GRAND PORTAGE, MINNESOTA
To define the moment of a cuisine’s birth is an attempt to describe the spirit of a people, the ineffable appetite that is held in common, undiminished by time. Americans want a single point of origin, but history refuses to cooperate.
Scholars as well as school-children long considered New England the Eden of our national cuisine. The yearly recreation of Plimoth Plantation’s first harvest meal is an ode to this myth. Each traditional Thanksgiving dish became evidence that the American cuisine sprang from an exchange between New England’s corn-eating, chowder-making, bird-hunting Wampanoag Indians and the Puritan settlers who tried to “civilize” the same ingredients by cooking them British style.
This feather-and-shoe-buckle theory survived until the 1960s, when scholars began to question the Massachusetts colony’s claim. After all, more than a century before the Mayflower landed, Spanish explorers were cooking in St. Augustine, Florida. Their 1503 encampment was short-lived, and a French group landed nearby—and, some say, celebrated the first Thanksgiving—in June of 1564. Within a year, religious zealots from Spain sacked this settlement and, according to other historians, created the earliest Thanksgiving on September 8, 1565. Still other scholars claim that Jamestown was the birthplace of American cuisine.
Karl Koster is an amateur historian and historic reenactor who is obsessed with cooking historically correct American meals. He has little patience with the Big Bang theory of New World cuisine and says that there was no single First Feast.
“Wherever water met land, people converged. They came from different places, they cooked for survival, they ate a lot of nasty things, and most of the time they only had two things in common: purpose and hope. They all believed that the best was yet to come. They approached everything they did as the beginning of a great new world. That’s America. I feel it every time I go back to 1607 for a weekend.”
Since he was a teenager, Mr. Koster has spent most weekends making sense of the present by repeating (or reinventing) the past. He is a historic reenactor. His ability to absorb research and channel the spirit of other times is uncanny. In 1997, he became one of the rare reenactors given the chance to turn pro when he was offered a position as a park ranger at the Grand Portage National Monument on the north shore of Lake Superior. In the mid-eighteenth century, Grand Portage was the inland headquarters of the North West Company, and trappers for British-licensed, Scottish-owned fur companies, French Canadians, and the indigenous Anishinaabeg clan of the Ojibwe nation created a major gateway into the interior of North America. Wearing period clothing, Mr. Koster builds birch-bark canoes, skins beaver tails, and grills moose snout for visitors.
“There are all levels of reenactors,” he says modestly. “You have the guys who want to dress up, play Civil War, and guzzle beer. Then you have the families that want to go back to a Colonial-era farm and learn history together. And then you have a few like me who spend their lives researching and creating museum-quality reenactments. I’ve always been more or less a nerd.”
His single-mindedness has not always been easy. Once at a local 7-Eleven he slipped into an eighteenth-century cadence at the checkout counter. The cashier looked scared. A tollbooth attendant had a similar reaction when Koster had to drive to a pre-Colonial-era reenactment in his costume.
Mr. Koster doesn’t mind the stares. “It’s gotta be jarring to see somebody dressed up in a billowy linen shirt, drop-front hemp britches, and a wide woven sash, with a big tuque on his head, driving an old, beat-up Buick Century,” he said. But he is not without support. His wife, he says, “understands the difficulty of moving from one historical reality to another. She’s never questioned my passion.” Her parents made historically correct period garments and worked the reenactment circuit.
Mr. Koster spent several decades finding his personal spot in the nation’s past—“I’m 1763 to 1821, the British period of the Great Lakes fur trade”—and he has built hundreds of lean-tos, sod huts, and log cabins; worn animal skins, knickers, and trousers; acted out just about every pre–Civil War era of American history; and cooked his way back to the foundation of the nation’s cuisine: the ingredients that were on hand.
“When they talk about the origins of American cooking, everybody goes on about who was here and who came here. But when you start to cook, the first question is ‘What?’ not ‘Who?’
“What was here?” he asks. And then he answers: “Fish and game. And as soon as they cleared a patch of land, there was corn, beans, and squash. No matter where they came from or where they landed, the continental United States gave them corn, beans, and squash. Indigenous people called these ‘the three sisters.’ You might have caught fish, you might have hunted yourself some nice venison or wild boar, but the next thing in the pot was corn, beans, and squash.
“Back when I started, we just took an old-looking pot, dumped some cans of Dinty Moore stew in it, and called it history. Then the research got better. Heck, I spent years experimenting with green wood grills, mud ovens, cooking on hot rocks near the fire, hanging food from wooden tripods over the fire, and working with three-legged pots,” he says, adding, “When you read a journal entry about eating bear meat dipped in boiling maple syrup, well, you just gotta have that and you gotta get it right, so you go back and you read as much as you can find.”
Some find it difficult to understand what the shape and thickness of, say, a 250-year-old pot reveal about why we eat what we eat today, but as he adjusts the forked sticks of the rotisserie where he’s roasting a moose snout in the fire pit at Grand Portage, Mr. Koster is eager to explain. “In my experience, the righter the pot, the righter the utensils, the righter the ingredients, the better your chances of connecting with what the pot or the rotisserie or the clay oven or the food meant to people. The closer you get to what they thought and felt and dreamed when they stirred or tended a cook fire,” he says. “When you connect at that level, you can feel their hunger, feel what it has in common with your own understanding that you are the continuation of a grand dream that often takes the form of a meal.”
ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA
Maggi Smith Hall’s family has lived in St. Augustine for four generations and is happiest when working to preserve the city’s Old-World churches, stores, homes, and history. She relates tales of the Spanish explorers who landed here in the early 1500s, carrying the cattle that would become longhorns, and the missionaries who would attempt to create New Spain in the American Southwest. It was the Spanish, says Mrs. Hall, a former high school teacher, who created the vibrant Florida port, but it was the Minorcans—people brought from Greece, Italy, and the island of Minorca in 1768 and indentured to nearby indigo plantations—who turned St. Augustine into a pan-Mediterranean settlement. Their dishes were united by at least one ingredient: the tiny, hot datil peppers that are still grown in window boxes and kitchen gardens in St. Augustine today. Mrs. Hall was so captivated by the pepper that she created a community cookbook, researching and collecting recipes from the descendants of the original settlers. These Minorcan fromajardis (fried cheese tarts) were traditionally handed out to singers serenading the old neighborhoods on a spring night each year to celebrate the anniversary of the Minorcans’ arrival in Florida. The “Fromajardis Serenade” still continues in St. Augustine the week after Easter. Today, says Mrs. Hall, the zesty little tarts are given most often to those who agree to stop singing.
FOR THE DOUGH
3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1 cup vegetable shortening
½ cup water
FOR THE FILLING
8 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, shredded (about 2 cups)
2 tablespoons unbleached all-purpose flour
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
½ teaspoon kosher salt
⅛ teaspoon Datil Pepper Sauce (recipe follows)
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, melted
1. Place the oven racks in the bottom and top positions and preheat the oven to 425°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
2. To make the dough: In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, and nutmeg. Cut in the shortening with two knives or a dough blender. Add the water and stir until the dough comes together into a ball. Cover and set aside.
3. To make the filling: In a medium bowl, toss the cheese with the flour. Stir in the eggs, salt, hot sauce, and nutmeg.
4. To assemble the pastries: Roll out the dough on a lightly floured work surface until it is ⅛-inch thick. Using a 3-inch biscuit cutter, cut the dough into 24 circles. Place a well-rounded teaspoon of the filling on one side of each circle, then fold the dough over the filling to make a half-moon shape. Pinch the edges of the dough together to seal. Reroll leftover dough to make more pastries with any remaining filling.
5. Brush the pastries with melted butter. Cut two 1-inch slashes in the tops to make a cross. Place on the prepared baking sheets.
6. Bake one baking sheet at a time on the bottom rack about 10 minutes, until lightly browned. The cheese will puff up through the crosses. Transfer the baking sheet to the top rack and bake for 2 to 3 minutes more, until well browned and crisp. Repeat with the second baking sheet. Serve warm or at room temperature.
MAKES 24 PASTRIES, SERVES 8 TO 12
It’s easy to double or triple this recipe and adjust the spiciness to individual tastes. The sauce also makes a wonderful companion to grilled fish, poultry, and meat.
½ cup olive oil
4 large tomatoes, cored and chopped
2 medium-size sweet onions such as Vidalia or Maui, finely chopped
2 whole datil chiles, stemmed
1 cup water
2 teaspoons minced fresh oregano
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
In a medium saucepan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the tomatoes, onions, and chiles and cook, stirring occasionally, about 6 minutes, until the vegetables are soft. Stir in the water, oregano, salt, and pepper. Bring to a simmer and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, about 2 hours, until thick. Store covered in the refrigerator.
MAKES ABOUT 2 CUPS
AMERICANS HAVE ALWAYS EATEN ON THE RUN. AS EARLY as 1677, two French monks visiting New York described the habit: “So intent are they on their business that they do not stop to dine like gentle folk elsewhere. From the multitudinous vendors of clams and corn, oysters and yams, they snatch up what they wish, much as they march.” In Frances Trollope’s 1830 Domestic Manners of the Americans, she summarized the American dining style as “Grab, gobble and go.” Not much has changed. Today snack foods, soft drinks, and alcohol account for 30 percent of the calories consumed in this country, and handheld nibbles, like many of the recipes that follow, remain the top choice for social eating.
OHKAY OWINGEH, NEW MEXICO
Highway 84 runs from Santa Fe to Colorado. About forty minutes north of Santa Fe, the highway cuts a paved path through Ohkay Owingeh, a Native American reservation, and the roadside becomes dense with fast-food outlets, outposts of national grocery chains, Walmart, and billboards for Ohkay Casino. Hutch and Norma Naranjo’s sprawling midcentury home is set about fifty yards back from the road, a shrine to the tug-of-war between new ways and traditional ones. In the backyard Mr. Naranjo built two hornos (beehive-shaped adobe ovens). Inside the house, a handmade wreath of dried chiles hangs on one wall and a string of made-for-tourists ceramic peppers on another. A naïve painting of St. Francis hangs not far from a cluster of the dream catchers that the couple and their two grown children fashion from string, feathers, and yarn, just as their Pueblo ancestors did.
“We go to church one Sunday and dance the traditional dances the next,” said Mrs. Naranjo. A retired social worker, she gives cooking classes and does a little catering. But she spends most of her mornings working the two-acre minifarm where she grows vegetables from seeds that have been passed from one Pueblo generation to another for at least a thousand years. “The history of our people is in those seeds,” she says. In the evenings, when her husband builds hornos on the terraces of hotels and McMansions, Mrs. Naranjo visits the elderly women in Ohkay Owingeh, who remember life and cooking when it was closer to the land, and collects their recipes and food stories. “Our history lives in our hands as well,” she says.
Mrs. Naranjo moves with the efficiency of a modern professional as she smooths cornmeal paste on damp cornhusks. Tiny white kernels from several ears of heirloom corn, and diced green chiles and squash, along with a thick, bloodred chile sauce and shredded fresh cheese, are lined up in small stainless-steel bowls at the head of her tamale assembly line. She notes that tamales were stuffed with rabbit, venison, pork—whatever people had. Vegetable tamales were a fine way to make use of the gardens’ overflowing crops.
She swathes the dough, sprinkles filling, folds, ties, and places the tamale bundles on a rack set over water in a big enameled pot. From time to time, she glances out the window to the backyard, where her husband is feeding small, dry sticks into his new four-by-four horno. Her smaller tamales are, she says, her only concession to modernity: “People love the little ones as snacks, and Hutch and I love them in these green chile stews we make in the horno.”
FOR THE HUSKS AND TAMALE DOUGH
One 8-ounce package dried corn husks, approximately 48 individual husks
3 cups masa harina (preferably Maseca brand)
6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter, softened
¼ vegetable oil or fresh lard
¾ teaspoon kosher salt
1½ teaspoons baking powder
About 1½ cups warm water
FOR THE FILLING
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
3 cups diced peeled calabaza, zucchini, or summer squash, in ½-inch pieces
1 cup Red Chile Sauce (recipe follows)
2 cups fresh chico corn kernels or other small, sweet corn kernels
4 to 6 roasted green chiles (canned or fresh), seeded and thinly sliced into 2-inch-long strips
2 cups shredded mozzarella or other fresh mild cheese
1. To prepare the husks: Separate the bundle into individual husks, place them in a pot of warm water over medium-low heat, and simmer for 5 to 10 minutes, until soft. Remove from the heat, place a plate on top of the husks to keep them under water, and soak for 1 hour.
2. Meanwhile, prepare the dough by placing the masa harina in a large bowl. Knead in the butter. Add the vegetable oil. Add the salt and baking powder and knead to combine thoroughly. Add the water, ½ cup at a time, stirring or kneading after each addition, until the dough is slightly pliant and rather pasty. Cover and set aside.
3. To prepare the filling: Warm the vegetable oil in a cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add the squash and cook 1 to 2 minutes, shaking the pan so that each side of the squash toasts slightly. Transfer to a bowl.
4. To assemble the tamales: Pat the cornhusks dry and cut into 4-inch squares. Cut some of the husks into thin strips for tying the tamales (cut at least 40 strips). Spread 1 tablespoon of the dough in the center of a husk square to create a 2½-inch square. Brush a little chile sauce over the dough, sprinkle on a little squash, and then a little corn. Lay a piece of green chile on the middle of the filling and sprinkle with cheese.
5. As if covering a small package with wrapping paper, fold the sides of the husk toward the center, then the ends. Tie the bundle with a husk strip. When the tamales have been assembled, place upright on a steaming rack over boiling water. Cover and cook for 20 minutes. Serve as an appetizer or with a green chile sauce.
MAKES ABOUT 36 SMALL TAMALES
Mrs. Naranjo says, “A lot of these traditional dishes are being modernized. You see chefs putting spices and things in their red chile. My grandmother only used salt. I only use salt. This sauce can also be used to make red meat chile or chile filling for tamales, or to give thickness and smoky fire to other soups and stews.”
15 large dried New Mexico red chiles
Boiling water
2 teaspoons vegetable oil, butter, or meat fat such as lard or suet
2 teaspoons masa harina, corn flour, or unbleached all-purpose flour
1 to 2 teaspoons kosher salt
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Place a baking sheet in the oven until hot. Put on rubber gloves and remove the stems and seeds from the chiles. Pull the baking sheet out of the oven and use tongs to arrange the chiles on it in a single layer. Slide back in the oven and roast until the chiles are fragrant, about 5 minutes.
2. Remove from oven and use tongs to transfer the chiles to a heatproof bowl. Add enough boiling water to cover the chiles and allow to sit until cool, 30 to 40 minutes. Transfer the peppers and 3 cups of the soaking liquid to a food processor or blender. Reserve the remaining liquid. Blend or process the chiles until smooth.
3. Warm the oil over medium heat. Whisk in the masa harina. Reduce the heat to low and slowly add the pureed chiles, whisking constantly. Slowly whisk in salt to taste. Add additional water, if necessary, to get a thick but pourable consistency. This sauce will keep in a tightly covered glass jar up to 2 weeks in the refrigerator. It can also be frozen.
