Recent publications by Cynthia

Susan B. Anthony and Prohibition

caclampitt@att.net — Thu, 15 May 2008 19:35:33

Having been invited recently to a party celebrating the end of Prohibition, I was reminded once again (by comments in the invitation) of how little anyone actually knows about Prohibition and why it happened. And as a historian, I feel moved to elucidate folks on the reality of why we had Prohibition.

Prohibition was, in fact, a feminist issue. If you notice, Prohibition was passed one year after women got the vote. That’s because there were no women’s shelters, and women didn’t control money or, generally speaking, have jobs, which meant women had no options other than just taking it when the menfolk came home staggering drunk. And before Prohibition, drunkenness was a problem of, well, staggering proportions. Some estimate that 50 percent or more of the male population was alcoholic, and even the non-alcoholics drank heavily—often (as noted in the article below) within a few points of lethal amounts of alcohol on a regular basis. And while a fair number of women drank, most women just bore the brunt of the abuse—or penury—that often went with male alcoholism.

As for the Puritans, on whom most people blame Prohibition, aside from having lived 300 years too early to have been involved, they were actually pretty heavy drinkers. Most Puritans were making hard cider in vast quantities, and they enjoyed gin. They didn’t approve of drunkenness, but they certainly had no problem with drinking. So we can’t pin this on them.

Just be glad that, as far as feminist causes go, we kept the vote but got rid of Prohibition. (But thank goodness we’re not consuming alcohol at the rate Americans were in the 1830s.)

Here are some quotes and some sites where you can confirm this information.

http://www.history.rochester.edu/class/sba/third.html
Susan B. Anthony's first involvement in the world of reform was in the temperance movement. This was one of the first expressions of original feminism in the United States and it dealt with the abuses of women and children who suffered from alcoholic husbands.

http://www.librarycompany.org/ArdentSpirits/temperance-women.html
Women were active in the temperance movement from the early 19th century and became its driving force in the 1870s. Women often made up significant portions of temperance organizations and formed all-female organizations as well. Because women lacked financial autonomy, the problem of male drunkenness was their problem. The temperance cause was an arena in which women could resist vulnerability to their husbands and lack of political and economic freedoms. Many important suffragists got their start in the temperance movement.

http://www.americanforeignrelations.com/Al-Am/Alcohol-Consumption.html
By the 1750s Americans were drinking heavily. Much of the rum was imported, and the rest was distilled in the seaports from molasses brought from the West Indies. Although available data is rough, by 1750 the colonists may have consumed more than 6 gallons of alcohol per adult per year, nearly triple the 2.2 gallons drunk in 1998. From the 1790s through the 1820s, whiskey use soared. Heralded as the national beverage, whiskey made getting drunk a patriotic gesture and an act of American pride.

Around 1800 settlement of the Middle West began, and that region's hot summers and excellent soil produced bumper corn crops. The result was a corn glut, which increased when Europe stopped buying American grain after the Napoleonic Wars ended in 1815. Desperate western farmers turned their corn into whiskey in order to afford the shipping costs of sending it to the East for sale. Whiskey became both cheaper and more plentiful. By the 1820s whiskey was five cents a fifth, cheaper than rum, wine, beer, milk, tea, or coffee. It was often safer to drink than water, too.

At the consumption peak, around 1830, Americans drank about seven gallons of alcohol per adult per year. This rate of use is among the highest ever recorded in any society and is close to the human body's physiological maximum capacity for intake of alcohol.

Adult white men drank the most, consuming perhaps as much as five-sixths of the liquor at an average rate of a half pint a day, but women also drank, often at home and sometimes for real or imagined health problems. Temperance leaders found it hard to defend limited use because no one agreed how much alcohol was safe. They also found that attacking whiskey while exempting wine did not work, because the poor would not give up cheap whiskey while the wealthy continued to drink expensive wine.

Dining Down Under

caclampitt@att.net — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 05:42:06

If Americans think about the food of Australia at all, it probably doesn’t go much beyond Paul Hogan’s famous, “We’ll throw another shrimp on the barbie.” Well, they certainly have plenty of shrimp (or prawns as they are more likely to say down there) and even more barbies, but the country and its cuisine go far beyond that. Of course, there are the fabulous people, the fascinating scenery, the weird and wonderful wildlife, the glorious beaches and sophisticated cities—and those are all great reasons to go to Australia. However, I hope to convince you that Australia is also a great dining destination.

