with foil, 20 mins under pressure with 2 cups of water [using the trivet]. Then into the broiler for 5 mins.). And the thing is, whole wheat flour sucks up water a lot more than regular flour, and I should actually know that because I have baked with it before. But, so. The dough was ugly, it didn't cook all the way through properly, and the end result was ... edible, but not really that nice. I'll try it again, with a little more water in the dough. And the ability to make mistakes and learn from them - also something that makes us human.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Book 1 of the Food Books, _52 Loaves_ by William Alexander, 3/4/2015
Food books have a lot of autobiography about them, don't they? I mean, even cook books (and I'll review a cook book later this month, probably), which purport to be basically instruction manuals, invite the reader into the author's kitchen. There is a sense of the personal in books about food, a sense of intimacy that comes from talking about food. In 52 Loaves, William Alexander lays out, in loving detail, his project to bake a single loaf of bread once a week. He was attempting (and maybe succeeding?) to re-create a perfect loaf of bread he once consumed in a restaurant, a loaf of "peasant bread," with a perfect crust, an open, airy crumb, and a great flavor of rye and wheat and yeast. His writing is intensely personal, bringing his readers not merely into his yard (where he constructs an outdoor brick oven for baking - and, you know, if I weren't renting, I'd be greatly tempted...), or his kitchen (where he takes readers through the painstaking process of making bread from a poolish - a multi-hour endeavor), or even his analyst's office (mid-way through, Alexander worries that he is suffering from some sort of mental breakdown because he is so obsessed with this perfect loaf), but, really, inside his head.
Alexander weaves through his personal narrative a discussion of the history of bread as a food, globally, but also locally. Why is American commercial bread so universally reviled? What, actually, is "enriching" enriched flour? What lay at the root of years of pellagra throughout the American South? This is fascinating, and adds a stability to the personal narrative - not unlike (if I can engage in a little analogy) the gluten containing the yeasty leaven of Alexander's obsession.
In addition to the technical and historical discussion of bread making, Alexander also explores the philosophical implications of bread. How do we eat bread? Why is that important? Do people in France make and eat bread differently than Americans? How about Moroccans? What does this say about people in those cultures? Alexander visits France and Morocco to explore these questions. He also spends a week baking in a French monastery - a fascinating portion of the book in which Alexander explores the possibility that bread, for him, is spiritual or even religious on some level.
This was a surprisingly delightful book, full of humor (mostly self-deprecating), history (which I, naturally, appreciate), and thought provoking information. It also (as my baking earlier this week suggests) invites readers to experiment with baking. If you like bread, or baking, or the compulsions of aging American men, check out this book.
And how did my bread turn out? Well, it didn't live up to Alexander's standards, that's for sure. It had a fine, dense crumb (not the air holes that Alexander was trying to find, but not something that I was necessarily aiming for - big holes makes it tough to spread things on a slice) and a nice crust, but it lacked flavor. It was, sadly, a bland bread. I'll keep trying.
Alexander weaves through his personal narrative a discussion of the history of bread as a food, globally, but also locally. Why is American commercial bread so universally reviled? What, actually, is "enriching" enriched flour? What lay at the root of years of pellagra throughout the American South? This is fascinating, and adds a stability to the personal narrative - not unlike (if I can engage in a little analogy) the gluten containing the yeasty leaven of Alexander's obsession.
In addition to the technical and historical discussion of bread making, Alexander also explores the philosophical implications of bread. How do we eat bread? Why is that important? Do people in France make and eat bread differently than Americans? How about Moroccans? What does this say about people in those cultures? Alexander visits France and Morocco to explore these questions. He also spends a week baking in a French monastery - a fascinating portion of the book in which Alexander explores the possibility that bread, for him, is spiritual or even religious on some level.
This was a surprisingly delightful book, full of humor (mostly self-deprecating), history (which I, naturally, appreciate), and thought provoking information. It also (as my baking earlier this week suggests) invites readers to experiment with baking. If you like bread, or baking, or the compulsions of aging American men, check out this book.