MAKES ABOUT 4 CUPS
TOOELE, UTAH
John Newman is 41 years old, and he began cooking from Charles Schulz’s Peanuts Cook Book when he was in grade school. His mother was less than enthusiastic about his constant presence in the kitchen: “Gender roles are generally not bent much in Mormon households,” he says. But in addition to mastering the art of Peanuts cooking, Mr. Newman absorbed some of the recipes that his family brought from Denmark in the mid-1800s when they followed the Mormon founder Brigham Young to Utah. His great-grandmother, Rebecca Hales, was a captain in the Daughters of the Utah Pioneer and was famous for her ableskivers. The small, round batter cakes are cooked in distinctive iron pans with cupcake-shaped depressions and are usually filled with fruit. His great-grandmother made her ableskivers with gooseberry jam, plain sugar, or a traditional apple filling. Mr. Newman has pushed the recipe into a more savory direction, adding sausage or blue cheese and serving the puffs as appetizers or brunch, with tart currant jam on the side.
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
½ teaspoon kosher salt
6 large eggs, separated
2 cups buttermilk
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 pound firm blue cheese, cut into 48 small pieces
1. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. In a medium bowl, whisk the egg yolks until smooth, then whisk in the buttermilk until well blended. In another large bowl, whip the egg whites with an electric mixer until stiff peaks form.
2. Stir the buttermilk mixture into the flour mixture just until blended. Do not overmix. Fold the egg whites into the batter until almost no white streaks remain.
3. Heat an ableskiver pan over medium heat. Lightly brush the inside of each well of the pan with the melted butter. Working in batches, spoon 1 rounded tablespoon of batter into each well, drop a piece of blue cheese in the batter, and top with a little more batter. Cook for 2 to 3 minutes, until the top of the batter becomes very bubbly. Flip the ableskivers using a metal skewer, and cook for 2 to 3 minutes more, until browned.
4. Using the metal skewer, transfer the ableskivers to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain briefly. Repeat with the remaining batter, brushing the pan with butter between each batch. Serve warm.
SERVES 6 TO 8
NOTE: Ableskiver pans are available in most cookware shops.
WOODSTOCK, VERMONT
Born in Ireland and educated in British boarding schools, Charles Shackleton came from a family of adventurers. His forebears dared the harsh and uncharted Antarctic; Mr. Shackleton, along with his wife, Miranda Thomas, dared the uncharted territory of a handmade life. Situated in a sprawling former woolen mill, his furniture workshop and her pottery studio have become shrines for artists, craftspeople, gardeners, and passionate home cooks, and have helped revive a desolate New England mill town. “We like to make things with our hands and to connect people with each other and to the land,” says Mr. Shackleton. The couple are in their early fifties, have two grown children, two young Jack Russell terriers, twenty employees, and the reputation for giving some of the best parties in the Green Mountains. Their home, an 1814 stone and clapboard cottage perched on a hillside 1,000 feet above the Ottaquechee River, has no foundation, and despite the hay bales stuffed under the structure, fierce drafts blow up through the floorboards. From October until April, life, dinner, and parties revolve around the wood-fired oven that shares the massive chimney with the red brick fireplace.
“I grew up next to the fireplace in a drafty old Irish country house, so this house feels like home,” says Mr. Shackleton. “We’re about being present and living well, not nostalgia. But sometimes you just need a fix of the past. I can get a little obsessive. Once I spent months trying to make the perfect crumpet—traveling to a mill, trying to find the right flour, the right pan, the right technique. I even sponsored a contest just to see other people make them. Crumpets are a stovetop operation. I moved on to bread, and I figured out pretty quickly that the bread bakes best in the wood oven. Pizza followed naturally.
“Every week or so, I make the dough, the naked pizza, and we put out bowls of roasted peppers, tomato sauce, cheese, herbs, chicken, sausage, wafers of ham, black olives, sautéed vegetables. People, lots of people, show up and make their own pies. When we cook together and put the food on the pottery that Miranda makes and set it out on a table I’ve built, people understand why we do what we do and why we care about the things we care about. The next thing you know, they’ve pushed all the furniture out of the way and turned the house into a disco, out-of-town guests, our friends, the kids who apprentice with us, town elders, and members of the local homemakers’ club. Ordinary pizza might not have the same power.
“I started with a recipe from Alice Waters and added some more brown grains. My father was a miller, you know, and there are a few wonderful artisanal grain growers and millers in Vermont. If I didn’t have a wood oven that I can fire up to 700 degrees in ten minutes, I probably wouldn’t make pizza. But I do know someone who gets a wonderful smoky, crisp crust by grilling his pizza. He pats out the dough, lays it on a hot grill without the toppings. He cooks it on one side, flips it, adds the toppings, covers the grill and cooks it until it is all lovely and bubbly.”
2 tablespoons active dry yeast
1½ cups lukewarm water
3¼ cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading
1½ cups stone-ground rye flour
¼ cups Irish wholemeal flour (or stone-ground whole-wheat flour)
1 tablespoon fine sea salt
2 cups water
¾ cup high quality olive oil
Miranda Thomas’s Modest Red Sauce (recipe follows)
Toppings (such as roasted peppers, sautéed vegetables, cooked Italian sausages and chicken, wafers of ham, black olives, cheese, and herbs)
1. Dissolve the yeast in the lukewarm water in a large bowl. Stir in 1½ cups of the unbleached flour, ¾ cup of the rye flour, and the wholemeal flour, and let sit in a warm place until the mixture is bubbly, about 30 minutes.
2. In another bowl, combine the remaining flours with the salt. Stir this mixture, 2 cups water, and the olive oil into the yeast mixture. Lightly flour a work surface and knead the dough until it is satiny and no longer sticky, about 5 minutes. Place in a large, clean bowl, cover with a clean kitchen towel, and allow to rise in the refrigerator overnight.
3. Two hours before serving, remove the dough from the refrigerator and allow to come to room temperature. Punch it down and divide the dough into six equal pieces. Pat each into a ball and let sit on a tray at room temperature, covered with a towel, for another hour. While the dough is rising, set the oven rack in the lowest position and preheat oven to its highest heat (450°–500°F).
4. Lightly flour the work surface and use a rolling pin to roll each ball into a thin, 10-inch circle. Transfer to a baking sheet. Apply a thin layer of sauce or olive oil along with other desired toppings, and bake until the dough is golden and crisp and the toppings are cooked through, 5 to 15 minutes depending on the oven’s heat. Serve each pizza as soon as it is done.
MAKES SIX 10-INCH PIZZAS
WOODSTOCK, VERMONT
Miranda Thomas says, “When I was in art school back in England, there was a boy from France who made pots with me, and he taught me to make this sauce. He used fresh tomatoes, blanched them and skinned and seeded them, but that was only because we couldn’t get high quality canned crushed tomatoes. It is important to get the measurements right, especially the pepper, and to cook the sauce very slowly to get a mellow, slightly sweet taste. Charlie and I use this sauce on the pizzas we serve to big groups. We usually put the toppings out for people to choose and serve a big salad as well.”
¼ cup high quality olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, minced
Kosher salt
2 garlic cloves, smashed
One 28-ounce can crushed plum tomatoes and juice
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon dried basil or 2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
20 turns of black pepper from a grinder
1. Warm the olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion, season with a pinch of salt, reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, until the onion is translucent, 5 to 10 minutes more.
2. Add the tomatoes, oregano, basil, and black pepper. Reduce the heat to the very lowest setting, partially cover the pot, and simmer for 30 to 45 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce is thick. Add salt to taste. The sauce will keep up to 1 week in a tightly-covered glass or plastic container in the refrigerator.
MAKES ABOUT 3½ CUPS, ENOUGH FOR EIGHT 10-INCH PIZZAS OR A POUND OF PASTA
BILOXI, MISSISSIPPI
Maile Nguyen is 36 years old, the daughter of a shrimper, and the wife and sister of shrimpers. Her earliest memory is how her mother, a Vietnamese refugee and a widow, smelled when she returned home after working fourteen hours in a fish-processing house. After they moved to Biloxi as a result of bad weather and low harvests the family lived cheek by jowl in refugee housing. Before anyone in the family learned English, shopping for food was scary. In the grocery stores, basil and mint was sold dried, not in the bunches found year-round today; there was only one variety of rice; and finding fish sauce, the ketchup of Vietnamese cooking, was impossible. But even in bad years, there was shrimp enough to eke by. Today in Biloxi, there is a Buddhist temple, the major holidays are celebrated in a big way, some of the markets rival those of Saigon, and Mrs. Nguyen has the luxury of staying at home to raise her children and look after her mother. For the family’s two biggest holidays—Tet, the Vietnamese lunar New Year, and the Fourth of July—she makes this traditional Vietnamese pancake. Her husband calls them “Vietnamese tacos,” her mother calls them “thank God somebody else is cooking them,” and people in their neighborhood call them delicious.
FOR THE SAUCE
¼ cup water
2 tablespoons Vietnamese fish sauce (nuoc mam), plus additional to taste
4½ teaspoons fresh lime juice
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon Vietnamese chili paste, or 1 small red chile, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
FOR THE PANCAKES
2 cups fresh mint leaves
2 cups fresh Thai basil leaves, lightly packed
2 cups fresh cilantro leaves, lightly packed
2 cups bean sprouts
2 cups rice flour
1 cup water
1 cup unsweetened coconut milk
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ cup vegetable oil, plus more as needed
4 ounces white mushrooms, thinly sliced (optional)
½ pound ground pork
1 pound medium shrimp (21 to 25 per pound), peeled and deveined
4 scallions, green and white parts, thinly sliced
1. To make the sauce: In a small bowl, stir together water, 2 tablespoons fish sauce, lime juice, sugar, chili paste, and garlic. Season with additional fish sauce to taste, and cover.
2. To make the pancakes: Arrange the mint, basil, cilantro, and bean sprouts on a serving platter and refrigerate. In a large bowl, whisk together the rice flour, water, coconut milk, turmeric, and salt.
3. In a large nonstick skillet, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over high heat. Add the mushrooms (if using) and cook for 4 to 6 minutes, until lightly browned. Add the pork and cook, stirring frequently, for 3 to 4 minutes, until any lumps are broken up and the meat is no longer pink. Stir in the shrimp and scallions and cook about 3 minutes, until the shrimp are pink. Transfer the mixture to a bowl.
4. In an 8-inch nonstick skillet, heat 2 teaspoons oil over medium-high heat. Add ¼ cup of the batter and tilt the pan to coat the bottom and sides. Reduce the heat to medium and cook about 2 minutes, until the pancake begins to brown on the bottom and is crisp at the edges. (If needed, add 1 to 2 teaspoons more oil around the edges to keep the pancake crisp.)
5. Mound about ½ cup of the shrimp mixture on one half of the pancake, then fold the pancake over the filling to make a half-moon shape. Slide the pancake out of the pan. Repeat with the remaining oil, batter, and filling. Serve with the fresh herbs, bean sprouts, and sauce.
SERVES 4
WHEN WHITE SETTLERS ARRIVED ON the North American continent, no fish were more abundant than the sturgeon that lived in the lakes, streams, and rivers from New England to the Great Lakes, the Mississippi River, and the Pacific Northwest. By the nineteenth century, the United States produced 90 percent of the world’s caviar. Maine’s Kennebec River was second only to the Hudson River in sturgeon production, and no one, particularly no member of Downeast clans like the Brownes of Harpswell, Maine, who’d worked the local waters since before Maine was a state, could “fawthum” (as they say) that the giant sturgeon would ever disappear. But in 1949, Rod Browne (above) caught the last great sturgeon that anyone remembers, a 145-pound female, nine and a half feet long. Sturgeon fisheries in the Caspian Sea took over the caviar trade, but concern about that area eventually led to international limits on importation, and by the 1980s scientists were experimenting with alternative ways to grow domestic sturgeon and harvest their caviar. Today, Tennessee, North Carolina, Kentucky, Ohio, Arkansas, California, Washington, and Alaska are producing caviar from different varieties of sturgeon, most of them farm-raised.
PORTLAND, MAINE
Rod Browne Mitchell, the nephew and namesake of the man who caught the last Kennebec River sturgeon, is still in the family business. His Browne Trading Company in Portland, Maine, is one of the nation’s premier caviar suppliers. He samples pounds of the world’s best each year. The flavor of the fish eggs always takes him back to early mornings at his grandfather’s fishing camp on Quahog Bay and the smell of his grandmother’s clam pancakes. Downeast families sold the finest fish, and ate what remained. That was the thrifty and proper thing to do. The sturgeon are gone, but there are still lots of clams. These pancakes are exclusive to the Browne family: “The regular clam cake was not popular in our house; maybe that is why my grandmother tried pancake batter,” he says. As children, they wanted a sweet batter and drowned the pancakes in maple syrup. This savory version makes a fine first course or finger food.
1 cup milk
¼ cup heavy cream
¼ cup water
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
2 teaspoons sugar
1½ teaspoons kosher salt
Vegetable oil, for the griddle
2 dozen littleneck clams, steamed, removed from the shell, and left whole
Nuns clamming on Long Island, 1957.
1. In a medium bowl, combine the milk, cream, water, and egg. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, add the milk mixture, and stir until combined.
2. Heat a griddle or large nonstick skillet over medium heat and lightly brush with oil. Working in batches, spoon 1-tablespoon portions of batter onto the griddle, spaced 1 inch apart, and cook for 1 to 2 minutes, until small holes appear. Place 1 clam on the top of each pancake, flip, and cook for 1 to 2 minutes more, until lightly browned. Transfer the pancakes to a serving plate and repeat with the remaining batter and clams, brushing the griddle with oil between each batch. Serve.
MAKES 24 PANCAKES; SERVES 8 TO 12
WILLIS WHARF, VIRGINIA
The Eastern Shore of Virginia, which stretches from the Eastern Shore of Maryland to the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay, has been a prosperous fishing ground for oysters, crabs, and clams for centuries. There, clam fritters are ubiquitous, and the competition to make the finest flat, fluffy fritter has gone on for generations. Right now, nobody makes them better than Bobby Bridges, a 58-year-old waterman and house painter.
Mr. Bridges moved to the Eastern Shore after high school, married a local girl and never left. From the start, he made a greaseless clam fritter. He says that his recipe has been in his wife Debbie’s family since the nineteenth century.
“It’s not that hard. You want to use real fresh chowder clams, grind them with a Universal food chopper, not a food processor, and get them real dry before you put them in the batter, and you want to make sure to make the fritters bigger than your hamburger bun. Nothing worse than a bigger roll and you have to lift up the top to see what’s in it. A clam fritter got to hang out of the roll. That’s the way I like it. I want to see it, not hide it.”