First of all, it’s an island, with 80 percent of the population living within an hour of the ocean, so fresh seafood is abundant. Dine on barramundi from Queensland to Darwin, John Dory in Sydney, or whiting in the south. Sample Sydney’s splendid oysters. Indulge in succulent scallops in Perth or Adelaide. Check out the “bugs”—Balmain bugs or Moreton Bay bugs—sweet, flavorful, indigenous crustaceans that taste like a cross between crab and lobster. Look for crayfish on the menu—these are what we call rock lobsters, and they are particularly abundant in the southern states. (Crayfish are unrelated to crawfish. The Aussie crustacean most like a crawfish, or crawdaddy, is the yabbie, a freshwater creature that is larger than its American counterpart—and is also worth trying.) Prawns are varied and succulent, and some are massive, particularly in Queensland. And don’t forget the crabs. If you only get to Sydney, Doyle’s on the Beach is the place to go to sample the widest possible selection of seafood.

Second, much of Australia is in the tropics, so there is a wide array of gloriously exotic fruit available, from mangoes to custard apples to pawpaws. The macadamia nut, also known as the Queensland nut, is indigenous, so they’re not nearly as expensive as they are here in the states. The farmers’ markets are a delight—and if you get to Melbourne, check out the Queen Victoria Market, a 100-year-old outdoor market that covers 16 acres. And Adelaide’s Central Market is a treat, too. In fact, all the major cities have markets that will delight you.

Third, Australia is a world-class wine-producing country. There are numerous dinky-di Aussie wineries, many of them international award winners, but most of the world’s top outfits have vineyards here, as well. The Chandon vineyard outside Melbourne, for example, is a delightful spot to stop for a bit of bubbly and to enjoy the view of vineyards and bordering mountains. However, if you can only visit one wine region, the Hunter Valley outside Sydney is recommended. If you can take in more than one, South Australia has a number of wineries worth a visit, as well. And then there’s the the rum and the beer—rum was a key element of early Australian history and is still popular, and as for beer, every state has at least a few brands, and brewery tours are often available. (Me, I prefer cider to beer, and Australia is where I got hooked on Strongbow.)

On top of that, you have a substantial immigrant population. There was a huge influx from Europe after World War II. (Huge enough that, for example, Melbourne has the third largest Greek-speaking community in the world, after Athens and Thessalonica.) And Australia is in Asia’s backyard. Even 20 years ago, you could get octopus or hot goat curry from food vendors in shopping malls. It’s where I had my first Vietnamese food and Cambodian food, and while I’d first sampled Indonesian food in Amsterdam, I became truly familiar with it in Australia.

Throw in a few ambitious, imaginative, cutting-edge chefs, and you have the makings of a diners’ paradise.

There are a few things that might strike you as strange. Pumpkin is served as a vegetable at many meals. (I love squash, so I was in heaven.) Pub grub often offers roast lamb at lunch, which is not usual for Yanks but is certainly not a bad thing. The candy bars are almost all different from ours. For ice cream, you go to a “dairy bar.” And you can get champagne and orange juice in pop-top cans—again, not a bad thing. But that just adds a touch of the joy of exploration to the trip. (You don’t want it to all be familiar, do you?)

I’ve been to Australia four times now. The first time was for six months, and I covered almost 20,000 miles. The return trips were for one month each. It's a worthwhile destination for many reasons—and dining is one of them.

[This article first appeared in a slightly different form in Hungry Magazine.]

Cynthia's review of The Man Who Ate Everything

caclampitt@att.net — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 02:00:15

Wry, witty, informed, fascinating, this book ricochets like a pinball machine between topics, from baking bread in France to making pefect mashed potatoes, diet fads to pheremone research to why butter is good and raw vegetables are questionable. Almost every page offers facts you'll want to underline or wit you'll want to remember. I feel like Steingarten has become a friend who has taken me into his confidence, sharing secrets and personal insights about his own journey with food. I like him better with every chapter. Oh -- and he can really write. I've read a few other books lately where the info was great but the writing was like eating flour in Death Valley, but Steingarten remains an amiable companion whose charming stories make the time fly.

The Spice House

caclampitt@att.net — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 20:27:17

In addition to talking about cooking schools, PhilZ and I spent some quality time with Patty Erd, owner (along with her husband, Tom) of The Spice House, which Julia Child once described as a national treasure. If you've ever seen the fruitcake episode of Alton Brown's "Good Eats," you've seen Patty, as Alton goes to her for advice on spice in that show. I mentioned to PhilZ that I'd written an article for North Shore Magazine about The Spice House, and he said he'd be interested in having it reprinted here. So here it is. And in case you don't live near one of the Erds' five stores, here's their web address: http://www.thespicehouse.com

Always in Good Taste

The heady fragrance of black pepper and cinnamon began to tease my senses while I was still a block from the store. As I entered the attractive Evanston shop, a rich, almost intoxicating blend of aromas enveloped me, drawing me into the warm, woody interior, towards the walls and shelves of jars filled with tantalizing delights from the four corners of the earth. Before me was an astonishing array of lovingly prepared, freshly ground herbs and spices—from ajowan seed to za’atar, and everything in between. No wonder Julia Child loved this place.

