by Sam Tackeff | Aug 22, 2011 | Books, Writing
“It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one.”
— M.F.K. Fisher (The Art of Eating)
I have a few rituals for when I get into a rut with food. When I can’t think of what to cook any more, I sit down surrounded by my favorite cookbooks, and make lists. When I can’t think of what to write anymore, I read M.F.K. Fisher. For me, her writing is comforting. Like a stand-by recipe you know will turn out perfectly every time, but each time you cook it, it surprises you with new complexity. A new taste or thought. A new memory. Or a new connection.
Mary Frances Kennedy (M.F.K) Fisher, is generally considered one of the founders of modern food writing. For me, she is the ultimate authority.
Now, lest we ignore our predecessors, there has been food writing for millenia. The Greeks, the Romans, the Egyptians, they certainly knew how to throw a party, and enjoy their food and drink. But somehow, in the past several hundred years, there has been a drought of evocative food writing. The genre suffered a long spell of being largely prescriptive and dry. Either you were writing about how to give dubious elixirs to invalids, or you were giving technical details about mother sauces. Stray from these directions and you would be swiftly smote by the culinary deities. There wasn’t much more than that.
M.F.K Fisher was radically different. She wrote about food from the perspective of someone who passionately loved eating food. She wrote about indulging, traveling for food, taste, dreaming about food. She was blunt, exceedingly witty, and intelligent. How many food writers are expansive enough that their quotes fit seamlessly into Roger Ebert’s film reviews? Reading her writing, I’m always reminded of F.Scott Fitzgerald in tone and style – except instead of writing about disaffected wealthy people, she writes about quelling her own hunger, which is a much more interesting topic. She wasn’t a professional chef (and some of the recipes in her early books were slightly off), but boy could she conjure up a taste memory.
And that’s what modern food writing is about. Good food writing, that is. Fisher’s writing is about thinking about food, not from a technical standpoint, but a heartfelt one. If you are interested in improving your writing, M.F.K. Fisher is a good place to start.
Almost all the food writing I love and devour – the books, blogs, gushing articles in Saveur, even Ruth Reichl’s dream-like food tweets “Silver sky. Breezy. Cooler. Tiny red new potatoes gently roasted. Shower of salt, sweet green garlic. Soft, savory. Irresistible.” which spawned ½ of @RuthBourdain’s satirical tweets: “El Bulli just served its last dinner. Sources tell me Ferran shut off the lights in the middle of dessert and played “Don’t Stop Believin’.” – is indebted to M.F.K. Fisher.
I could spend my time writing about M.F.K. Fisher ad nauseum, but this post is actually about Anne Zimmerman, whose biography of Fisher’s early life came out this year.
I met Anne a few years ago soon after I moved to San Francisco. She was finishing a book about the aforementioned food writer, Fisher, and I was managing a bookstore that specialized in books on food. I’m truly in awe of anyone writing a book, but Anne seemed particularly sweet and humble about it. I knew within about five minutes of meeting her that I would enjoy her writing.
Anne Zimmerman’s “An Extravagant Hunger” relates the story of M.F.K. Fisher’s fascinating rise to fame and prominence. Beyond her writing, Fisher was a riveting persona. By gathering details from her personal correspondence and papers, Anne brings to us the woman behind the writing, and it is easy to see Anne’s admiration of her subject in the text. A dramatic life, rife with tumultuous romance, passion and creativity, the food writing iconoclast is truly a phenomenal character.
There is no doubt that Fisher was a brilliant and talented young woman, however she didn’t hit her stride until her early thirties when her first book was published. From then on, she was incredibly prolific. She penned more than 30 books about food, and countless articles, as well as the best translation of Brillat Savarin’s ‘The Physiology of Taste’.
For all of us writers who have yet to publish our first book, it is encouraging to read about the meandering path it takes to be a true renaissance woman.
An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of M.F.K. Fisher by Anne Zimmerman
Published by Counterpoint, 2011
352 Pages
And if you need to get started on Fisher – I’d go ahead and recommend ‘The Art of Eating‘ which is a compilation of some of her best work.
by Sam Tackeff | Aug 5, 2011 | Ice Cream, Local stores, Restaurants
I had very few reservations about moving back across the country to New England. There is so much here I love passionately, and so much I missed when I was away. My family is here, I have dear friends that I’ve known my entire life. I love walking on the beach that I grew up on, a five minute walk from my childhood home that my parents still live in. I love driving into Boston just to amble through the Common on a sunny day. I love a spontaneous trip to New York to load my car full of smoked fish and bread and coffee from Zabars.