1 pound freshly shucked chowder clams, with their juices
½ white onion, minced
Vegetable oil or lard, for frying
2 large eggs
¼ teaspoon fine sea salt
Pinch of freshly ground black pepper
Pinch of cayenne pepper (optional)
¼ cup baking mix (preferably Bisquick)
4 hamburger buns, for serving (optional)
Mustard, mayonnaise (preferably Duke’s brand), and lettuce leaves, for serving (optional)
1. Pour clams and juice into a hand-cranked food grinder and coarsely grind into a fine-mesh strainer set over a bowl. Lift and turn the clams gently, pressing down lightly with spatula so they’re as well drained as possible. The clam juice can be used for chowder or frozen up to six months.
2. Pass the onion through the food grinder into a fine-mesh strainer over another bowl. Discard the onion juice.
3. Line two baking sheets with paper towels. Working in batches, spoon the clams on to the first baking sheet. Blot as dry as possible.
4. Place a large, deep cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Add enough vegetable oil to reach halfway up the sides.
5. Meanwhile, in a mixing bowl, beat the eggs until frothy. Season lightly with the salt, black pepper, and a few grains of cayenne, if desired. Stir in the baking mix, then the onions. Working quickly, fold in the clams.
6. When the oil is hot, drop 3 tablespoons of the batter for each fritter into the oil and gently flatten with a heatproof rubber spatula to a circle 5 to 6 inches in diameter. Fry for 7 minutes on each side.
7. When fritters are golden and cooked through, drain on paper towels and blot well. If desired, serve on soft white hamburger rolls, with mustard, mayonnaise, and lettuce.
MAKES 4 FRITTERS
PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND
Master plumber and amateur chef Mike DiMuccio is part of a cooking club comprised of fifteen of his food-obsessed friends who meet in his basement to bottle their own wine. As the club grew, its operations spread to the first floor of his commercial building, so he installed a professional kitchen, where the club members now compete with each other. His fried squid with hot pepper sauce is a product of his own Italian background, but also reflects some of the Portuguese influence of his hometown. He feels that the local Kenyon’s Grist Mill white or yellow cornmeal is best for breading, but whatever you choose, the single most important factor is to bread the squid very lightly so that the flavor comes through. It doesn’t hurt to grow your own peppers and pickle them, either.
4 cups whole milk
1 pound squid, cleaned, tentacles removed and reserved, bodies cut into ½-inch rings
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup drained sliced pickled peppers such as Italian Banana or Portuguese Hot
1 teaspoon onion powder
Vegetable oil, for frying
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1. In a large bowl, combine the milk and squid, cover, and let soak in the refrigerator for 12 to 24 hours.
2. About 1 hour before frying, drain the squid and spread in an even layer on a baking sheet to dry.
3. While the squid dries, in a large skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook about 30 seconds, until aromatic. Stir in the peppers and onion powder and cook until the peppers are tender, 2 to 4 minutes. Keep warm.
4. In a Dutch oven, heat 2 inches of oil until a deep-frying thermometer reads 365°F to 375°F, or a pinch of flour sizzles in the oil. Season the squid with salt and pepper and lightly coat with flour, shaking off the excess. Carefully add one-third of the squid to the hot oil and cook for 45 seconds to 1½ minutes, until light golden brown and tender. Transfer the squid to a paper-towel-lined baking sheet to drain. Return the oil to 375°F and repeat with the remaining squid in two more batches.
5. Add the squid to the skillet, toss with the butter mixture, and serve.
SERVES 4
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA
Jody Williams, cofounder of the Internet campaign to ban land mines, and Nobel Peace laureate, has traveled the globe advocating for social justice. Forbes magazine named her one of its most powerful women in the world, but the few days a year that she is at home and cooking with her husband, Steve Goose, are her happiest. The couple loves to meld Asian ingredients—like the panko bread crumbs and lime juice in this crab cake recipe—with her family’s traditional Sicilian cooking. Cooking one’s way to peace is just as good as any other path. “At the end of the day, people commune over food,” she says. “Cooking and eating brings people together and is the building block of community.” (Her avocado sauce recipe makes a fine dip for chips, as well.)
FOR THE SAUCE
1 avocado, halved, pitted, and flesh scooped out
¼ cup half-and-half
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 teaspoons finely chopped jalapeño chile
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
FOR THE CRAB CAKES
8 ounces lump crabmeat, picked over for shells and cartilage
¼ cup half-and-half
2 tablespoons finely chopped onion
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 garlic cloves, minced
1½ teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon celery seed
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 dashes hot sauce
½ cup panko bread crumbs, plus more for coating the cakes
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1. To make the sauce: In a blender or food processor, process the avocado, half-and-half, lime juice, and jalapeño about 30 seconds, until smooth. Transfer the sauce to a small bowl and season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover and refrigerate until needed.
2. To make the crab cakes: In a medium bowl, mix together the crabmeat, half-and-half, onion, lime juice, egg, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, celery seed, pepper, and hot sauce. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
3. Stir the panko into the chilled crab mixture and shape into eight patties about 1 inch thick. Lightly coat the outside of the patties with panko.
4. In a large nonstick skillet, heat the oil and butter over medium heat. When the butter is sizzling, add the crab cakes and cook for 6 to 8 minutes, gently turning over once, until golden brown on both sides. Transfer the crab cakes to a serving platter or individual plates and serve with the sauce.
SERVES 4
CORVALLIS, OREGON
Gravlax, a Scandinavian dish, is cured with salt and sugar and lightly flavored with mustard powder and black pepper. But in the Pacific Northwest, where wild salmon are still plentiful, other herbs and wild greens that evoke the untamed flavor of the northern woods are used. In this recipe, pine needles add a citrus bite that cuts the rich, gamey flavor of the wild fish. (With the exception of yew, which can be toxic, most pine, spruce, fir, and juniper needles are edible in moderate quantities. Check a reliable field guide for any counter-indications.) Channing Ockley, a medical technologist whose forebears emigrated from Scotland to help build the salmon industry in the early nineteenth century, sometimes uses maple syrup in place of the sugar to pack the salmon. It adds a subtle smoky flavor to the cured fish.
½ cup sugar
6 tablespoons kosher salt
Two 1-pound center-cut salmon fillets
1½ cups pine needles, rinsed well and coarsely chopped
2 teaspoons white peppercorns, crushed
1. In a small bowl, combine the sugar and salt. Pat the salmon dry with a paper towel. Sprinkle 2 tablespoons of the mixture evenly over the flesh side of each fillet. Sprinkle the bottom of a glass baking dish with ¼ cup of the mixture.
2. Chop the pine needles and peppercorns together to make a coarse mash. Scatter 1 tablespoon of this mixture on top of the sugar mixture in the baking dish.
3. Lay one of the salmon pieces skin side down in the glass dish. Spread one-half of the remaining pine needle mixture on the exposed flesh side of the fish, then sprinkle with 3 tablespoons more sugar mixture. Place the second salmon piece flesh side down on top of the first piece. Sprinkle with the remaining 3 tablespoons of the sugar mixture and the remaining pine needle mixture.
4. Cover the salmon loosely with aluminum foil. Weight the salmon with a cutting board or a small platter and refrigerate for 5 hours to allow the salt to leech out as much liquid as possible.
5. Drain the liquid in the dish, turn the fish over, keeping the “sandwich” together, and reapply the weight. Refrigerate for at least 48 hours more.
6. Before serving, wipe off the pine needles with a paper towel. Slice the salmon paper thin on a bias and serve.
SERVES 12
SHELTON, WASHINGTON
Bill Taylor’s great-grandfather began cultivating shellfish over a century ago, and today the family continues to grow some of the nation’s best oysters and mussels in the bays and inlets of Puget Sound. Like most inveterate oyster lovers, Mr. Taylor believes that a great oyster needs no embellishment. This sauce, inspired by the Japanese watermen who help tend the family’s acres, is almost enough to change his mind.
⅔ cup citrus-seasoned soy sauce
⅓ cup finely chopped daikon
2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger
2 dozen oysters (preferably small ones like Kumamoto), on the half shell
In a small bowl, stir together the soy sauce, daikon, and ginger. Top each oyster with 1 teaspoon of the soy sauce mixture and serve on a bed of crushed ice.
SERVES 6 TO 8
THE CONTINENTAL UNITED STATES HAS NEARLY 5,000 MILES OF COASTLINE, AND SOME of the richest oyster patches in the world are created where the shores dip into estuaries or break into inlets and the ocean meets fresh water. American waters hold more than 200 known varieties of oysters, and their flavors range from sweet to briny, plump to lean, creamy to coppery. Their sizes range from the teeny Olympia variety of the Pacific Northwest to the big, gnarly-shelled Blue Points from Long Island, New York.
If you begin in northern New England and follow the American coastline, the first oysters you’ll eat will be clean and briny, thanks to the cold northeast waters. South along the Atlantic seaboard and around the Gulf of Mexico, oysters grow increasingly fatty and their flavor milder. On the Pacific Coast, the mollusks gain more mineral tones.
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
For nearly half a century, Antoine Alciatore, the classically trained chef and founder of Antoine’s restaurant in New Orleans, had watched le tout le monde thrill to his haute escargots. But by 1899, appetite for the dish began to wane. Casting about for a solution, Antoine’s son Jules created a dish of oysters baked with parsley and added local spinach and bacon. He christened it Huitres en Coquille à la Rockefeller. And an American classic was born. Soon, fine restaurants nationwide had their own version of “Oysters Rockefeller”; the dish remains a menu staple today. The Alciatore family has never shared the original recipe. This version is adapted from the recipe for Oysters Rockefeller included in The Revised Edition of the Up-to-Date Cook Book compiled under the auspices of the Ladies Aid Sewing Society of New Orleans, and first published in 1915.
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
¾ cup minced fresh parsley
2 scallions, green and white parts, minced
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
Pinch of kosher salt
2 dozen oysters, on the half shell
4 slices bacon, each cut into 6 squares
1 packed cup stemmed, washed, and finely shredded fresh spinach
⅓ cup fresh bread crumbs
1. Preheat the broiler.
2. In a medium bowl, combine the butter, parsley, scallions, cayenne, and salt.
3. Place the oysters on a baking sheet or broiler pan and cover each with a generous teaspoon of the butter mixture and a square of bacon.
4. Divide the spinach evenly among the oysters and pack it on. Top each with equal amounts.
5. Broil the oysters about 5 minutes, until the bread crumbs are lightly browned and the mixture is bubbly. Serve immediately.
SERVES 12
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
Sue Wespy Ceravolo, former garde-manger at the Ritz-Carlton in New Orleans, says: “I remember seeing it around in the 1990s and it’s been spreading like kudzu ever since. In order to get a strong, wood-smoked oyster, you need to shuck the oysters and place them in melted butter so they can soak up the flavor, and heat the shells over a screaming hot fire. Then you place the oyster and its juice back in the shell and top it with the butter. It doesn’t get overcooked in the couple minutes it takes to melt the butter and let the flavors marry.”
2 dozen large oysters
FOR THE COMPOUND BUTTER
½ pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2 anchovy fillets, rinsed, patted dry, and minced (to equal 1½ teaspoons)
4 to 6 garlic cloves, minced (to equal 2 tablespoons)
1 small shallot, minced (to equal 1 tablespoon)
3 drops sriracha sauce, or more to taste
¼ teaspoon minced fresh chili or red pepper flakes
⅛ teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon minced flat-leaf parsley
FOR THE TOPPING
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
½ cup fine dry bread crumbs
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
1. Prepare a charcoal grill or preheat the oven to 500°F. Place a fine-mesh strainer over a pint container. Open the oysters, and place the meat in the strainer to allow the juices to drain. Refrigerate both. Thoroughly scrub the shells.
2. To make the compound butter: Combine the butter, anchovies, and the reserved oyster juice in a food processor and pulse. Add the garlic, shallot, sriracha sauce, chili, white pepper, and lemon juice and pulse. Transfer to a bowl and fold in the parsley. Transfer one-quarter to a container, cover, and refrigerate. Place remaining three-quarters of the compound butter in a warm place to melt.
3. To make the topping: Melt the butter in a cast-iron skillet over medium heat. When hot, add the bread crumbs and toast lightly, stirring constantly, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a bowl. When cool, stir in the cheese.
4. When the compound butter is melted, add oysters and stir gently to coat them. Place scrubbed shells on a grill rack over the fire or on a baking sheet in the oven until very hot. Carefully spoon an oyster and a little of the melted butter into each shell. Place about 1 teaspoon of topping on each oyster. Top with a chunk of cold compound butter and an additional sprinkling of topping, and cook until the oysters begin to plump. Serve immediately.
SERVES 4 TO 6
NORWALK, CONNECTICUT
Vincent Vellotti had bright blue eyes, a cherubic face, and a cleft chin, and stood not a bit over five feet six inches tall. But to his grandchildren, whom he roused before dawn to take fishing or practice baseball, he was larger than life. A child during the Great Depression, Grandpa Vellotti supported his family by selling toothbrushes and pocket combs door to door and by fishing for dinner in the Norwalk, Connecticut, harbor. Eventually, he became one of the best-known and most successful real estate brokers around. He also founded the local Little League, and his dedication to young players earned him a place in the Little League Baseball Hall of Fame. Next to witnessing a 10-year-old’s grand slam, he was most enthusiastic about digging clams. The late patriarch’s clam preparation—which his grandson has taken up a notch by adding garlic and hot pepper sauce—is served whenever his descendants gather.
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter
1 shallot, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons hot sauce
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Fresh lemon juice
1½ dozen littleneck clams, soaked in cold water for 30 minutes and drained
2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley
1. Prepare a charcoal grill or heat a grill pan on high heat.
2. In a small saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the shallot and garlic and cook for 2 to 4 minutes, until just beginning to brown. Remove from the heat, stir in the hot sauce, and season with salt, pepper, and lemon juice to taste.
3. Drain the clams and place them on the grill, spaced evenly apart, arranged neatly. Grill about 8 minutes, until the clams open slightly, then use tongs to open them completely.
4. Spoon about 1 teaspoon of the sauce onto each clam and grill for 1 to 2 minutes more. Transfer the clams to a serving platter, sprinkle with parsley, and serve.
SERVES 4 TO 6
MINERAL POINT, WISCONSIN
Florida is oranges. Texas is beef. Maine is lobster. And in the 1920s, some marketer decided that Wisconsin should be cheese. The state had no history of cheese making, and no more dairy cows than Vermont or New York. It did, however, have a surplus of milk. By 1945, through a combination of savvy public relations and strategic agricultural investment, the state had 1,500 cheese factories that produced 515 million pounds of cheese a year. There were giant wheels and bricks of compressed dairy product called Swiss, Mozzarella, Provolone, Gorgonzola, Camembert, Brie, Muenster, Limburger, Cheddar, Gouda, and Edam. Most were orange, but that didn’t matter. There was lots and lots of it. In 1964, the world’s largest cheese, a fourteen-and-a-half-foot-diameter cheddar that weighed seventeen tons, was shipped to the World’s Fair in New York. By then, most of the state’s cheese factories were owned by large companies like Kraft or Borden, not small farmers.
