Stewart Tabori & Chang

The United Cakes of America: Recipes Celebrating Every State

mandy — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

I’m the girl who never goes to a party empty-handed. I come bearing brownies, fudge, or cake balls for all of the guests. And every week I make my seventy-eight-year-old great uncle something decadent, and usually chocolate. He has an astounding sweet tooth, despite not having a single tooth left in his head. (Maybe it’s from all the sweets?)

But, truth be told, I really dislike baking. It’s too scientific, too laborious, and feels like a chore. I much prefer the pinch-of-this, dash-of-that approach I take to cooking. I’m also not very fond of sweets, but I always find myself making them because it’s what others love. If it were entirely up to me, I’d show up to the party with a perfectly roasted chicken and a fifth of whiskey—but the world does not bend to my will.

Before receiving The United Cakes of America, the baking books I’d encountered only legitimized my distaste of the craft by suggesting odd techniques, requiring specialty equipment, and featuring overly complicated or poorly written recipes. But Warren Brown’s The United Cakes of America flipped a switch in my head and made me realize baking doesn’t have to be a frustrating affair.

Brown is a former lawyer who shifted his focus to baked goods by opening the Washington, D.C. bakery CakeLove in 2002. He wanted to honor the dying art of baking from scratch. Now years later—after scouring the internet, traveling the country to extensively speak to locals, and compiling a sort of Americana cake history—The United Cakes of America is born.

It all begins with an overview that details the finer points of baking, such as the importance of unsalted butter, when to use different types of sugar, and the utility of equipment like scales, stand mixers, and candy thermometers—none of which I have. But I quickly learned that, while these items are ideal, they aren’t strictly necessary for many of the recipes in the book.

Brown breaks each cake down into sections: filling, wet ingredients, dry ingredients, and frosting. You can prepare each component separately, and once it’s time to actually build the cake, your life is made exponentially easier.

The book is split into four sections—The Northeast, The South, The Midwest, and The West—with each state represented by a different sugary confection. We have the likely suspects: Boston’s cream pie, Mississippi’s mud cake, and New York’s cheesecake. But other cakes are a little more… interesting.

Brown chose avocado cupcakes to represent California, my home state. I love avocadoes. I’ve had them in milkshakes, and I’ve eaten them smashed up with milk and sugar (as is common in many Filipino homes), but it would have been more appealing to honor California’s rich Mexican heritage with a tres leches cake, or something equally delicious. I suppose I was just hoping for more, and, frankly, there is something very off-putting about garnishing a cupcake with a slice of avocado.

On the other hand, I really loved the Texas sheet cake. The chocolate cake portion took only minutes to whip up, but the labor intensive (yet well worth the trouble) chocolate pecan icing and sugar pecans threw me for a loop. This is not a cake for the faint of heart; it has enough sweetness to make your teeth hurt, but in the best way. Needless to say, it made my Great Uncle Willy a very happy man.

The Delaware coffee cake was the best I’d ever had. I was sure I’d mess up the nutty, heavily spiced filling and crunchy, ginger-laced topping since I’ve had so many baking mishaps, but after pulling that glorious golden brown cake out of the oven, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

I may become better suited for baking with age, as it requires a great deal of patience. Unlike cooking, it’s not about instant gratification. There is dough to rise, cakes to cool, and frosting to set up. It’s something different, something slower, something sweet. How could that ever be a bad thing?

Written by: Tina Vasquez, September 14th 2010

Hungry Town: A Culinary History of New Orleans, the City Where Food Is Almost Everything

admin — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Tom Fitzmorris

Stewart Tabori & Chang

I’ve had a long and passionate love affair with New Orleans, although I’ve never been there. In fifth grade, I did my state report on Louisiana, and as a bored teenager in a Los Angeles suburb where everything was bright, shiny, and new, I’d dream of spending my days in the historic French Quarter, hanging out in smoky jazz bars and eating poor boy sandwiches at cramped lunch counters. I idealized the city even further when a childhood friend became a teenage runaway, hitchhiking her way to New Orleans with her much older boyfriend, both of them squatting in abandoned houses and panhandling in the streets. For some reason, that sounded like a beat novel I wanted to be a part of, as opposed to the nightmare it actually was.