One reservation I had was bringing my partner Devon back to New England with me and the chance of him hating it. He was born in Southern California, and has lived all his life in the Golden State. I worried about the lack of air conditioning, the blizzard season, the drivers in Massachusetts, and the fact that our home basketball team is not to his liking. (Although that won’t really matter given that we don’t appear to have a season shaping up…Grumble.) But, despite all this, he, being a wonderful stand up fellow (or maybe just a little crazy), came with me. And I couldn’t be more ecstatic.
It’s not going to be the easiest transition, but he seems to be doing well so far. And we’ll make sure that we make a trip to L.L. Bean shortly to acquire proper gear for our arctic adventures.
In the past month, Devon has been learning a lot of intriguing (not quite true) facts about New England. Did you know that New Hampshire has the highest per capita rate of vanity plates? Well, everyone has been telling us this, and yet we are actually #2 after Virginia. What is also not true, is that we consume the largest amount of ice cream per capita. That award goes to the hardy citizens of Alaska. (No fewer than 4 people have claimed that fact to him as well.)
This affectionate rumor is not actually surprising when you consider the amount of people in line at any given time of the day at any of the dozen or so home made ice cream shops in my home town. One of my greatest pleasures these past few weeks has been to introduce Devon to some of these local havens, so that he has an objective view of his options.
The best of these, in my opinion, is Annabelle’s. Annabelle’s has been open since 1982, and I’ve been going there pretty much since I was born. (My grandmother first fed me ice cream when I was five and a half months old. Before you scream out about negligence, she was eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream, I tasted it, determined that it was mine, and face-planted.)
The vibe in Annabelle’s is a certain rustic, hippy charm, and you feel like there might be a milking cow out back. You can come in and sit for a while, but most people don’t . You can order from a takeout window, and right outside are benches where you can overlook the water and the tugboats, and everything screams old-town charm.
The ice cream itself is superb. Rich, thick, and high in butterfat. They have a good selection of classic flavors, and some non-traditional ones as well. They make a small fuss out of the fact that they don’t have mint chocolate chip ice cream – instead they have two mint-loving options: Mint Summer’s Night Dream (Mint Chocolate Ice Cream with Chocolate Chunks), and Minty Mint Cookie (Vanilla based Ice Cream with Mint flavoring and Mint Cookies).
I’m a sucker for classic New England flavors: Maple Walnut, Pumpkin Pie, Grape-Nut. Yes, there is an ice cream flavor that is Grape-Nut, like the cereal. My absolute favorite is the Raspberry Chocolate Chip. Real raspberry ice cream, with generous chocolate-y shards. I eat it pretty much every other time I go.
On the past two trips, Devon has had the White Pistachio – pure pistachio ice cream with whole pistachios, and he has sworn allegiance. I think this coast may be growing on him.
Annabelle’s Ice Cream
49 Ceres Street
Portsmouth, NH 03801
(603) 436-3400
by Sam Tackeff | Jul 28, 2011 | Food Travel, Greek
When I was in middle school, an awe inspiring shipment arrived at our door in New Hampshire: an entire barrel full olive oil from Yithion, Greece. This wasn’t just any olive oil; it happened to be from my great aunt and uncle’s own olive grove.
Getting the oil here was no easy feat. My mother spent weeks on the phone with my grandmother debating logistics. Will it get through customs? Will the barrel leak? Will the oil spoil? It was a long saga that ended fruitfully in several years worth of some of the best olive oil to touch my lips. I assure you, even the most pristine first cold press olive oil tastes even better when it is from your own families’ grove.
I’ve never actually been to Greece, which is truly a shame. The closest I’ve come is Istanbul (not the same, I know), where my Grandmother (half Greek) lives with her Greek Orthodox Icons hanging prominently next to her Jewish Hamsah (hand icons), next to the Turkish Boncuk (blue evil eye). I will proudly claim my different lineages, particularly when food is involved. Tasting that olive oil for the first time, I knew Greece was a part of me. When I finally make it there I will gorge myself on olives and feta, wild horta greens, and fish from the sea, and I will be very, very happy.
But, back to New England. A glorious event takes place in Portsmouth, New Hampshire that allows me to get my Greek on every year: the St. Nicholas Greek Festival. Perhaps Greek people just know how to throw a better party, but this happens to be one of my favorite festivities on the Seacoast. One can get meat on a stick, meat in a wrap, copious amounts of desserts, and very strong coffee.