But about ten years ago, artisanal cheeses began appearing in the land of Big Cheese. Cheese makers like Tony Hook, whose factory in Mineral Point produced 1.5 million pounds of commercial-grade cheese a year, and his wife, Julie, switched to making fine farmstead cheeses and selling them at farmers’ markets. Mr. Hook, who made industrial cheese for thirty-nine years before “learning to make real special cheese,” won praises for his double-cream blue cheese and Stilton-inspired Tilston Point. In a state where fried cheese curds are ubiquitous, he and his wife realized they’d better invent a snack using their super-rich, quick-to-melt cheeses. This recipe is their answer.
The Hooks, who don giant cheese-wedge hats as quickly as any other Wisconsin sports fan, find these gourmet curds difficult to resist.
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
4 large eggs
2 cups fresh bread crumbs
1 tablespoon minced fresh thyme
2 teaspoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon sweet paprika
Freshly ground white pepper
1 pound sharp cheddar cheese (preferably Hook’s Three Year Sharp Cheddar), cut into 2-inch chunks
¼ cup vegetable oil, for frying
Kosher salt
1. Place the flour in a shallow bowl. In another shallow bowl, whisk the eggs together. In a third shallow bowl, combine the bread crumbs, thyme, cornstarch, paprika, and ½ teaspoon white pepper.
2. Working with a few cheese chunks at a time, dip in the flour, shaking to remove any excess so the cheese chunks are only lightly coated. Dip the chunks in egg, then lightly coat with the bread crumb mixture. Place the breaded chunks on a large plate. Repeat until all of the chunks are breaded, then freeze for 30 minutes.
3. In a large skillet, heat the oil until a deep-frying thermometer reads 365°F to 375°F or a pinch of flour bubbles and sizzles in the oil. Using tongs, carefully add the frozen chunks and fry about 3 minutes, until crisp and golden brown on all sides, turning as needed. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and serve immediately.
SERVES 6 TO 8
CORYDON, INDIANA
For several decades, Bill McIntyre has driven trucks and stalked roadside ethnic food across the United States. His tractor-trailers are often carrying huge deliveries of snack food—Pop Tarts, Cheerios, or potato chips—but his appetite runs more toward Indian, Mexican, Vietnamese, Syrian, Somali, and Caribbean restaurants off the beaten track. One particular weakness has remained constant. The guy cannot say no to a good Greek meal. He was converted (literally) years ago by a Greek friend when he spent a short stint in England. Returning home, Mr. McIntyre joined St. Michael’s Greek Orthodox Church. He’s been an active member for twenty-five years and looks forward to church suppers even more than to a no-name Greek diner by the side of the road. At home, he and his wife, Gail, replicate dishes like this marinated feta. It makes a wonderful appetizer or party fare with toasted pita. The success of the dish depends on using only high quality kalamata olives and creamy Bulgarian feta. “Once you taste it, you won’t buy any other kind,” says Mr. McIntyre. “We drive thirty miles to Louisville where there’s an ethnic market that sells it.”
1 pound Bulgarian feta cheese, cut into ½-inch cubes
2 cups seeded and coarsely chopped roasted red bell peppers
1 cup kalamata olives, pitted
1 medium red onion, finely chopped
½ cup olive oil
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Fresh lemon juice
Beecher’s Cheese, Seattle, Washington.
1. In a medium bowl, combine the feta, red peppers, olives, onion, oil, vinegar, garlic, and thyme. Cover and refrigerate for 12 to 24 hours.
2. Season with salt, pepper, and lemon juice to taste, and serve.
SERVES 6 TO 8
HELVETIA, WEST VIRGINIA
Locals think of Eleanor Mailloux as the mayor of Helvetia, West Virginia. The town, founded just after the Civil War by a group of Swiss and German Americans from Brooklyn, New York, hasn’t changed much, and for at least the last half century, Mrs. Mailloux has been a tireless proponent of local preservation. When Helvetia’s general store and post office floundered, she opened The Hutte Restaurant to safeguard the building. In 1969, she began talking to local families to gather recipes, many of which are the ones that the settlers from Switzerland brought with them when they came to Helvetia a century ago. Says Mrs. Mailloux, “Some of them are ‘secret’ and have been guarded by the families as fiercely as if they had been stored in a Swiss bank.” Her own family’s treasure is her grandmother’s fondue. Mrs. Mailloux uses locally made cheese, and of course advises others to do the same. The original earthenware Swiss fondue pot was called a caquelon, but the dish is easily made in an enameled pan (one purchased in Helvetia is sure to give the best results). Made over a small burner at the table, fondue is a great party food. If served with a green salad, it’s a lovely meal.
1 garlic clove
⅔ cup white wine
6 ounces Gruyère cheese, shredded (about 1½ cups)
6 ounces Emmentaler cheese, shredded (about 1½ cups)
¼ cup Kirsch or other cherry-flavored brandy
2 teaspoons cornstarch
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 loaf rustic bread, cut into 1-inch cubes
1. Rub the interior of a traditional fondue pot or enameled pan with the garlic clove, set the fondue pot over a spirit heater or set the pan over hot water to make a double boiler.
2. Add the wine to the pot and heat until warm. Stir in the Gruyère and Emmentaler and heat until melted. Add the Kirsch, cornstarch, and nutmeg and cook, stirring constantly, about 5 minutes, until the mixture comes to a simmer.
3. To serve, if using a traditional fondue pot, set it and the spirit heater on the table. If using an enameled pot, set the pot on the table on a hot plate. Keep the fondue at a simmer, stirring occasionally. Use a fondue fork (or any long-handled fork) to spear the bread cubes and dip them into the simmering cheese.
SERVES 2 TO 4
VENICE, CALIFORNIA
Australian-born cinematographer and producer Georgie Smith hopes to be known for her television projects such as Noble Women, The Rhymatist, and No Right Turn, but she already has Plan B in place. The small tarts that she offers with drinks or with a salad make a light meal achieve the impossible: they have a deep, earthy flavor but are light enough to fly. “My onion tart has evolved into something that caused a worldly guest to say not long ago, ‘If you do nothing else in your life, that tart would be an extraordinary legacy.’”
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
1 large red onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon honey
4 garlic cloves, minced
8 ounces feta cheese, crumbled (about 2 cups)
½ cup chopped fresh parsley
¼ cup chopped fresh basil
1 large egg
One 9- × 9½-inch sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed, or homemade puff pastry
2 ounces Parmesan cheese, grated (about ½ cup)
2 cups baby arugula
1 teaspoon highest-quality balsamic vinegar
Freshly ground black pepper
1. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally, about 4 minutes, until soft. Stir in the honey and cook for 4 to 6 minutes more, until the onions are golden brown. Stir in the garlic and cook about 1 minute, until aromatic. Transfer the onions to a medium bowl and cool to room temperature.
2. While the caramelized onions cool, place an oven rack in the center position and preheat the oven to 425°F.
3. Stir the feta, parsley, basil, and egg into the onions.
4. Cut the pastry sheet into six 3- × 4¾-inch rectangles and transfer to a parchment paper–lined baking sheet. Bake for 6 to 8 minutes, until light golden brown. Sprinkle the Parmesan evenly over the tarts and bake about 5 minutes more, until the cheese is melted.
5. Spoon the onion-feta mixture on top of the Parmesan and bake for 10 to 15 minutes more, until the pastry is golden brown.
6. Remove from the oven and transfer the tarts to a platter or individual serving plates. Arrange the arugula evenly on top. Drizzle with the vinegar, sprinkle with pepper, and serve.
SERVES 6
KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
How deviled food got its name seems straightforward enough. Before refrigeration, food preservation relied for centuries on a number of techniques including hot spices. The word “devil” was in use by 1800 to refer to foods made hot by mustard, cayenne peppers, or vinegar. Deviled foods—particularly eggs—are on the wane in Europe, but in America, after the introduction of mass-produced mayonnaise and mustard, they became essential to picnics and big summer parties. Even the antifat, anticholesterol movement of the late twentieth century failed to extinguish the American soft spot for deviled eggs. To celebrate this, the Southern Foodways Alliance held a Deviled Eggs Contest in 2004. Entries ranged from the simple (from finalist Robert Croft of Kansas City, Missouri, with just “mayonnaise, sweet pickle relish, a tad of dry mustard, perhaps a little black pepper, and the salt adjusted depending on the saltiness of the mayonnaise”) to the exotic (Madras curry and shad roe) to the quirky (jalapeños and salsa).
Regardless of the variations, modern deviled eggs have one common ingredient: a surfeit of jarred mayonnaise. However, the earliest American recipes for deviled eggs, like this one adapted from Common Sense in the Household: A Manual of Practical Housewifery (1882), do not use mayonnaise at all.
6 large eggs, hard boiled, cooled, peeled, and halved lengthwise
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon white vinegar
¼ teaspoon mustard powder
⅛ teaspoon cayenne pepper
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon sugar
1 bunch watercress, washed, tough stems discarded and leaves roughly chopped, for garnish
1. Gently remove the egg yolks from the whites and place them in a small bowl. Add the butter and mix to a paste. Stir in a dash of the vinegar, the mustard powder, and the cayenne.
2. Spoon or pipe the egg yolk mixture into the egg white halves.
3. In a medium bowl, mix the remaining vinegar with the salt, black pepper, and sugar. Add the watercress and toss until coated with the vinegar mixture. Arrange the watercress on a serving platter and nestle the deviled eggs onto the greens. Serve.
SERVES 6
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
Elisabetta Lecce arrived in New Orleans in 1916 when she was 18. She wanted to be an American without forgetting her Sicilian heritage, and the kitchen turned out to be the easiest place to meld both worlds into an easy alliance. Her Devilish Eggs, served on a nest of chopped radicchio and lettuce, are a good example, and her granddaughter, Elizabeth Williams, believes she began making the dish in the 1940s. When Ms. Williams entered them in the Deviled Eggs Invitational held by the Southern Foodways Alliance, people were horrified that they did not contain mayonnaise. She says they insisted that these “just don’t taste like deviled eggs.” Mayonnaise easily spoils in the hot New Orleans summer, and Ms. Williams says her grandmother “simply craved these flavors.” More open-minded souls will find them a delicious accompaniment to cocktails.
12 large eggs, hard boiled, cooled, peeled, and halved lengthwise
3 anchovy fillets, drained
3 tablespoons minced black olives
2 garlic cloves, minced
½ teaspoon grated lemon zest
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
Tabasco sauce
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Shredded lettuce and radicchio, for garnish
Smoked paprika, for garnish
2 tablespoons minced fresh basil or parsley, for garnish
1. Gently remove the egg yolks from the whites and place them in a small bowl. Add the anchovies and mash. Stir in the olives, garlic, and lemon zest. Stirring constantly, gradually add the olive oil and stir until the mixture is thick. Season with hot sauce, salt, and pepper to taste.
2. Spoon or pipe the egg yolk mixture into the egg white halves. Arrange the lettuce on a platter and nestle the deviled eggs onto the greens. Sprinkle with paprika and basil and serve.
SERVES 12
MT. VERNON, INDIANA
After elementary school teacher Nonnie Robinson retired, she became a professional storyteller—stories about “people I have known or wish I had known,” she says. Pecans appear with surprising regularity. Ms. Robinson remembers running into the road to collect the nuts after their shells had been cracked by passing automobiles, and shelling them on her porch. Perhaps, half a century from now, another generation will remember the pecan crispies that Ms. Robinson gives as gifts. The sweet, glazed nuts have a hot little kick and are pretty darned addictive.
Nonstick cooking spray
3 large egg whites
2 pounds pecan halves
2 teaspoons garlic salt
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
1. Place an oven rack in the center position and preheat the oven to 275°F. Lightly coat a large baking sheet with cooking spray.
2. In a large bowl, whip the egg whites with an electric mixer until stiff peaks form. Gently fold the pecans into the egg whites. Spread in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet.
3. In a small bowl, combine the garlic salt and cayenne. Sprinkle the mixture evenly over the pecans and toss to coat. Spread the pecans in a single layer again and bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until crisp, dry, and crunchy, turning with a spatula halfway through baking. (Don’t let the pecans get dark brown.)
4. Transfer the baking sheet to a wire rack and let the nuts cool about 10 minutes. Break apart the clumps of nuts, then turn the nuts with a spatula every 10 minutes or so to make sure they don’t stick together as they cool. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 8 CUPS
NOTE: The pecans can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature up to two weeks.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Todd Porter grew up on a cattle ranch in Elgin, Oregon, and says that when you know quality in one thing, like beef, understanding the difference between good and ordinary ingredients becomes a way of life. Mr. Porter’s current area of discernment studies is peanuts. His tutor is his girlfriend, Diane Cu, who was 2 years old when Saigon fell and her parents escaped to Los Angeles. Mr. Porter explains, “Peanuts are the most common and familiar nut in America, but to the Vietnamese, crushed peanuts signal luxury, and they are treated accordingly.” In this snack, as a nod to the West he uses the whole nut, which he pan-roasts with Vietnamese seasoning. The recipe can be varied to suit individual tastes, he says, adding: “Once you roast your own, you’ll never pop open another can of peanuts again.”
2 tablespoons peanut or grapeseed oil
2 tablespoons soy sauce
6 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
1½ teaspoons fish sauce
1½ teaspoons sugar
1 pound shelled raw peanuts
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1. Place an oven rack in the center position and preheat the oven to 325°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
2. In a medium bowl, combine the oil, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, fish sauce, and sugar.
3. Spread the nuts in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet and bake for 15 minutes, until aromatic and beginning to brown.
4. Stir the peanuts into the marinade, then pour the mixture back onto the baking sheet. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes more, until the peanuts are light golden brown. (Take them out just before you think they are perfect, because they will continue to cook after being removed from the oven.)
5. Let the peanuts cool, then season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 4 CUPS
NOTE: The peanuts can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature up to two weeks.
AT TEMPERANCE TEALLEYS AND REVEREND WILLIAM WORTHINGTON’S three-day wedding feast in Stonington, Connecticut, in 1726, platters of oyster and fish, roast fowl and venison, pig and potatoes, and puddings were followed by trays of nutmeats and a molasses brittle made with the indigenous hickory nut. Black walnuts, pecans, and butternuts are also native, but the most popular nuts in the country today are transplants like almonds and pistachios, which, along with more than 80 percent of the nation’s edible nuts, are grown in California. Virtually all of the nation’s hazelnuts are from Oregon, macadamias come from Hawaii, and Georgia and Texas duel over pecans. Georgia remains the dominant force in peanuts, although peanuts are no strangers to Alabama, Florida, Mississippi, and South Carolina.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
When he was a little boy in Spain, Javier Freyre and his grandfather—“a classic vermouth gentleman who always wore a Borsalino hat and carried a walking cane”—shared a ritual: They nibbled fried almonds before lunch or tapas. It became a lifelong habit, and Mr. Freyre has been passing it along to his friends since moving to Los Angeles twenty years ago. It took a little effort to find true Spanish pimentón (paprika)—sweeter, brighter, and smokier than Hungarian varieties—and high quality olive oil. But his favorite Spanish ingredients are not as challenging to find in the United States these days. His friends often have meals made up of little plates as opposed to one large main course.