The Spice House, owned by Tom and Patty Erd, is a second-generation, family-run business that has as its chief goal offering simply the best herbs and spices available. Fortunately, you don’t have to be Julia Child to have access to this level of quality. While numerous top chefs and food experts do shop there, the doors (and web site) of the Spice House are open to all.

The Spice House was founded in Milwaukee in 1957 by Patty Erd’s parents, Ruth and Bill Penzey, Sr. They had worked for a local food company, but wanted to have their own business, so began delivering coffee and a few spices to local restaurants. In time, as the business grew, they decided to discontinue coffee and focus on herbs and spices.

Patty has been working in the trade since she was eight years old—she had to work weekends to get her allowance. Years later, when Tom Erd, a machinist, started dating Patty Penzey, he found himself spending a lot of time “working with his girl friend’s dad,” getting the hands-on training that would turn him, too, into an inveterate spice man. “Interestingly,” Tom notes, “though Patty has been doing this longer, I’m the more spice-oriented of the two. I do all the grinding, blending, and ordering. Patty is more on the administrative side of the business.”

Of course, that is not to say that Patty is not solidly involved in all aspects of the business. She explains that, “While I would be happy to be only an administrator, the most important thing we do to make our business successful is take care of the customers. That means I have to spend time in the shop, meeting customers, helping them, finding out what they want. Also, a shopkeeper’s personality is a big part of what keeps people coming back.” In addition, Patty writes the extensive catalog, which not only describes their many offerings, but also includes explanations, suggestions, bits of history and lore, recipes, and anecdotes.

Every aspect of the business, from the hands-on approach of its owners to the careful preparation of the product, reflects the love the Erds have for what they do. Both describe their work in relational, rather than economic, terms. They recognize that people make a special trip to the Spice House because they are cooking for those they love, or chefs come because they want to give their customers something better. Tom and Patty Erd feel that this connects them to the love, or to the desire to please. “We want to make sure that we always have the best stuff,” Patty notes, “to make the special trip really worth it. We are a part of one of the world’s oldest and most meaningful traditions, the breaking of bread,” she continues. “I’m sure it sounds corny, but that gives us the most wonderful inner satisfaction.” Tom adds, “We don’t make a lot of money, but if we did, we’d lose our character.”

When Patty’s parents retired in 1992, Tom and Patty bought their Milwaukee store. In business for 44 years, it remains the busiest of the Erds’ three stores. The Evanston store was opened in 1996, and their Old Town location was launched in 2000. Though they rely on talented and well-trained staff (often cooking professionals or students at area cooking schools), Tom and Patty circulate constantly among the three locations.

At the cozy Evanston store, Tom leads the way from a small, crowded office that overlooks the shop, down steep, stone steps to a basement filled with the latest shipments—bundles of cinnamon bark from Vietnam, huge bags of pungent Malabar pepper from India, mountains of sage from the Balkans (“This is the best sage in the world,” Tom enthuses, rubbing a leaf between his hands to release the volatile oils, then waving it under my nose). Boxes are piled to the ceiling, and Tom points out the government labels, from North Africa, the Middle East, Asia, Europe. The labels identify when and where each spice was picked, to ensure quality and freshness, which many governments, for whom this may be a major export item, protect fervently and rigidly.

Tom relates that purchasing is the hardest part of the job. There are a vast number of vendors, and sometimes they get only one or two things from a given vendor. For example, the cinnamon bark comes from a vendor outside Hanoi, and it’s the only thing they order from that vendor. An intoxicating and vividly red paprika comes from another vendor, this one in Hungary. He has to deal with dozens of vendors, and often orders directly from growers.

In a side room, Tom demonstrates the grinding mills, and shows the mesh screens used for sifting spices, to guarantee consistent texture. The fragrance in the room is almost overwhelming. Tom explains that he must, in fact, wear a respirator when grinding and blending, because it does become too much—not just the smell, but the particles in the air. In addition, the store is vented, to keep the fragrance from being overpowering. “We order pepper and cinnamon by the ton,” Tom explains. “We’ll grind a ton or more of cinnamon just in the two months before Christmas. That puts a lot of volatile oils, and a lot of spice, into the air. You just can’t breathe that for long.”