Like everyone else, I watched with a heavy heart as one of our nation’s finest cities, so completely unlike any other place because of its history, demographics, and genetic makeup, disappeared off the face of the map, under sludge and murky water. I knew New Orleans would recover—it had to—but I was worried it would never be what it once was, that it would turn into a sad caricature of itself. If the premise of Tom Fitzmorris’ book Hungry Town is correct, no matter what happens, New Orleans will never be lost as long as its food culture survives and thrives, breathing life into the incessantly struggling city.

Fitzmorris’s thesis is actually quite simple: Food saved New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Now, I know many won’t believe that. I also know that recommending this book to lovers of food, regional cooking, or the city of New Orleans itself wouldn’t be fair. Truth be told, there are many who won’t understand the purpose of this book. Many will not like the author’s obsessive details or encyclopedic knowledge of the city’s food and restaurants. They'll think he's pompous, self-important, and crazy to think that it was the poor boy or red beans and rice or simple gumbo that saved the city—and that’s fair. But for those of us who know the power of food, its ability to bring people together, to calm the nerves and the soul, and quiet the hunger, we can believe that Fitzmorris is right in every way.

The author is a lifelong New Orleanian who’s been critiquing the city’s food, writing about it in various formats, and discussing it endlessly on his radio show for over thirty years. It all started in the late 1970s, when he began publishing a newsletter called The New Orleans MENU, which lives on today on his website. It would be an understatement to say that Fitzmorris is a fanatic, a man completely obsessed with his city’s food culture, its Creole and Cajun cuisine, and its restaurants; Hungry Town is the embodiment of this fanaticism.

After Hurricane Katrina, the author was forced to stay away from his beloved city for longer than he ever had before: about two weeks. While away, he received word that some of the city’s restaurants were reopening, using bottled water and small burners to feed the crowds that braved the storm. Fitzmorris began calling chefs and friends in the area, each day adding to a list on his website that featured all the eateries that were opening their doors. Just two weeks after the hurricane blew the lid off of New Orleans, twenty-two restaurants were open for service. It is because of this and similar compelling evidence that Fitzmorris believes that food saved New Orleans and that its slow-coming rebirth is beginning in the kitchen.

Interwoven with recipes for delicious New Orleans treats, menus from some of the city’s oldest restaurants, timelines, and a rundown of every major player in the New Orleans food scene, is the story of how Fitzmorris' love affair with his city’s food began. I thought Hungry Town was a beautiful ode to a great city and its wonderful food, but I know it’s not for everyone. This summer, I will be traveling by train to New Orleans and I’ll be using Hungry Town as my restaurant guide, which I think is a testament to how informative Fitzmorris' book is and how alluring a beignet and a cafe au lait can be.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, July 11th 2010

Ham: An Obsession with the Hindquarter

admin — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Mark Scarbrough, Bruce Weinstein

Stewart Tabori & Chang

Finally, a cookbook with some pizazz! Ham: An Obsession with the Hindquarter was written by Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough, food lovers, life partners, and exactly the kind of people who could breathe life into the sometimes stale world of food writing.

The recipes featured in Ham are solid, easy to follow, and delicious, but I was pleasantly surprised by how witty and well-written the book was. Along with the recipes, readers are treated to informative pig/ham-related tidbits sprinkled throughout, testers’ notes for many of the recipes, and personal stories from the writers. It was this last bit that I was particularly fond of.

I’ve never laughed out loud reading a cookbook, but after following the couple’s attempt to make their own dry-cured ham at home I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. If it’s done incorrectly and consumed, it can result in “respiratory failure and paralysis,” but even when the ham is drying properly, it goes through a period where it is regularly “dripping ugly bits of mucousy sludge.” Obviously, dry curing your own ham isn’t a good idea, but checking out this cookbook is. Follow Weinstein and Scarbrough on their endearing journey as they reveal all you ever wanted to know–and in some cases, some things you didn’t want to know–about that porky, fatty thing people all over the world call ham.

I already know this is one of those cookbooks I will go back to time and time again for family get-togethers, dinner parties, and plain ol’ good eatin’. I’m not one to spend a tremendous amount of money on meat when grocery shopping, but I couldn’t have done this book justice without trying one of the duo’s recipes for fresh ham. Thankfully, the book appeared on my doorstep just around Easter, which provided good reason to schlep a massive ham home from the local Mexican market. Which, by the way, was the only non-Whole Foods-like market around to have fresh ham; different than the variety you see at grocery stores around April that are pre-cooked. The recipe called for a ten pounder, which would reportedly feed “six teenage boys, sixteen adults, or twenty-six ‘twentysomething’ models,” so I knew my bone-in twelve pounder would be enough for my voracious family.