12 ounces blanched Marcona almonds
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt
Smoked paprika (preferably La Vera de San Juan)
1. In a large saucepan, place the almonds in a single layer, then pour the oil over them. Set the saucepan over medium heat and cook, stirring frequently, about 10 minutes, until the nuts darken slightly. (The oil should be hot but never smoky, no more than 180°F.)
2. Immediately transfer the nuts with a slotted spoon to a plate, season with salt to taste, and cool to room temperature. Season the nuts with smoked paprika and serve.
MAKES ABOUT 3 CUPS
NOTE: The almonds can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature up to two weeks.
IN AMERICA, THE SANDWICH HAS ALWAYS HAD A DOUBLE LIFE. EARLY IN OUR NATIONHOOD, it was little more than leftovers layered between two slabs of bread, and they were also a way to use lesser cuts of meat.
By the Civil War, the sandwich had taken its place in polite society. Cookbooks encouraged the use of thinly sliced bread, petit rolls, or even day-old sponge cake, and recommended genteel fillings that could be eaten without a lot of fuss. In taverns and pubs, hefty, meat-laden sandwiches were still the norm.
The British called these portable meals “American sandwiches,” although the name had little to do with the ingredients. Americans bestowed the name “club” on any multitiered sandwich. Creators or geography became names: The Hot Brown was a toasted sandwich first made at Brown’s Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky. Others, like the Hot Dago—Italian Parmesan cheese, ground meat, and bread crumbs—employed an ethnic slur. Still others showcase regional specialties: The Reuben presents the corned beef of New York City’s Lower East Side Jewish delis but adds “uptown” (non-kosher) cheese, sauerkraut, and creamy dressing; the lobster roll is a simple homage to Maine’s famed crustacean; and the muffuletta is an embarrassment of salumeria riches attesting to New Orleans’s old and well-established Italian roots.
The early twentieth-century mass production of bread pushed national sandwich consumption up to about 200 per person per year, and that number has remained steady, even as Americans reinterpret sandwiches and serve them as party fare. Cucumber sandwiches with an Indian twist might add spice to a ladies’ luncheon, while arepas (a South American corncake) can be used to reinvent grilled cheese.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
Roopa Unnikrishnan, a former Rhodes scholar and a senior vice president of a pharmaceutical company in New York, was born in southern India and cooks to bridge both worlds. Before the birth of her twins, cooking and “home arts” were the furthest things from her mind. But, she says, “When kids come along, you want to give them tradition, you want to give them a taste-memory and association to their native foods, so I started cooking more.” In order to include her parents in India in the daily life of her family, Ms. Unnikrishnan began cataloging her kitchen experiments online. On warm Indian evenings she used to have cucumber pudina sandwiches, which were likely a take on the colonial idea of “afternoon tea.” Today she often tucks them into her children’s lunch boxes or serves them as a party appetizer.
FOR THE PUDINA PASTE
1 packed cup fresh mint leaves
½ packed cup fresh cilantro leaves
¼ cup fresh lemon juice
¼ cup unsweetened grated coconut
1 teaspoon sesame seeds
1 jalapeño chile, stemmed
½ teaspoon grated fresh ginger
FOR THE SANDWICHES
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, softened
12 thin slices good quality white sandwich bread
5 small Kirby cucumbers, peeled, halved lengthwise, seeded, and thinly sliced
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1. To make the pudina paste: In a food processor, process all of the ingredients into a slightly coarse paste.
2. To make the sandwiches: Spread 1 teaspoon butter on each slice of bread. Spread a thin layer of the pudina paste on top of the butter on 6 of the slices, then arrange 4 to 6 cucumber slices on top. Sprinkle the cucumbers with salt and pepper. Place the remaining slices of bread on top, buttered side down, to make 6 sandwiches.
3. Trim the crusts, cut each sandwich into four triangles, and serve.
SERVES 6 TO 8
NOTE: The paste can be refrigerated in an airtight container up to one week.
SOUTH THOMASTON, MAINE
Four miles outside the fishing village of South Thomaston, Maine, a tree-lined road meanders toward a tiny peninsula where a weathered, gray-shingled beach shack crouches beside the cold blue surf. The shack, like the road, bears the family name and is located at the edge of a twenty-five-acre plot that has been in the Waterman family for more than 200 years. The land is dotted with eleven homes where members of the clan still live. And shaded by an awning, visitors and locals flock to the shack for the quintessential “taste of Maine summer.” The signature roll recipe, handed down through the generations, is as unembellished as a Downeaster’s speech: mayonnaise, absolutely fresh lobster, and a buttered soft roll, preferably a hot dog roll. Clam and lobster shacks like this one are plentiful along Maine’s coast, but only the Waterman’s lobster roll has been celebrated as an American Classic by the James Beard Foundation.
One 1¼-pound soft-shell lobster, steamed and cooled
2 to 3 tablespoons mayonnaise
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, softened
16 small (2-ounce) buns or rolls, split (or 2 half slices of white bread, crust removed)
1. Pick all the meat from the lobster and place in a large bowl, discarding the shells. Stir the mayonnaise into the lobster, 1 tablespoon at a time, until it holds together in a loose “salad.” Season with salt and pepper to taste.
2. Butter both sides of each bun. Divide the lobster mixture evenly on the bottoms of the buns and cover with the tops.
3. Heat a griddle or large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Place the sandwiches on the griddle and cook, pressing lightly on the buns, about 2 minutes on each side, until the buns begin to crisp. Serve.
SERVES 8
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
“Asking for a c ´evapi recipe in Bosnia is a little bit like asking for a pasta sauce recipe in Italy,” says Daniela Sales, a 31-year-old herbalist who came to America with her family from Bosnia and Herzegovina as war refugees in the early 1990s. Every city and town and almost every family has its own variation on the theme. Just as American kids play in the yard during barbecues, she and her friends and cousins used to play in c ´evapi aroma–filled air at family gatherings. After the war, forty to sixty Bosnians settled in St. Louis. Today, the city has one of the largest Bosnian populations in the nation, and its annual street festival is where Ms. Sales takes her 5-year-old son to sample different versions of ćevapi.
¾ pound 85% lean ground beef
¾ pound ground lamb
1 small onion, finely chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon minced fresh parsley
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon chili powder
¼ cup sparkling mineral water (preferably Perrier)
Vegetable oil, as needed
Scallions, green parts only, thinly sliced, for garnish
Sour cream, for garnish
1. In a large bowl, mix together the beef and lamb. Add the onion, garlic, parsley, salt, pepper, and chili powder and knead well until combined. Add the water, cover, and refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours.
2. Shape the meat mixture into 18 oblong patties about 2 inches long and ½ inch thick.
3. Heat a grill or grill pan over medium-high heat and lightly brush with oil. Cook the patties for 8 to 10 minutes, until well browned on both sides and cooked through. Sprinkle with the scallions and serve with sour cream.
MAKES 18 PATTIES; SERVES 6
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
From the time she was in grade school, Susmita Sharma has been a secret foodie. Raised in a strictly vegetarian Hindu home in Pune and New Delhi, India, Ms. Sharma first tasted meat kebabs at a friend’s home. The 10-year-old was thrilled by the idea of the forbidden food, even though she expected her mother to disapprove. Instead, her mother—an English teacher who pushed her children to experience new things—told her daughter that if she liked kebabs, she should eat kebabs.
Traveling the world to pursue her education (Ms. Sharma is a molecular biologist), she sampled dozens of different cuisines before settling in Seattle fifteen years ago. As precise a cook as she is a scientist, Ms. Sharma, now 37 years old, cooks her life. Here she has combined brioche with shami (lamb) kebabs to create an appetizer that is more American slider than the secret favorite of a little Hindu girl in India.
FOR THE LAMB KEBABS
½ pound ground lamb
½ cup finely chopped onion
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon water
⅓ cup red lentils (masoor dal)
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger
1 teaspoon kosher salt
One 1-inch piece cinnamon stick, finely chopped or ground in a spice mill
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
¼ teaspoon ground cumin
¼ teaspoon ground coriander
⅛ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Pinch of ground cloves
All-purpose flour, as needed
1 large egg
1 cup slivered almonds, finely chopped
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
FOR THE SAUCE
1 cup yogurt cheese (lebni or kefir cheese)
1 small shallot, minced
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons minced fresh cilantro
2 teaspoons minced fresh mint
Kosher salt
FOR THE SANDWICHES
1 loaf brioche, cut into ½-inch-thick slices and toasted
4 cups baby salad greens
1 teaspoon olive oil
Pinch of kosher salt
1. Place the oven racks in the bottom and top positions and preheat the oven to 200°F.
2. To make the lamb kebabs: In a large skillet, combine the lamb, onion, ½ cup water, the lentils, garlic, ginger, salt, cinnamon, cayenne, cumin, coriander, black pepper, and cloves. Bring to a simmer, cover, and cook about 20 minutes, until the lamb and lentils are cooked through. Uncover and cook for 3 to 5 minutes more, until any excess water is evaporated.
3. Transfer the meat mixture to a food processor and process into a paste. It should be thick enough to shape into balls. If the mixture is too wet, add a few tablespoons of flour.
4. Using a spoon or ice-cream scoop, portion the mixture into 1-inch balls, then flatten into patties approximately 1½ inches in diameter.
5. In a small bowl, beat together the egg and the remaining 1 tablespoon water. Place the almonds in a shallow bowl. Dip the kebabs in the egg, then roll in the almonds to coat.
6. Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add 8 kebabs and cook about 4 minutes, until well browned on both sides. Transfer the patties to a baking sheet and keep warm in the oven until ready to serve. Wipe out the skillet and repeat with the remaining 1 tablespoon oil and kebabs.
7. To make the sauce: In a small bowl, stir together the yogurt cheese, shallot, lemon juice, cilantro, and mint. Season with salt to taste, cover, and refrigerate.
8. To make the sandwiches: Using a 2-inch biscuit cutter, cut the toasted brioche into circles. Place the brioche rounds on a wire rack set over a baking sheet and keep warm in the oven until needed.
9. Toss the greens with the olive oil and salt. Top each brioche round with a generous teaspoon of the yogurt sauce then place a lamb kebab. Dollop a small amount of the yogurt sauce on top of each kebab, then top with the greens, and serve.
SERVES 4 TO 6
NOTES: Both the meat paste and the sauce can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator up to one day. Let the meat paste come to room temperature before forming the kebabs.
MARK REITMAN BEGAN SERVING HOT DOGS AT HIS dad’s pharmacy in Chicago fifty-four years ago. It must have been a seminal experience for the 8-year-old, because after a twenty-five-year career as a school guidance counselor, he retired, bought a cart, and peddled Chicago-style hot dogs on weekends at the Prime Outlets mall in Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin. After people asked him about starting and franchising a hot dog business, he established Hot Dog University, a two-day course that covers all aspects of the hot dog cart business. He taught a handful of students once a month, including both book work and “field work” peddling dogs.
Mr. Reitman sees hot dogs as the quintessential American food. Historians would agree. We eat just over 20 billion of them a year. Often called the original fun food, they are inseparable from ballparks, picnics, boardwalks, barbecues, and big-city sidewalks coast to coast. Mr. Reitman divides these dogs into three categories: the Chicago dog—always pure beef with a natural casing, served on a steamed poppy seed bun with yellow mustard, neon-green pickle relish, chopped onions, two tomato wedges, a kosher dill pickle spear, two sport peppers, and a dash of celery salt; the Southern dog—a mixture of beef and pork served on a bun with coleslaw, chili, onions, and ketchup; and the New York dog—all beef or a mixture of pork and beef, held in “dirty water” (hot water laced with the spices leached from the dogs) and dressed with red onion sauce, sauerkraut, brown mustard, and chopped onions. He cautions, “Always dress the dog, not the bun.”
Regional variations abound. There is the Seattle Dog (cream cheese, onions, and mustard) and the L.A. Mexican cart dog, served with salsa and Queso Blanco. One of Mr. Reitman’s friends, Jim Pittinger, owner of Biker Jim’s Hotdogs, spreads cream cheese on his pheasant dogs with a caulk gun, then tops them with chopped jalapeños. “When I ask people if they want cream cheese on their dogs, they usually say no right off. Then I ask them if they like cheeseburgers and usually they say yes. So I point out that a hot dog is nothing more than a ‘linkburger’ and that the flavors are much the same, so why not give it a try.”
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
In late 2004, New Jersey–born Doug DuCap, his wife Tabetha Dunn, and their spaniel, Penny the Wonderdog, took to the road in a vintage thirty-four-foot motor home. Three years later, the former Fortune 100 company manager, New York cabbie, literary journal editor, barista in northern Spain, and tobacco harvester, “and a lot more,” showed up tending bar on James Island, South Carolina. There he conjured a chili that won the Taste of the South cooking competition sponsored by Piggly Wiggly grocery stores. His secret ingredient is boiled peanuts.
Corn dogs—skewered wieners covered in cornmeal batter, then deep fried—are another southern “delicacy” that Mr. DuCap considers wrongly maligned by folks up north. Never content to leave well enough alone, he developed a healthy alternative, creating the falafel dog: a ground lamb kebab coated with falafel batter and lightly pan-fried. Mr. DuCap makes them bite-size, and serves them as appetizers with his date yogurt and hazelnut dipping sauces on the side.
FOR THE FALAFEL BATTER
½ cup water, plus more as needed
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 cup dried chickpeas, soaked in cold water overnight or in boiling water for 3 hours
6 scallions, green and white parts, finely chopped
⅓ cup minced fresh parsley
¼ cup chickpea flour
6 garlic cloves, minced
1½ teaspoons ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon kosher salt
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
FOR THE SAUSAGES
1 pound lean ground lamb
2 small inner celery stalks with leaves, minced
6 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons chopped dried apricots
2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley
2 tablespoons minced fresh cilantro
4 teaspoons whole cumin seeds, lightly toasted
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
32 short bamboo skewers or long bamboo skewers cut into thirty-two 4-inch lengths and soaked in water for about 1 hour
Vegetable oil, for frying
Spiced Date-Coriander Yogurt or Hazelnut-Cashew Tarator (recipes follow), for serving
1. To make the falafel batter: In a small bowl, mix together ½ cup water and the baking soda. Drain the chickpeas well, transfer to a food processor, and process it about 30 seconds, until grainy. Add the baking soda water, scallions, parsley, chickpea flour, garlic, coriander, cumin, salt, and eggs and process until smooth. Blend in more water as needed until the batter reaches the consistency of mustard. Refrigerate the batter.
2. To make the sausages: Mix together the lamb, celery, garlic, apricots, parsley, cilantro, cumin, lemon juice, salt, black pepper, cinnamon, and cayenne until well combined. Scoop out 32 rounded tablespoons of the mixture and roll them gently between your palms to form cigar shapes about 2½ inches long. Insert a skewer into each sausage.