And how did my bread turn out? Well, it didn't live up to Alexander's standards, that's for sure. It had a fine, dense crumb (not the air holes that Alexander was trying to find, but not something that I was necessarily aiming for - big holes makes it tough to spread things on a slice) and a nice crust, but it lacked flavor. It was, sadly, a bland bread. I'll keep trying.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Bonus Post - Bread week - 3/1/2016
This week I'm reading 52 Loaves by William Alexander, which is about baking bread. So I decided to bake some bread today, and then I decided to tell you all about it. I'm using my mum's bread recipe, which has been historically well received. It would not, spoiler alert, meet with Alexander's exacting standards in that it has milk and butter in it. But that's a discussion for Friday. Today, I'm making bread!
First, here's the recipe [with my added notations]:
Bread Dough
1/4 cup margarine [I'm using butter, because I prefer to bake with butter] + 1 cup milk. Heat 2 mins [microwave - this recipe dates to when Mum adapted her bread recipe to the microwave]. Let cool.
1 cup tepid water ~[1/2 cup boiling water + ~1/2 cup water from the fridge {I have a jug of water in the fridge - don't you?}], 1 tsp sugar - mix, Add 1 Tbsp yeast. [Red Star dried yeast today]. Let sit 10 minutes. [Technically, I've been told that this step, "proofing" the yeast, is not necessary with modern yeast which is unlikely to be dead in the jar. But I really like watching the yeast get all bubbly! And it certainly doesn't hurt anything to proof the yeast.]
[Yup. That yeast is alive and kicking.]
Mix yeast mix with tepid milk. Add 3-4 cups of flour until dough is smooth and not sticky. [I should say, I've made this recipe many many times, and it's never needed less than 4 cups of flour. Your mileage, as they say, may vary. Oh, also, I added a good tsp of kosher salt, because my butter was unsalted.] Knead on floured board [or the counter] until dough is springy. [classically, a thumb print should spring back out of the dough when it has been sufficiently kneaded.]
[Kneading dough is one of the few times when I remove my wedding band, because getting bread dough out of the engraving is a right pain the keister. {the engraving, because someone will want to know, reads, in Hebrew, "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine."}]
Put 1 Tbsp oil in empty bowl and coat dough with oil.
Microwave 1 cup [mug] of water for 3 mins on high.
Put in bread 10 mins on 1%
20 mins on 0%
[ yeah. The first microwave we ever owned had power percentages, and 1% was just barely warm, and 0% was essentially a timer, no heat at all. But no microwave I've encountered since then works that way. So, 30 mins, no timer - this whole thing creates a nice steamy place for the bread to rise.]
Knead. Let sit on [heating] oven until risen again in pans. Bake at 350 F, 30 mins. [I've got one loaf in a pan, and one not - to go with soup tonight. I'll update with a report on how the baking goes.]
First, here's the recipe [with my added notations]:
Bread Dough
1/4 cup margarine [I'm using butter, because I prefer to bake with butter] + 1 cup milk. Heat 2 mins [microwave - this recipe dates to when Mum adapted her bread recipe to the microwave]. Let cool.
1 cup tepid water ~[1/2 cup boiling water + ~1/2 cup water from the fridge {I have a jug of water in the fridge - don't you?}], 1 tsp sugar - mix, Add 1 Tbsp yeast. [Red Star dried yeast today]. Let sit 10 minutes. [Technically, I've been told that this step, "proofing" the yeast, is not necessary with modern yeast which is unlikely to be dead in the jar. But I really like watching the yeast get all bubbly! And it certainly doesn't hurt anything to proof the yeast.]
 |
[Yup. That yeast is alive and kicking.]