The roasted fresh ham with a maple-spice glaze was ridiculously delicious and so unlike the bizarre, overly sweet orange juice-glazed and pineapple-ringed monstrosity I grew up eating when my grandpa did all of the holiday cooking. No, this was crispy-skinned, moist, and had the perfect amount of sweetness thanks to a sugar, cinnamon, allspice, clove, and nutmeg rub down and a good basting of Grade A maple syrup.

All of the other recipes I tested revolved around prosciutto, that salty, fatty, delicious Italian ham that Weinstein and Scarbrough managed to work into everything from pizza to quesadillas–and I loved it all. Some of my favorites were the pizza with dry-cured ham and artichokes. Stubborn as I am, I refused to use store-bought dough as the recipe called for, but I think the dish was better for it because good lord, everyone needs to eat a homemade pizza laced with fatty Italian ham and artichokes.

When testing recipes on my parents, as I often do, my mom would always complain that I never used enough meat; the woman loved her some meat. She seemed excited to hear that I was testing recipes from a book devoted to pork, one of her favorite animals (to eat). One of the last meals I ever cooked for my mom before she died unexpectedly in early May was Ham's recipe for chive and cheddar ham biscuits with honey mustard. I threw some cheese on her biscuit for good measure because if there’s anything she loved more than meat, it was cheese. Needless to say she loved it and I love that a silly cookbook provided one of our last moments together as mother and daughter. Life–and food–is funny like that sometimes.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, June 29th 2010

The Vegetarian Option

admin — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Simon Hopkinson

Stewart Tabori & Chang

In the past, Simon Hopkinson has been referred to as the best cook in Britain who nobody in the States has heard of, but I’m hoping this will soon change. After devouring The Vegetarian Option, I know the chef has a lot to offer when it comes to beautiful, simple food.

Hopkinson first gained acclaim with his 1995 cookbook Roast Chicken and Other Stories, but it seems as if the public has always been a little behind in praising him because it wasn’t until ten years later in 2005 that a panel of chefs, food writers, and consumers in the British magazine _Waitrose Food Illustrated _ voted it “the most useful cookbook of all time.”

Obviously, roast chicken does not a vegetarian make, which is the reason why The Vegetarian Option was so interesting to me: It was written by a non-vegetarian and the book allows readers to determine how strictly they want to adhere to the vegetarian guidelines—giving them the vegetarian option. Hopkinson even urges readers to add protein to some of the dishes if it suits their fancy.

The book, though a bit stiff, was right up my alley because in terms of cooking, there’s nothing I hate more than tortured vegetables. I’m sure you’ve witnessed this: People who don’t really like vegetables slather broccoli in cheese sauce, encase cauliflower in casseroles, and boil everything else until it’s within an inch of its life. Hopkinson’s recipes honor the integrity of the vegetables and by breaking them down into seven sections (Vegetables, Herbs, Pasta, Legumes & Grains, Rice, Eggs, and Fruit), he ensures that the book will include something even the most staunch vegetable hater will be sure to love-or at least like.

Thanks to Hopkinson, I am now the proud owner of a simple Korean kimchi recipe (though it takes five days to ferment and come to fruition), which I used to love eating as a kid when visiting my best friend. Her mother, aunts, and grandma used to spend entire weekends making gallons of the spicy cabbage delicacy and though Hopkinson’s isn’t as spicy and doesn’t include shrimp paste (many consider this essential to kimchi), it’s a nice standby to have on hand.

Lately, I’m very big on conflicting flavors in a single dish. Perhaps this is why I went crazy for Hopkinson’s incredibly healthy and oh-so-delicious carrot salad with cilantro and green chili. Carrots are one of those vegetables that don’t get enough play; they’re jam-packed with essential vitamins and nutrients and delicious eaten raw or cooked. This salad requires a measly seven ingredients (including salt), but the addition of coriander seeds, fresh cilantro, and a spicy jalapeno really bring it to life.

Another standout was the broiled eggplant with pesto; this recipe couldn’t get any easier. After blending together a classic pesto (olive oil, pine nuts, basil, garlic, and parmesan) in my rickety and ancient food processor, I simply smeared it on top of eggplant halves and broiled them until they were golden and bubbly. Frankly, I loved this because it’s stupid simple, yet I would have never thought to combine eggplant and pesto on my own to such delicious results.