3. Heat a grill pan over high heat and grill the sausages about 3 minutes, until just cooked through. Transfer the sausages to a baking sheet and let cool slightly.
4. Use a deep fryer or pour enough oil into a Dutch oven to come ½ inch up the sides. Heat the oil to 360°F. Line a plate with several layers of paper towels.
5. Dip each sausage into the batter and use a butter knife to spread it evenly over the sausage. Gently lay the skewers into the oil a few at a time. Cook about 4 minutes, until well browned, turning with tongs as needed. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain briefly, and repeat with the remaining skewers.
6. Serve with one of the dipping sauces.
MAKES 32 SAUSAGES, SERVES 8 TO 10
NOTE: The falafel batter can be used to make traditional falafel patties by omitting the water (add the baking soda with the other ingredients) and processing to a thick paste. Form the mixture into 2-inch-wide patties about ½ inch thick, and panfry until golden brown on both sides. Serve them on ciabatta bread, dressed with mint leaves, olive oil, and fresh lemon juice and topped with thinly sliced cucumbers, peppery sprouts, and Hazelnut-Cashew Tarator; serve alongside assorted olives, sliced plum tomatoes, and goat cheese.
This recipe can be doubled. It also makes a wonderful companion for spicy grilled meat.
¾ cup plain yogurt
⅓ cup chopped pitted dates
1 teaspoon ground coriander
⅛ teaspoon cayenne pepper
Pinch of kosher salt
Pinch of freshly ground multicolor pepper (pink, green, white) or freshly ground white pepper
In a food processor, process all of the ingredients about 30 seconds, until smooth. Cover and refrigerate.
MAKES ABOUT 1 CUP
This recipe can be doubled, and is delicious with grilled chicken as well.
¾ cup very finely ground blanched hazelnuts
¼ cup very finely ground cashews
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 garlic clove, minced
½ teaspoon dried thyme, crushed
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons water
Kosher salt
In a mortar and pestle or food processor, grind the hazelnuts, cashews, oil, garlic, and thyme into a fine paste. Transfer the mixture to a small bowl and gradually stir in the lemon juice and water until emulsified. Season with salt to taste. Cover and refrigerate.
MAKES ABOUT 1 CUP
NEW BEDFORD, MASSACHUSETTS
For the past twenty-five years, Anna Surma, her husband, John, and their friends have gathered to make traditional Polish cuisine. The secret to the delicious results is a combination of dogged practice and the liberal use of their “secret ingredient”—shots of Polish vodka for the cook. “We have a collective knowledge here that keeps the old recipes alive,” said Mrs. Surma, an architect. She and her husband are the acknowledged pierogi experts. He began rolling the dumpling dough twenty-five years ago when his ailing mother, a Polish émigrée, longed for the food of her youth. She had a gift for motivating “stuffers.” Pierogi are a group activity and can be made ahead and frozen, though Mr. Surma prefers to boil his dumplings on the spot. It’s best for the dough, which he refers to as a person, as in: “Hold him up to the light and you can see through him.”
FOR THE FILLING
2½ pounds Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 2-inch chunks
6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter, softened
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 pounds soft farmer’s cheese
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
FOR THE DOUGH
3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
2 large whole eggs plus 1 large egg, separated
2 tablespoons milk
Pinch of kosher salt
FOR SERVING
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, plus more as needed
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1. To make the filling: In a large saucepan, cover the potatoes with water. Bring to a simmer and cook for 15 to 20 minutes, until tender.
2. While the potatoes are cooking, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook for 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until soft.
3. Drain the potatoes and mash them with the remaining 5 tablespoons butter. Stir the onion into the mashed potatoes. Stir in the cheese until well mixed. Season with salt and pepper to taste. (The trick is to overly salt the filling slightly since some of the salt will leach out into the boiling water.)
4. To make the dough: Mound the flour in the middle of a large cutting board or other dry work surface. Create a well in the middle and add the whole eggs, egg yolk, milk, and salt. Knead the ingredients together, adding water as needed, about 10 minutes, until a soft, slightly sticky dough forms.
5. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and lightly flour the paper. Divide the dough into six equal pieces. Cover the dough with a kitchen towel. Using a heavy wooden rolling pin and working with one piece of dough at a time, roll the dough on a lightly floured work surface until it is very thin. (You should be able to see light coming through it.) Using a 3-inch biscuit cutter, cut the dough into rounds. Discard any scraps. Place the dough rounds on the prepared baking sheet in a single layer; as you fill the sheet, cover with another piece of parchment paper; lightly flour the paper before adding another layer of dough rounds. Cover the rounds with a kitchen towel and repeat with the remaining dough.
6. Line another baking sheet with parchment paper and lightly beat the egg white just enough to mix it.
7. To shape the pierogi, working with one dough round at a time, lightly brush outside edge with the egg white. Cup the round in your hand, spoon about 1 tablespoon of filling into the center, fold to make a half moon and pinch the dough around the filling to create a tight seal. As each of the pierogi is finished, place it on the second baking sheet. Cover the finished pierogi with a kitchen towel. Repeat with the remaining dough and filling.
8. To cook the pierogi, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add one-third of the pierogi and cook about 4 minutes, until tender. Using a large wire skimmer, transfer the pierogi to a large colander to drain. Return the water to a boil and repeat with the remaining pierogi in two batches.
9. For serving: While the pierogi are boiling, melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook about 8 minutes, stirring occasionally, until golden brown.
10. Add the drained pierogi to the onion and cook for 4 to 6 minutes, turning them over gently, until light golden brown. Add additional butter if the pan seems dry. Serve hot.
MAKES ABOUT 4 DOZEN PIEROGIS
HIBBING, MINNESOTA
The business cards on the kitchen counter in her suburban home in Minnesota’s Iron Range read “Mona Abel, Food Goddess, Former Go-Go Dancer.” Next to the cards are her self-published books, displayed with their price tags ($25). Ms. Abel, who is a product of what is locally referred to as a “mixed marriage” (her mother is English; her father, Finnish), is a staunch Anglophile and is famous for her pasties. The savory turnovers were brought to northern Minnesota by Cornish miners, and Ms. Able has made sure that neither local church suppers nor the regular meetings of her Red Bra Society (for women who do not have to learn how to have fun) lack them. At the former, she serves tea from Harrods; at the latter, everyone gets a jigger of ice-cold vodka on the side.
FOR THE DOUGH
4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
1 tablespoon kosher salt
8 ounces lard, cut into small pieces
1 cup cold water, plus more as needed
Water, for sealing
FOR THE FILLING
2 medium Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch pieces
½ pound top round steak, cut into ½-inch pieces
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 small rutabaga, peeled and shredded
6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1. Place an oven rack in the center position and preheat the oven to 425°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
2. To make the dough: In a large bowl, whisk together the flour and salt. Cut the lard into the flour until the dough forms balls the size of peas. Gradually add the water, stirring until the dough comes together and is slightly sticky. Divide the dough into six balls and cover with a kitchen towel.
3. To make the filling: In a large bowl, toss the potatoes, steak, onion, rutabaga, butter, salt, and pepper together.
4. To assemble the pasties: On a floured work surface, roll each dough ball into a 10-inch circle. Lightly brush the edges of the dough with water. Place a generous cup of the filling on one side of each circle, then fold the dough over the filling to make a half-moon shape. Press the edges together to seal, then crimp or flute the edges. Transfer the pasties to the prepared baking sheets.
5. Bake the pasties for 30 minutes. Reduce the temperature to 400°F and bake for 25 to 30 minutes more, until golden brown. Serve warm or at room temperature.
SERVES 6
COLUMBIA HEIGHTS, MINNESOTA
Every year at Ramadan, Ilhan Omar makes more than 100 sambusas, fried pockets filled with beef and onion that Muslims eat at sundown to break their daylong fast. Ms. Omar’s family fled Somalia after the civil war in the 1990s, and making sambusas reminds her of the miracle of her escape. Now a wife, mother, and nutrition educator, she found a sambusa shortcut that she can live with: Instead of making the dough from scratch, she uses store-bought Chinese egg roll wrappers. “And you know what?” says Ms. Omar. “They taste better!”
Vegetable oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
½ pound 85% lean ground beef
2 tablespoons dried parsley
1 teaspoon curry powder, plus more to taste
1 garlic clove, minced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 package egg roll wrappers
Water, for sealing
1. In a large skillet, heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat. Add the onion and cook about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until soft. Stir in the beef, parsley, curry powder, garlic, salt, and pepper, and cook about 5 minutes, stirring to break up lumps, until the meat is no longer pink. Taste and add more curry powder if you want. Transfer the meat mixture to a medium bowl and cool to room temperature. Wipe out the skillet.
2. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Cut each egg roll wrapper in half diagonally. Working with one triangle at a time, lightly brush the edges of the wrapper with water. Fold the long side of the triangle in half, pinching the edge to seal and form a little cup.
3. Place a generous tablespoon of the meat mixture into the cup, then pull the open flap of the wrapper over the cup, pressing to seal. As each sambusa is finished, place it on the baking sheet. When the sheet is full, cover the sambusas with another piece of parchment paper and continue layering with finished sambusas.
4. Line a platter with several layers of paper towels. In the skillet, heat about 1 inch of oil until a deep-frying thermometer reads 365°F to 375°F, or a pinch of flour bubbles and sizzles in the oil. Add half of the sambusas to the oil and cook for 2 to 4 minutes, turning once, until golden brown on both sides. Using tongs or a skimmer, transfer the sambusas to the paper-towel-lined platter to drain briefly. Repeat with the remaining sambusas. Serve.
SERVES 4 TO 6
FAYETTEVILLE, ARKANSAS
When Louise Brown married Mike Etoch, she had to learn to cook Lebanese food. Fortunately, her mother-in-law lived two blocks away and was a sympathetic cook; Adele Hesni Etoch had learned the family recipes the same way when she was a young bride. Before her mother-in-law died, Louise had mastered kibbe, stuffed squash, grape leaves, tabbouleh, and roasted leg of lamb—not bad for a Scotch-Irish girl from Fayetteville. She makes these dishes for family celebrations. These days, she even picks grape leaves in the fall to make this wonderful dish.
1 pound ground lamb
⅔ cup long grain rice, rinsed
½ cup fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Pinch of ground cinnamon
One 16-ounce jar grape leaves in brine, well rinsed and stemmed
1 lemon, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
1½ cups homemade chicken broth or low-sodium store-bought chicken broth
Yogurt cheese, for garnish
1. In a large bowl, combine the lamb, rice, 3 tablespoons of the lemon juice, the mint, salt, pepper, and cinnamon until the mixture is blended but still loose.
2. Lay out one grape leaf on the work surface, vein side up. Shape a generous tablespoon of meat mixture into a 1½-inch-long cylinder and place on the lower third of the leaf. Roll once, fold in both sides, and continue rolling upward to close. Place seam side down in a large saucepan.
3. Repeat with the remaining grape leaves and meat mixture to make three layers, arranging the rolls in each layer neatly and alternating the direction of each layer.
4. Lay a few grape leaves on the top of the last layer, pressing them flat. Arrange the lemon slices over the top. Drizzle with the olive oil, then pour the remaining lemon juice and the chicken broth evenly over everything. Top with a plate that fits down inside the pan and sits securely on the rolls.
5. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, then reduce the heat to low, cover, and cook for 40 minutes. Serve at room temperature with the yogurt cheese.
MAKES ABOUT 3 DOZEN PIECES
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA
An ethnic Hmong who escaped the Khmer Rouge and immigrated to Minneapolis from Laos in the 1990s, Sai Vang rents a plot of land near St. Paul, Minnesota, and grows traditional vegetables so that her children can have a taste of “home.” Her children have offered to buy her modern tools, but Mrs. Vang works her plot with a simple hoe, rake, and shovel. Now that her children are grown, she shares the wealth from her land, selling the vegetables at a farmers’ market. She also delivers part of her harvest to her former husband, his second wife, and their children. Once family, forever family. Her light and crispy egg rolls are coveted throughout her extended clan. She adapted the Vietnamese foods she knew in her homeland with the Chinese and Thai flavors she’s discovered in St. Paul’s immigrant communities. For the Hmong New Year, she triples the recipe and organizes an assembly line of relatives in the kitchen to roll them all.
FOR THE EGG ROLLS
Vegetable oil
2½ pounds lean ground pork
1 large red onion, halved and thinly sliced
2 cups minced fresh cilantro
2 bunches scallions, finely chopped
1 cup minced fresh parsley
¼ cup fish sauce
1 tablespoon oyster sauce
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
6 large eggs, lightly beaten
8 ounces very thin cellophane noodles (also known as bean thread noodles or mung bean noodles), cooked according to the package directions and cooled to room temperature
3 packages square egg roll wrappers
2 large egg yolks, lightly beaten
FOR THE SPICY SAUCE
½ cup reserved vegetable mixture
¼ cup warm water
2 tablespoons fish sauce
6 small Thai chiles, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
Sugar
FOR THE SWEET AND SOUR SAUCE
¼ cup warm water
¼ cup fish sauce
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
3 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons crushed peanuts
2 small Thai chiles, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
1. To make the egg rolls: In a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons oil over medium heat. Add the pork and cook about 5 minutes, stirring to break up lumps, until the meat is no longer pink. Transfer the pork to a bowl and cool to room temperature.
2. In a very large bowl, combine the onion, cilantro, scallion, parsley, fish sauce, oyster sauce, salt, and pepper. Reserve about ½ cup of this mixture for the remaining sauce. Add the pork, eggs, and noodles to the vegetable mixture and mix until combined.
3. To make the spicy sauce: Combine the reserved vegetable mixture with the water, fish sauce, chiles, and sugar to taste.
4. To make the sweet and sour sauce: Combine the water, fish sauce, lime juice, sugar, peanuts, and chiles.
5. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Working with one egg roll wrapper at a time, place a wrapper on a work surface with one corner facing you. Place a generous 2 tablespoons of the filling in the center of the skin. Roll the skin over once, enveloping the filling, then fold in the sides. Lightly brush the exposed edges of the wrapper with egg yolk and continue to roll into a cigar shape, pressing to seal the edges. Repeat with remaining wrappers and filling. As each egg roll is finished, place it on the baking sheet. When the sheet is full, cover the egg rolls with another piece of parchment paper and continue layering the finished egg rolls.
6. Line another baking sheet or a platter with several layers of paper towels. In a Dutch oven, heat 2 inches of oil until a deep-frying thermometer reads 350°F. Slide 8 of the egg rolls into the oil and cook for 2 to 4 minutes, turning occasionally with tongs, until golden brown on all sides. Using tongs, transfer the egg rolls to the paper towels to drain. Repeat with the remaining egg rolls in batches and serve with the two dipping sauces.