Mix yeast mix with tepid milk. Add 3-4 cups of flour until dough is smooth and not sticky. [I should say, I've made this recipe many many times, and it's never needed less than 4 cups of flour. Your mileage, as they say, may vary. Oh, also, I added a good tsp of kosher salt, because my butter was unsalted.] Knead on floured board [or the counter] until dough is springy. [classically, a thumb print should spring back out of the dough when it has been sufficiently kneaded.]
 |
| Wedding ring in partial shadow... |
 |
| Smooth, and not sticky |
[Kneading dough is one of the few times when I remove my wedding band, because getting bread dough out of the engraving is a right pain the keister. {the engraving, because someone will want to know, reads, in Hebrew, "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine."}]
Put 1 Tbsp oil in empty bowl and coat dough with oil.
Microwave 1 cup [mug] of water for 3 mins on high.
Put in bread 10 mins on 1%
20 mins on 0%
[ yeah. The first microwave we ever owned had power percentages, and 1% was just barely warm, and 0% was essentially a timer, no heat at all. But no microwave I've encountered since then works that way. So, 30 mins, no timer - this whole thing creates a nice steamy place for the bread to rise.]
Knead. Let sit on [heating] oven until risen again in pans. Bake at 350 F, 30 mins. [I've got one loaf in a pan, and one not - to go with soup tonight. I'll update with a report on how the baking goes.]
 |
| After the first rise |
 |
| Working on the second rise |
Friday, February 26, 2016
February 26, Book 4 of the 2nd Book Series, _Live Bait_, by P.J. Tracy
This is the last week of the February 2nd Book series. Next week, as we begin March, I will start a series of food books. For April, I'm considering romance novels - I'd love for you to suggest romance novels for me to read. Or, baring that, name 4 unique sub-genres of romance.
This week, we're looking at the second book in an ongoing series. Specifically, we're looking at the second book in P.J. Tracy's Monkeewrench series, Live Bait.
What do I mean by an ongoing series? What makes this series different from last week's series? After all, the Rot and Ruin books started as a trilogy, and then there were four books, and then five, and then interstitial books, and so on... So, Tracy's* Monkeewrench series; how is that different? I think the key difference is that Maberry had (or has) a defined end point to his series. It's possible that the end point is perpetually disappearing into the distance - not unlike, say, George Martin's Song of Fire and Ice, for instance - but there IS a defined point at which the story is done. By contrast, Monkeewrench (and, really, this is true of most mystery novel series, I think) has no defined end. Grace McBride, Detective Magozzi, and the rest of the team will keep tracking down serial killers until Tracy, her publisher, or her readers, get tired of the conceit. And that's perfectly fine. That being said, I think that the second book in such a series has a surprising amount of weight to bear as a result. The first book, obviously, stands alone. Bad guys do bad things, and good guys stop them, the story has a clear beginning, middle, and end. But, if the first book does well (and, naturally, we assume that the first book does well), then a second book follows. The second book must have a clear beginning, middle, and end. It must have different bad guys doing bad things, and the good guys have to stop them, but in a different (but related!) way from the first book. The book has to stand on its own - what if the reader missed the first book? What if libraries gave it a pass, but picked up book two on the strength of the reviews for book one? - but it must ALSO reward readers of book one with hooks back into the first story line AND also also point towards a potential third (and subsequent) books. That's a lot of pressure! "But Mike," you say, "that's true of the second book in a classic trilogy too! And of whatever Rot and Ruin is. And, really, any book 2 which might have, at some point, a book 3!" And that's a fair statement too - but I think there's an additional pressure here, because this book two absolutely has to stand on its own. Book three can dangle some serious loose ends if the author so desires, but book two might well be the only book in the series that a reader picks up - if they missed book one, and if book three never gets published - so I think there is a unique pressure on a book in this position in an ongoing series.
So, how does Live Bait stand up to that pressure? Pretty well, I think. First off, these are a series of fantastic police procedurals, which is to say that they are awful, dreadful books, which I love. Lots of grit and a fair bit of gore, serial killers with dubious motives, and hard working detectives who solve crimes by asking tough questions, and with the support of computer experts who don't mind bending the rules. Hell, they revel in bending, folding, spindling, and mutilating the rules. The same two detectives seem to solve all of the big serial killer cases in Minneapolis,** and no crime could ever be solved ever without the assistance of Monkeewrench and their unique computer skills. My willing suspension to disbelieve is highly trained, though, and I just love these sorts of books. That probably says something deeply disturbing about my psyche, but it's true. So, if you like pulpy crime novels with quirky (VERY quirky) characters, twisty motives, lots of blind endings, moody cops, and graphic descriptions of Minneapolis weather, you'll like these books. Oh, also, doomed romance, and musings about why a policeman's lot is not a happy one. And, if you want, you can start here with Live Bait, but the first book (Monkeewrench) is good too.