Maybe you have never been to a Greek Festival, but if you have seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding, well, it’s kind of like that. Seriously – when that movie came out, every one of my Greek and Middle Eastern friends went to see it with their entire families, and it was like watching reality television.
Greek festivals have been the place to go as long as there have been Greek people in this country. Many Greeks emigrated to America in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. In an April, 1897 clipping from the New York Times we already see public announcements: “Greek Festival Here. The Grecian national fête will be celebrated in this city to-day, with services in the Greek Church, at 340 West Fifty-third Street.” Granted, at that time there was a holiday attached to the festival, and now mostly, summer seems a good enough reason to celebrate.
On the Seacoast, St. Nicks is located in a rather unassuming place right next to the Portsmouth High School and has been around for over 80 years. The festival started about thirty years ago, and I’ve been going fairly regularly for over a decade.
This year was exciting because Devon had never been to a Greek Festival, and it was the perfect event for him to experience both small town New Hampshire pride, and some “mother country” food.
My parents came along, as did my childhood best friend Sara – who gets points here for putting up with my tourist-like camera-wielding action for the sake of my blog, even though she found it a touch embarrassing.
Food selections were mostly the classics: Souvlaki (charbroiled meat on sticks), or Pastichio (an ultra rich cross between mac and cheese and meat lasagna) or Moussaka (layers of baked eggplant, potatoes, and ground beef).
I went with a traditional Gyro (grilled strips of lamb and beef in a warm pita with cooling tzaziki yogurt sauce). Both Devon and my mom thought this was a good idea as well, so we ended up getting three of the same thing. My dad had the Baked Lamb Shank in tomato sauce, served over rice pilaf. Sara got a Greek Salad, but frankly, as a vegetarian you get cheated with festival food. We ordered Dolmathakia (stuffed grape leaves) in olive oil to share, although I ended up sneaking most of them.
The food was pretty great all around, except for Sara’s Greek salad, which suffered from being not much more than a massive plate of iceberg lettuce. The other failure was the breaded deep fried french fries which came out of a bag and were sopping in oil. Alas, you can’t win them all.
After our meal, we took a brief respite from eating to watch the children perform (8!) Greek dances. This is always more popular than the band alone, and everyone gathers around to watch. I’m always particularly impressed by the kids who have been enlisted to do this, because I myself would have died of mortification.
Next, we went into round two of eating: Loukoumades. These are essentially fried balls of dough, dipped in honey, and coated with cinnamon and powdered sugar. Unlike your typical boardwalk or amusement park fried dough, Loukoumades are surprisingly airy and light.
Our next stop was inside the church hall to the makeshift market. Here, all sorts of trinkets, t-shirts, and **phenomenally tacky** cds were for sale, along with a food market and tasting pavilion (in case you aren’t full yet, and would like to try some Greek honey or cheese to prime your stomach for round three).
After shopping, we moved onto coffee. If you haven’t had Greek (or Turkish) coffee, you haven’t lived. These people know how to make coffee. Smoother and stronger than an espresso, a centuries old proverb sums it up well “Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love.” Typically though, I like it a little less sweet than the old men drink it. The preparation involves stirring the grounds in a little pot, heating them up precisely, and adding a little sugar, and then pouring it all into a small cup, being sure not to pour in the dregs.
If you are special, you finish your cup, turn it over onto the saucer, wait until it dries, and then let someone read your dregs (akin to reading your tealeaves). Preferably a grandmother. I know mine does.
And finally, the highlight of the evening, dessert! Greek pastry is so much more than the sad, oversweet baklava that you can find mass-produced for coffee shops. Greek pastry is a centuries old miracle of tweaking and finesse, resulting in perfect little bites of sweetness, richness, fluffiness and crunch.
I will admit however, that by the time I arrived at the pastry station I had already been defeated, and it took all that was in me to even photograph the dessert.
Here, clockwise from top left are some of my favorites: Kourambiethes (Greek wedding cookies with chopped almonds), Kataifi (finely shredded filo pastry with a walnut filling and honey syrup), Baklava (layered filo in a honey syrup), Amygdalota (almond macaroons), Mil-Feig (ie: mille-feuille, layered filo with pastry cream filling topped with whipped cream and almonds), and Finikia (greek spice cookies drenched in syrup).
Despite my protests, my mother had the foresight to purchase a few Kourambiethes and Amygdalota to go. On our way out, there was still an ever growing line for the food.
For those of you fortunate to live in near proximity to a Greek Orthodox church, I urge you to check out the local calendar to determine when their Greek Festival will be held this summer, and GO.
Yiassou!!