MAKES ABOUT 3½ DOZEN EGG ROLLS
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
A Filipina raised in Kaneohe, Hawaii, Kimee Balmilero appeared in the original Broadway cast of Mamma Mia! before starting a line of jewelry. She lives in Los Angeles and often uses her father’s traditional kalua pork recipe. Many Hawaiians serve the pork in tacos, alongside lomi salmon, or in a lumpia, a Filipino-style egg roll, long and thin like a cigar. She loves kalua pork lumpia best of all—perhaps because the slender rolls unite her Filipino and Hawaiian heritage, perhaps because they are “portable and delicious, which is good for beach trips in Hawaii.”
Vegetable oil
1 pound Kalua Pork (page 491), shredded
½ small head green cabbage, shredded (about 2 cups)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
30 lumpia wrappers
Water, for sealing
1. In a wok or large skillet, heat 1 tablespoon oil over low heat. Add the pork and cabbage and cook about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the cabbage is tender but still has a little crunch. Transfer the mixture to a medium bowl, season with salt and pepper to taste, and cool slightly. Wipe out the wok with a paper towel.
2. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Working with one lumpia wrapper at a time, place one on a work surface with a corner facing you. Place a generous 3 tablespoons of the filling in the center of the wrapper. Roll the wrapper over the filling once, then fold in the sides. Lightly brush the exposed edges of the wrapper with water and continue to roll into a cigar, pressing to seal the edges. Repeat with remaining wrappers and filling. As each lumpia is finished, place it on the baking sheet. Keep the lumpia covered with plastic wrap as you work.
3. Line another baking sheet or platter with several layers of paper towels. In the wok, heat ½ inch of oil until a deep-frying thermometer reads 350°F. Slide 10 of the lumpia into the oil and cook for 2 to 4 minutes, turning occasionally with tongs, until golden brown all over. Using tongs, transfer the lumpia to the paper-towel-lined baking sheet to drain briefly. Repeat with the remaining lumpia in two batches, and serve.
MAKES 30 LUMPIA
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
When she was a child, every Sunday after church, Donna Drake-Dunninger trooped over to her paternal grandparents’ home. The old folks lived on The Hill, the community in St. Louis where Italian immigrants began to settle in the 1890s. Her grandfather Rinaldo Campana was born in Switzerland, and “he made sure to tell you he was born in the Italian part of Switzerland,” says Ms. Drake-Dunninger. “He’d owned a restaurant and cooked at the University Club for years, but he spent Sunday making chicken cacciatore and old-fashioned polenta and the St. Louis specialty, fried ravioli, for us.” A tradition that she continues, not on Sunday, but whenever she is giving a big party.
1 large egg
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
¼ cup olive oil
1 pound homemade ravioli, thawed if frozen
1 cup homemade tomato sauce, warmed
2 ounces Asiago cheese, grated (about ½ cup)
1. In a shallow bowl, lightly beat the egg. In a second shallow bowl, place the bread crumbs. Line a platter with several layers of paper towels.
2. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-high heat. One at a time, dip the ravioli in the egg, then the bread crumbs. Carefully add the ravioli to the oil in batches and cook for 4 to 6 minutes, turning once with tongs, until golden brown and puffy on both sides. Using tongs or a skimmer, transfer the ravioli to the platter to drain briefly.
3. Dip the cooked ravioli in tomato sauce to coat, dip in the cheese, and place on a serving platter. Serve hot.
SERVES 4 TO 6
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA
Most food historians agree that potato chips were invented in 1853 by George Crum, a part–Native American, part–African American former wilderness guide who was the chef at the Moon Lake Lodge Resort in Saratoga Springs, New York. According to legend, Mr. Crum was “of irascible nature” and responded to a customer’s request for crisper fried potatoes with shaved, deep-fried slices. Others credit his sister, Kate Wicks, with slicing a potato so thin that it could be fried crisp. Later William Tappendon, of Cleveland, Ohio, traveled by horse and carriage to deliver chips that he made in his home kitchen.
The mechanical potato peeler, the airtight bag, and the continuous fryer made short work of the small-batch chips in the 1920s. And for the next thirty years, innovations in commercial production provided enough “product” to turn potato chips into the nation’s favorite snack. Every year American consumers spend $6 billion on potato chips, and the average American eats sixteen pounds of them a year.
The artisanal chip was reborn in the 1980s, when potato chip fanatics restored dignity to the snack, putting kettles in their garages and using local potatoes. The most successful of these tend to be regional: Cape Cod Potato Chips, Hawaiian Kettle Style Potato Chips, and Route 11 Potato Chips from Mt. Jackson, Virginia, are so good, the only way to improve on the theme is to make your own. That is precisely what Michael Shemchuck, a fine arts painter, does. Served hot, these marinated chips take the idea of deep-fried potato slices to a whole new level. Serve them in brown paper bags at Super Bowl parties or barbecues.
4 large russet potatoes, peeled and sliced about 
-inch thick
½ cup kalamata olives, pitted and coarsely chopped
⅓ cup olive oil
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons minced fresh rosemary
½ teaspoon grated lemon zest
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1. In a large bowl, toss the potatoes, olives, oil, garlic, rosemary, lemon zest, salt, and pepper together. Cover and let marinate for 30 minutes to 12 hours, stirring occasionally.
2. Place an oven rack in the center position and preheat the oven to 400°F.
3. Place the potato mixture on a baking sheet and distribute in a single layer. Bake about 30 minutes turning once or twice, until crisp. Serve hot.
SERVES 4 TO 6
SHELLEY, IDAHO
Today, rather than finding uses for new convenience products, home cooks try to use old-fashioned, homegrown ingredients to echo—and elevate—icons of the convenience food age. This sour cream dip with caramelized onions and frizzled leeks is a case in point.
Ella McIntyre, a graphic artist, gardener, and cook in Idaho, competed with three other “football widows” to improve on the formula of onion soup mix dip. She was committed to using only ingredients from her garden. The deeply caramelized onions she’d prepared and stored in her refrigerator gave the dip a wonderfully sweet flavor, but, she says, “there was something missing. It didn’t really come together until I added a little beef bouillon. A dash of tamari was almost as good.”
4 medium yellow onions, peeled and minced by hand
1 garlic clove, peeled
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
½ teaspoon crushed celery seeds
2 teaspoons beef bouillon powder or crushed bouillon cube
½ teaspoon honey
4 leeks, white parts only, sliced in thin rounds, rinsed well, and dried
½ teaspoon tamari sauce
One 16-ounce container sour cream
1. Place the onions, garlic, and butter in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Season lightly with salt and pepper and cook, stirring frequently, until deep gold, 10 to 15 minutes. Watch carefully to avoid burning. When the onions are soft, add the celery seed, bouillon, honey, and leeks and cook, stirring frequently, until the leeks are soft, about 10 minutes.
2. Transfer the mixture to a mixing bowl, stir in the tamari sauce, and allow to cool. Add the sour cream, taste, and adjust seasoning with additional salt and pepper if desired.
MAKES 3 TO 4 CUPS, ENOUGH FOR 3 POUNDS OF CHIPS
GAITHERSBURG, MARYLAND
Every year at Christmas, The Cabinet convenes at 85-year-old Ourania Kallas’s home. Consisting of Mrs. Kallas—called Yia Yia, the Greek term for grandmother—and seven of her grandchildren, The Cabinet drafts the menus for the Poconos ski weekend that Mrs. Kallas hosts for her three daughters and their families. Once the menus are roughly drawn, it is up to The Cabinet’s president and secretary to fine-tune the recipes. They have had Mexican Night, Mediterranean Night, All-Appetizer Night, and Hearty Man Night (all stews). If, after three years of tweaking, a dish is deemed worthy enough, it makes it into The Book, a volume of family recipes that Mrs. Kallas distributes to family members.
Mrs. Kallas also holds an annual cooking class each Christmas season where she teaches the recipes to her grandchildren. Mastering tzatziki is the first step. The yogurt dip is an everyday condiment to be eaten with everything from traditional souvlaki to burgers, potato chips, and baked potatoes. It is also delicious as a dip for vegetables, crackers, or warm pita.
2 cups plain whole milk yogurt, drained for 8 to 24 hours, or 1 cup Greek- or Bulgarian-style “strained” yogurt (which do not require additional draining)
1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, and chopped
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon distilled white vinegar
1 tablespoon minced fresh dill
1 teaspoon minced fresh mint
1 garlic clove, minced
Kosher salt
In a small bowl, stir together the yogurt, cucumber, oil, vinegar, dill, mint, and garlic. Season with salt to taste. Cover and refrigerate about 30 minutes, until the flavors have blended. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 2 CUPS
CELERY WAS NOT NATIVE TO MICHIGAN, BUT IN THE LATE nineteenth century, the vegetable reached a pinnacle of perfection in the black, loamy, mucky floodplains outside of Kalamazoo. George Taylor brought the seeds from his native Scotland and planted his first crop in 1856, and ten years later, thanks largely to a flood of Dutch immigrants, the region was producing pale, tender stalks. Unlike the nearly bitter Pascal variety grown in California, Kalamazoo celery was a more subtly flavored variety called Golden Hue.
“It is no genteel light work or child’s play to grow celery,” wrote Frank Little in 1886 in his book on the subject. Celery likes mucky soil about three feet deep, the water table merely two feet below the surface, and for the earliest of three annual crops, the tiny seeds had to be planted in covered seedbeds, then transplanted by hand into the fields outside. Each row of celery had to be banked with substantial wooden “bleaching boards” that protected the stalks from the sun, suppressing some of the plant’s naturally bitter taste and keeping the stalks white and tender. Growers harvested each bunch by hand. Whole families worked the celery flats in wide wooden shoes designed to keep them from stumbling as they slogged. So did the draft horses that pulled plows through the hundreds of acres of fields along the banks of Portage Creek.
As celery crops expanded, farmers imported manure from the Chicago stockyards to replenish the soil. The growers marketed their celery so widely that the words “Kalamazoo” and “celery” were, said one historian, as “indelibly associated as Boston and baked beans.” The town was called “Celery City,” and the vegetable was not just a member of the chorus of traditional aromatics used in soups, stuffings, and stews, but became the indispensable crunch in stylish chicken and shrimp salads, the star of its own cream soup, and, when stuffed or set out for dipping, an A-list party food. Celery also became the main ingredient in hundreds of patent medicines that were “ever-soothing,” had aphrodisiac abilities, and promised to boost a person’s “exhausted nature.”
Ironically, man’s exhaustion of nature contributed to the demise of Celery City. The construction of paper mills began lowering the water table in the 1920s, and failure to rotate crops led to a celery blight in the 1930s. Celery production moved back to California. The Dutch farmers planted flowers, and enterprising real estate developers built houses and shopping centers. In the 1950s, “Celery City” was renamed “Mall City.” The landscape is still scored by the ditches dug by celery planters. The celery flats are now a historical district and thanks to its interpretive center (locally called the Celery Museum), the area remains a treasure trove for home gardeners and small growers who want to grow extraordinary celery.
VICKSBURG, MISSISSIPPI
During the 1950s, dips featuring sour cream, processed cheese, or cream cheese became the secret cocktail party weapon for hostesses across America. Regional variations quickly appeared. In Southern culture, pimento cheese is a passion, generating intensely held opinions about base ingredients, flavorings, mixing methods, and consistency. Dorothy Steen is the self-proclaimed pimento cheese chef for the Women’s Auxiliary of the Salvation Army in Vicksburg, Mississippi. She has made at least 180 gallons in the past twenty years, and her recipe took honorable mention in the Pimento Cheese Invitational sponsored by the Southern Foodways Alliance in 2003. Mrs. Steen judges her success in other ways. At local benefits, she said, “Ladies vie to be first in line to purchase any leftover pimento cheese. They even call ahead to wheedle a jar.”
1 pound sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
One 4-ounce jar pimentos, drained and chopped
¼ cup mayonnaise
1 tablespoon lemon pepper
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2½ teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
⅛ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
⅛ teaspoon hot sauce
In a food processor, process all of the ingredients about 15 seconds, until combined, but still slightly chunky. Transfer to a serving bowl, cover, and refrigerate about 2 hours, until the cheese has set and the flavors have blended. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 3 CUPS
BEVERLY HILLS, MICHIGAN
Farideh Khoury keeps a recipe book for her son, Nabin, and daughter, Dina. Written by hand, each recipe is faithful to the ingredients and methods she learned in her home, Damascus. Although her children make Syrian dishes at home for Mrs. Khoury’s four grandchildren, they “Americanize” them. “They put a twist on everything so that it is more Arabic American,” she said.
Mrs. Khoury and her husband, Elie, arrived in Michigan in 1965, in a wave of immigration that now gives Michigan the second-highest concentration of Arab Americans in the country.
For this beloved walnut dip, Mrs. Khoury substitutes cayenne pepper for the milder, darker-hued Syrian spice. A founder of her community’s American-Syrian-Arab Cultural Association, Mrs. Khoury says muhammara is popular at all gatherings, but she particularly likes muhammara when she is dieting: “I eat it with celery,” she says.
2 large red bell peppers, stemmed, seeded, and coarsely chopped
1 small onion, coarsely chopped
1 cup walnuts, chopped, plus more for garnish
2 tablespoons pomegranate molasses
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon Aleppo or cayenne pepper
Kosher salt
Plain fresh bread crumbs, as needed
Extra virgin olive oil, as needed
1. In a food processor, process the bell peppers, onion, walnuts, molasses, cumin, Aleppo pepper, and ½ teaspoon salt together about 20 seconds, until combined but still slightly chunky. If the mixture is too loose, add bread crumbs; if the mixture is too thick, add oil.
2. Season with salt to taste and transfer to a serving bowl. Sprinkle with chopped walnuts, drizzle with oil, and serve.
MAKES ABOUT 2 CUPS
BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA
Beth Hassid’s family, a close-knit clan of Italian, Russian, and Jewish descent, lived in western Massachusetts for three generations before her parents moved to Southern California to open a clothing store in Los Angeles in the late 1960s. Accustomed as she was to huge family gatherings, she was lonely at first. But that changed in 1976 when she married George, whose family owned a rug store near her parents’ boutique, and became part of the city’s rapidly growing, close-knit Persian community. During the early rumblings of the Islamic revolution in 1978, Iranians began arriving in Los Angeles. A million Iranians now live in the city that is increasingly, and affectionately, called “Tehran Angeles.” Mrs. Hassid has fully adopted her husband’s Persian-Jewish culture and the cooking that she learned from her mother-in-law. This eggplant dip, which she makes for light lunches, late-night snacks, and parties, is based on traditional methods, but streamlined to suit the pace of modern American life.
8 to 10 small eggplants
6 tablespoons olive oil
5 garlic cloves, minced
3 medium tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and cut into ½-inch pieces
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 or 5 large eggs, lightly beaten
Saffron threads, for garnish
1. Place an oven rack in the center position and preheat the oven to 350°F.
2. Arrange the eggplants on a large baking sheet and bake about 1 hour, until the skins crack. Cool to room temperature, then remove the stem and skin. Cut the eggplant flesh into ½-inch pieces.