*Actually, P.J. Tracy is a duo, Patricia and Traci Lambrecht.
** Between Tracy and John Sandford, I'm pretty convinces that Minneapolis/St. Paul is ground zero for serial killers in the US...
This week, we're looking at the second book in an ongoing series. Specifically, we're looking at the second book in P.J. Tracy's Monkeewrench series, Live Bait.
What do I mean by an ongoing series? What makes this series different from last week's series? After all, the Rot and Ruin books started as a trilogy, and then there were four books, and then five, and then interstitial books, and so on... So, Tracy's* Monkeewrench series; how is that different? I think the key difference is that Maberry had (or has) a defined end point to his series. It's possible that the end point is perpetually disappearing into the distance - not unlike, say, George Martin's Song of Fire and Ice, for instance - but there IS a defined point at which the story is done. By contrast, Monkeewrench (and, really, this is true of most mystery novel series, I think) has no defined end. Grace McBride, Detective Magozzi, and the rest of the team will keep tracking down serial killers until Tracy, her publisher, or her readers, get tired of the conceit. And that's perfectly fine. That being said, I think that the second book in such a series has a surprising amount of weight to bear as a result. The first book, obviously, stands alone. Bad guys do bad things, and good guys stop them, the story has a clear beginning, middle, and end. But, if the first book does well (and, naturally, we assume that the first book does well), then a second book follows. The second book must have a clear beginning, middle, and end. It must have different bad guys doing bad things, and the good guys have to stop them, but in a different (but related!) way from the first book. The book has to stand on its own - what if the reader missed the first book? What if libraries gave it a pass, but picked up book two on the strength of the reviews for book one? - but it must ALSO reward readers of book one with hooks back into the first story line AND also also point towards a potential third (and subsequent) books. That's a lot of pressure! "But Mike," you say, "that's true of the second book in a classic trilogy too! And of whatever Rot and Ruin is. And, really, any book 2 which might have, at some point, a book 3!" And that's a fair statement too - but I think there's an additional pressure here, because this book two absolutely has to stand on its own. Book three can dangle some serious loose ends if the author so desires, but book two might well be the only book in the series that a reader picks up - if they missed book one, and if book three never gets published - so I think there is a unique pressure on a book in this position in an ongoing series.
So, how does Live Bait stand up to that pressure? Pretty well, I think. First off, these are a series of fantastic police procedurals, which is to say that they are awful, dreadful books, which I love. Lots of grit and a fair bit of gore, serial killers with dubious motives, and hard working detectives who solve crimes by asking tough questions, and with the support of computer experts who don't mind bending the rules. Hell, they revel in bending, folding, spindling, and mutilating the rules. The same two detectives seem to solve all of the big serial killer cases in Minneapolis,** and no crime could ever be solved ever without the assistance of Monkeewrench and their unique computer skills. My willing suspension to disbelieve is highly trained, though, and I just love these sorts of books. That probably says something deeply disturbing about my psyche, but it's true. So, if you like pulpy crime novels with quirky (VERY quirky) characters, twisty motives, lots of blind endings, moody cops, and graphic descriptions of Minneapolis weather, you'll like these books. Oh, also, doomed romance, and musings about why a policeman's lot is not a happy one. And, if you want, you can start here with Live Bait, but the first book (Monkeewrench) is good too.
*Actually, P.J. Tracy is a duo, Patricia and Traci Lambrecht.
** Between Tracy and John Sandford, I'm pretty convinces that Minneapolis/St. Paul is ground zero for serial killers in the US...
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