At the age of twenty-five, I’ve only encountered one vegetable that I do not like: parsnips. Because of this reason, I gave myself permission to “torture” them a bit by following Hopkinson’s recipe for cheese-crusted fried parsnips with romesco sauce, which is an outrageously tasty blend of almonds, olive oil, garlic, chili, sundried tomatoes, and peppers. Truth be told, an old shoe would taste good if it were crusted in cheese, fried, and dipped in romesco sauce, but these delicious little treats made me a parsnip believer.

I could go on forever about The Vegetarian Option, but unfortunately I can’t. I will say this, though: Whoever said that vegetarians are missing out doesn’t understand all that vegetables are capable of.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, June 12th 2010

French Feasts: 299 Traditional Recipes for Family Meals & Gatherings

admin — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Stéphane Reynaud

Stewart Tabori & Chang

In my humble opinion, French food is where it’s at. This is a cuisine responsible for the five mother sauces, a cuisine that wholeheartedly embraces flaky pastry, a cuisine that loves cream, cheese, and butter! Needless to say, I was incredibly excited to review French Feasts, and when it arrived, I was shocked to find a massive tome of a cookbook on my front porch. This is a serious book, so large it comes with a built-in bookmark. I’m happy to report that the recipes didn’t disappoint, and that the book itself is perhaps the most charming cookbook I’ve ever encountered.

Thumbing through a French cookbook that includes 299 recipes laid out over 400 pages is no easy feat. I didn’t know where to start, so I started at the most obvious place: the beginning. I curled up in bed with a highlighter and post-its and got to work looking over the book’s ten core sections: Charcuterie Anything Goes; Long Live Offal; A Dozen Eggs; What Lovely Vegetables; Moo, Bah, Oink; Poultry; Game Galore; Fish & Shellfish; A Bit of Cheese to Finish my Bread; and Sweet, Sweeter, Saccharine.

This loving opus to French food details the types of elaborate meals many French families share around their table; it even speaks fondly of what I like to refer to as “the nasty bits.” The first few chapters piqued my morbid curiosity. As an omnivore, I appreciate cultures that respect the animals they slaughter enough to make use of all their parts. That being said, I can’t bring myself to eat many of these slippery, slimy things. Perhaps I’m not very adventurous, but offal (entrails and internal organs) will never be my thing. So, as much fun as it was to read about making pig's head sausage in red wine, calf’s liver with lemon, and beef tongue in medeira sauce, I don’t think I’ll be feasting on any of those things anytime soon.

I knew I couldn’t test every recipe, so instead I focused on those that had ingredients that were affordable and easy to come by, as well as dishes that could seamlessly fit into my regular rotation of meals. I can’t recommend any dessert recipes quite yet, as I haven’t had the nerve to tackle them—not because they seem difficult, but because I’m afraid of what I might do if left alone with dozens of Chantilly cream pastries.

French Feasts takes a pretty straightforward, almost comically simple approach to food that we’ve all been told is difficult to prepare. I can clearly picture movie scenes where someone is anxiously checking their soufflé, only to find that it’s deflated in the oven. My cheese soufflé, as instructed by French Feasts, turned out perfectly. It really was like digging into a cheesy, ethereal cloud.

Next up, and one of my all time favorites, French onion soup. Despite my long-standing love of onions, I’d actually never made this soup at home. French Feasts’ version was ridiculously simple, though it was actually called “onion soup for digestion.” It only called for seven ingredients, including olive oil, salt, and pepper. Though it pained me to purchase Gruyere cheese at fifteen bucks a pound, I found a lovely woman at the farmer’s market who cut me a deal on a decent sized hunk. The soup was earthy and cheesy, and the caramelized onions were out of this world; it was basically heaven in a bowl.

Other standouts included hard-boiled eggs topped with homemade mayo all atop mixed greens, my first ever Niçoise salad (so briny, so salty, so complex, so delicious), and emulsion of creamed cauliflower that I now use in place of mashed potatoes.

Aside from the killer recipes, I have to take a second to gush about how charming this cookbook is. It’s in French and English and features drool-worthy color photographs and profiles of French food figures, such as butchers and bakers (no candlestick makers). There are also endearing illustrations and ingredient lists that include things like Basque country fandango CDs. This really is a cookbook that I will go back to over the years and explore over and over again… if all the butter doesn’t kill me first.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, March 24th 2010