3. In a large skillet, heat 5 tablespoons of the oil and the garlic over medium-low heat about 2 minutes, until sizzling and aromatic. Add the eggplant, increase the heat to medium-high, and cook about 4 minutes. Stir in the tomatoes, turmeric, cumin, salt, and pepper and cook for 3 to 6 minutes, until the pan is dry. Remove from the heat.
4. In a large nonstick skillet, heat the remaining tablespoon oil over medium-low heat. Add the eggs and cook, stirring constantly, about 1 minute, until almost set. Stir in the eggplant-tomato mixture and cook about 2 minutes more, until the eggs are cooked through. Sprinkle with the saffron and serve.
SERVES 6 TO 8
LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY
Eli Shaheen didn’t marry his wife Afaf, for her hummus, but after fifty-seven years of marriage, he is proud to tell you that no one makes it better. For this reason, Mr. Shaheen tends to spend as much time holding forth on the proper hummus as he does selling clothing at Shaheen’s, his family’s department store in downtown Louisville. His great-grandfather was part of a wave of Lebanese Syrian immigrants who arrived in the area in the first decades of the twentieth century. Today, Louisville’s official city government documents are still printed in both Arabic and English, and the town is home to nearly 4,000 Lebanese and Arab Americans. And, thanks in no small part to Mr. Shaheen’s tireless efforts to detail his Lebanese-born wife’s recipes to anyone who walks into his store, it is also home to some of the most sophisticated Lebanese cooking in the nation.
One 15.5-ounce can chickpeas, drained, with ¼ cup liquid reserved
1 garlic clove, minced
Kosher salt
1½ tablespoons tahini
1½ tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus more for garnish
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1. In a food processor, process the chickpeas and reserved liquid for 30 seconds, until smooth.
2. On a cutting board, mash the garlic with ¼ teaspoon salt using the flat side of a knife. Scrape into a small bowl and stir in the tahini and oil. Transfer the mixture to the food processor and process about 30 seconds. Add the lemon juice and process until nearly the consistency of sour cream. Season with salt to taste.
3. Transfer to a serving bowl, cover, and refrigerate. Drizzle with more oil before serving.
MAKES ABOUT 2 CUPS
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
The Piping and Marching Society of Lower Chalmers Street is a dinner club comprised of professional men in Charleston’s “high society” that was, according to several members, founded for the purpose of copious beer drinking under the guise of intellectual pursuit. The club meets monthly at the home of a member who is chosen to give a paper and talk on any subject outside his area of expertise. Past discussions have included the history of the hot dog and Charlestonians’ drinking habits. The club’s annual winter rout is the one time of year when family members and the public interact with the society. Members clad in black tie and kilts and bearing torches lead a procession down the two-block length of Chalmers Street. Before this, however, the marchers and their guests gather in the Pink House (so called for its building material) to partake of a buffet heavy in Low Country dishes like barbecue, shrimp, and grits, and most of all, shrimp paste. Dr. Jane Tyler, the wife of a member, credits her mother-in-law, Floride McDermid Worthington, with the recipe for this beloved dip that is great on crackers and also delicious stirred into fish stews or buttered grits.
1½ pounds small shrimp, preferably creek shrimp
2 celery stalks, strings removed, finely chopped
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup mayonnaise, plus more as needed
Fresh lemon juice
Hot sauce
Kosher salt
1. In a large pot, bring 4 quarts water to a boil over medium-high heat. Stir in the shrimp and cook until the water just begins to boil again. Immediately drain the shrimp and rinse under cold water until cool.
2. Peel and devein the shrimp, then chop them into pea-size pieces. In a medium bowl, combine the shrimp, celery, butter, and mayonnaise. Add more mayonnaise as needed to get a spreadable consistency. Season with lemon juice, hot sauce, and salt to taste.
3. Transfer the mixture to a serving dish, cover, and refrigerate for 8 to 12 hours. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 3 CUPS
MONTCLAIR, NEW JERSEY
Sally Hechinger says: “I grew up in Washington, D.C. Every holiday, Grandmother Molly would arrive from New York at our door with one small suitcase and one large suitcase. The small bag contained a few simple clothes and toiletries. The larger bag was reserved for plastic containers of her delicious chopped liver. When her mother arrived, my mother said ‘Hello,’ gave her a quick kiss, and cracked open the big suitcase. It was like opening a vault full of gold bricks. Within moments, my siblings and I were slathering this yummy stuff on rye bread. Grandma had arrived. I serve it once a year—at Christmas, which is a little odd, seeing that I am Jewish—and rest well, knowing that my cholesterol quota has been filled.”
1 pound fresh chicken livers, cleaned
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
½ cup rendered chicken fat, plus more as needed
1 large onion, finely chopped
4 large eggs, hard boiled, cooled, and peeled
1. Pat the chicken livers dry and season with salt and pepper. In a large skillet, melt 6 tablespoons of the chicken fat over medium-high heat. Add half of the chicken livers and cook for 4 to 5 minutes, until browned on both sides. Transfer them to a plate. Return the skillet to medium-high heat and cook the remaining chicken livers.
2. Pour off the fat in the skillet and wipe out with a paper towel. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons chicken fat to the skillet and heat over medium heat. Add the onion and cook about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until soft. Transfer the onion to a large bowl.
3. In a food processor, pulse the eggs until finely chopped. (Do not overprocess.) Transfer them to the bowl with the onion. Working in two batches, pulse the livers in the food processor until finely chopped. Transfer them to the bowl with the eggs and stir to combine. Add more chicken fat until the mixture is loose and muddy. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover and refrigerate for 8 to 24 hours, until set. Serve.
SERVES 6 TO 8
SUNBURST, MONTANA
“I was born in Sunburst and I lived there most of my life,” says Ila Douglas. “My grandfather moved south from Canada into eastern Montana when he was a young man, around 1830. My mother told me stories about prairie life. It was backbreaking and unending work, clearing the land of rocks in order to plant, herding buffalo, and driving cattle. The winters were brutally cold. Now I live with my daughter in Portland, Oregon, where the weather is milder, but it is not as easy to get good, fatty pork or leaf lard. No matter how tough it was, the family gathered at Christmas and there was corton, a pork pâté that you spread on fresh bread. We always had it after midnight Mass.”
3 pounds pork belly or pork butt, rind discarded and cut into 1-inch chunks
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
Kosher salt
6 whole black peppercorns
2 whole cloves
1 bay leaf
½ teaspoon dried thyme
1 pound leaf lard, cut into 1-inch chunks
½ teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ teaspoon ground allspice
1. In a Dutch oven, cover the pork with cold water. Add half of the onion, 1 tablespoon salt, the peppercorns, whole cloves, bay leaf, and thyme and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and cook for 3 hours, until the pork is tender. Remove from the heat and cool to room temperature in the broth.
2. Meanwhile, in a large skillet, cook the lard over medium heat until the fat is rendered and the cracklings are golden brown. With a slotted spoon transfer the cracklings to a large bowl. Pour off and reserve all but two tablespoons of the fat from the skillet.
3. Return the skillet to medium heat, add the remaining onion, and cook about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the onion is soft. Transfer the onion to the bowl with the cracklings.
4. Transfer the pork to the bowl with the cracklings. Pour the broth through a fine-mesh strainer and reserve. Add the ground cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, ½ teaspoon pepper, and the allspice to the pork and stir until the ingredients are combined. Using a traditional hand-cranked meat grinder or a food processor, grind or pulse the pork mixture.
5. Add the reserved pork fat and pork broth as needed until the mixture is a spreadable consistency. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Transfer the pâté to a crock or a bowl, pour ¼ inch of the reserved pork fat over top, and refrigerate for 3 days before serving.
SERVES 20
AUSTIN, TEXAS
Jam Sanitchat, who grew up in a suburb of Bangkok, Thailand, was waitressing one summer before attending graduate school when she fell in love with cooking. “I was giving dinner parties to say good-bye to people. I couldn’t stop cooking. I realized that earning a Ph.D. was something that I felt I should do, but that all I wanted to do was cook.” Within weeks she met Mark Barnes, and together they imagined the life they wanted to live. They opened Thai Fresh, a grocery store with a nineteen-seat restaurant.
Although Indonesian in origin, satay is a ubiquitous street food in Thailand. Chicken is the most common satay served in the United States, says Ms. Sanitchat, but the dish can be made from pork, beef, tofu, or seafood. “You can use less expensive cuts of meat because the marinade will tenderize as it flavors it.” She serves hers with an unusual peanut sauce and cooling cucumber relish.
¼ cup unsweetened coconut milk, plus more for basting
2 tablespoons finely chopped cilantro root, or about 1 inch of the stems closest to the root end, minced
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 teaspoons sugar
1½ teaspoons fish sauce such as Vietnamese nuoc mam
½ teaspoon curry powder
½ teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon minced fresh ginger
1 teaspoon minced fresh galangal
½ stalk lemongrass, green leaves removed, white part finely minced
¼ teaspoon minced fresh Thai chili
1½ pounds tenders, chicken, beef, pork, or firm tofu, cut into ½-inch-thick, 2- to 3-inch-long strips
12 short bamboo skewers or longer bamboo skewers cut into twelve 4-inch lengths, soaked in water for 1 hour
Peanut Sauce for Satay (recipe follows)
Jam Sanitchat’s Quick Thai Pickle (page 78)
1. To make the marinade, combine the coconut milk, cilantro, oil, sugar, fish sauce, curry powder, turmeric, ginger, galangal, lemongrass, and chili in a medium bowl and allow mixture to sit for 1 hour at room temperature. Add the meat, stir to coat it well, cover, and refrigerate for 3 to 18 hours.
2. Thread marinated meat lengthwise onto a well-soaked bamboo skewer. Blot excess marinade with a paper towel, place on a platter, cover, and refrigerate.
3. Prepare charcoal grill or preheat broiler. Grill the skewers for 2 minutes, basting with coconut milk. Turn, baste again, and cook for 2 minutes more. Serve with peanut sauce and the cucumber relish.
SERVES 4 TO 6
This sauce should be slightly sweet, followed by a touch of tartness and saltiness—adjust the seasoning with tamarind juice and salt to your taste. It can be refrigerated in an airtight container up to four days.
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons Thai red curry paste
½ teaspoon ground coriander
½ teaspoon ground cumin
2 cups unsweetened coconut milk
¾ cup coarsely ground roasted salted peanuts
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons tamarind juice or lime juice, plus more to taste
Kosher salt
1. In a medium saucepan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the curry paste and cook about 1 minute, until aromatic. Stir in the coriander and cumin and cook about 30 seconds. Add the coconut milk, peanuts, and sugar, and simmer for about 3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thick.
2. Stir in the tamarind juice and ½ teaspoon salt, transfer to a bowl, and cool to room temperature.
MAKES ABOUT 2½ CUPS
Agricultural chemist George Washington Carver found 300 uses for peanuts in his Tuskegee Institute laboratory, 1923.
POPCORN IS AMERICA. THE NOTION OF HEATING HARD KERNEL CORN over an open fire until the kernel’s internal steam forced the corn to POP! was a gift of the Amerindians. It has inspired technology, been closely linked to baseball, been cause for patriotism and served as the profit center for movie theaters. Even before the invention of Cracker Jack, popcorn inspired cooks. Savory popcorn—dusted with Cajun spices, salt and pepper, finely grated hard cheese, olive oil, or herb or spice butters—makes fine snacking with beer, cocktails, or even wine.
1 C.E. Native Americans in what is now Arizona pop corn in a hole dug in the hot desert sand.
1621 Myth holds that Native Americans introduced colonists to popcorn beer and popcorn soup. But evidence is lacking.
1760s to 1770s Colonists served popcorn as breakfast cereal, with sugar or molasses and milk. The Philadelphia Dutch standardize kettle corn by adding a touch of syrup, molasses, or honey to the corn popping in big iron kettles.
1830 An enclosed popcorn popper is invented, replacing kettle cooking.
1840 Popcorn sold publicly by boy vendors at public gatherings and train stations. In Boston, popcorn balls are a popular street snack, sold by the wagonload.
1885 The first popcorn machine is invented by Charles Cretors, who owns a Chicago sweet shop. By 1890 he put his steam-based machine onto wheeled carts, which became urban fixtures.
1896 Cracker Jack is invented and sold widely at baseball games and expositions. The song “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” written in 1908 with the lyric “Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,” solidifies the treat as an American food icon.
1914 Jolly Time, America’s first branded popcorn, is sold.
1919 At the age of 12, Orville Redenbacher grows his own popping corn in Brazil, Indiana. He eventually produces a hybrid that becomes the best-selling popcorn in the country.
1959 America welcomed the introduction of Jiffy Pop popping corn, sold in a disposable pan that could be used indoors or out.
Early 1980s Microwave popcorn is introduced.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Diane Cu was a toddler when Saigon fell in 1975. Along with her parents and an uncle, she was among the 120,000 Vietnamese refugees who fled to the United States. Church groups helped relocate families, and hers found its way to Los Angeles and the largest Vietnamese expatriate community in the country. Through the upheaval, nem nuong was constant. The ground pork dish is an economical way to feed a family; it can be eaten with rice noodles, steamed rice, or Vietnamese rice and wheat baguettes. The pork paste can also be molded onto bamboo skewers and grilled, as Ms. Cu does for the parties and family gatherings she hosts in her backyard. The grilled skewered meat can also be served on a tangle of Southeast Asian herbs—perilla, cilantro, and Thai basil—to make a sit-down first course or light summer meal.
1 pound ground pork
¼ pound fatback, finely chopped (optional)
1 small shallot, finely chopped
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 garlic clove, minced
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
6 long bamboo skewers, soaked in water for 1 hour
1. In a large bowl, combine the pork, fatback, if using, shallot, fish sauce, garlic, sugar, salt, and pepper. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes to 12 hours.
2. Heat a grill to medium heat.
3. Using a spoon or ice-cream scoop, portion the meat mixture into 1-inch balls. With your hands, roll into smooth meatballs and thread onto the skewers, leaving ¼ inch between each.
4. Grill the meatballs about 4 minutes, turning several times, until cooked through. Serve.
SERVES 4
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA
Kathy Farley grew up with a vegetable garden, but now, an interior designer with no space to garden, she prowls local farmers’ markets. When figs are in season and dinner involves firing up the grill, she likes to use local cheese to make her grilled figs for company. They are a thing of beauty and a wonderful way to start a meaty meal—or a vegetable feast.
1 pint raspberries
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
8 ripe figs, halved
1 tablespoon olive oil
½ pound Teleme or Bellwether Crescenza cheese
1. In a small saucepan, cook the raspberries over medium heat about 8 minutes, until broken down. Press the raspberries into a bowl through a fine-mesh strainer to remove the seeds. Return the puree to the saucepan and stir in the vinegar and sugar. Simmer about 6 minutes, until thick.
2. Heat a grill to medium heat.
3. Lightly brush the cut sides of the figs with oil. Place the figs cut side down on the grill and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, until lightly browned.
4. Transfer the figs, cut side up, to a serving platter or individual plates and place about 1 tablespoon of the cheese on top of each fig half. Drizzle the raspberry sauce over the top and serve.
SERVES 8