In addition to pure herbs and spices, the Spice House offers a number of unusual blends. Among the most delightful, and successful, combinations are the Chicago Blends. Try Back-of-the-Yards Garlic Pepper, Bronzeville Rib Rub, Argyle Street Asian Blend, Old Taylor Street Cheese Sprinkle, Pilsen Latino Seasoning, or one of the other blends that reflect the flavors of Chicago’s varied ethnic neighborhoods. “The beauty of these seasonings,” Tom notes, “is that they make exotic fast. They’re real time-savers.” Unique to the Spice House, this line of blends recently garnered the Erds an invitation to speak at Mayor Daly’s birthday party, where ethnic Chicago was the theme—and President Clinton was a guest.

Neither honors nor speaking are unusual for the Erds. They lecture regularly at Kendall College, at the Newberry Library, and for the American Institute of Wine and Food. In 2000, they won the Evanston Small Business of the Year award. That same year, Patty was inducted into Les Dames d’Escoffier, an organization that promotes the achievement of women in culinary professions.

The Erds bring to their lectures, and to their business, the accumulated expertise not only of long history but also of their continuing efforts to stay on top of things. During the years that Ruth and Bill Penzey still owned the store, Tom and Patty worked in restaurants (and, Tom notes, both can “hold their own” in the kitchen). Membership in most of Chicago’s food societies helps them stay up to date on industry trends. They read constantly, and try to learn from everyone—from the regular mom cooking for her family to high-end chefs to the ethnically diverse shoppers of the changing city. In addition, top food writers such as John Thorne, Paula Wolfert, and Kitty Morse, who are also customers, share their discoveries and ideas with Tom and Patty.

The Spice House is a great place to ask questions. Even if Tom or Patty aren’t there, the staff is experienced and knowledgeable. But here are some general guidelines from the Erds—regardless of where you picked up your parsley, sage, rosemary, or thyme. First, you want to store your herbs and spices in good containers. Volatile oils are what give herbs and spices their flavors, and air and humidity are the enemies. So glass or porcelain containers with tight-fitting lids are a wise choice. Properly stored, herbs and spices can last one to two years. “Reds” (paprika, chile) are the shortest-lived spices. They hold up better in the refrigerator, as do sesame seeds and poppy seeds. Things that clump, such as garlic powder, may also benefit from refrigeration, unless you use it quickly. Whole spices, such as coriander and black pepper, will last for years, but deteriorate more rapidly after they are ground. (That’s why the Erds grind their spices fresh every week, and why they offer spice grinders for home use, for customers who prefer to buy whole spices.)

Two tests for freshness are appearance and smell. If your herbs have turned from green to gray, they will have little flavor. Also, if herbs or spices no longer have any scent, they won’t help your food.

“People are cooking differently now,” Tom observes. “There are so many things they want.” Fortunately for us, there is a place to pick up the Spanish saffron, Chinese five-spice powder, or Mexican epazote demanded by new recipes, as well as the best available examples of the old standards. (Even salt exceeds expectations—try the slightly moist sea salt from Bretagne.) Tom and Patty Erd have succeeded brilliantly at creating a haven for those who are searching for the highest quality for their own culinary endeavors. At the Spice House, everything is always in good taste.

Seasons of My Heart

caclampitt@att.net — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 17:20:03

During my first trip to Mexico, as I was interested in both sampling a variety of cuisines and glutting myself on history and culture, I traveled around a fair bit, from Mexico City to Oaxaca and then across the Yucatan, ending my wanderings in Mérida. Great fun. While I was in Oaxaca, as I browsed through markets (I have a real fondness for great markets, and Oaxaca has some amazing ones), whenever I encountered a vendor who spoke English, they asked me I was there for the cooking school. I wasn't, but I made a point of finding out more.

The cooking school of which these folks were speaking is called Seasons of My Heart. The name is taken from the PBS series and companion cookbook created by Susana Trilling, the chef who runs the school. Before I left Oaxaca, I had already begun planning my return trip.

The cooking school has its home at Susana’s Rancho Aurora, which is about half an hour out of the city of Oaxaca. There is a wonderful kitchen, fabulously well equipped with both traditional and modern equipment, but the hilltop rancho also offers splendid views of the surrounding valley, farms, and nearby mountains. It was a great place to learn about Oaxacan cooking.

We made gorgeous recipes—complex moles, lush soups, vibrant cocktails, and vastly more -- mostly out of Susana’s book (which, of course, I bought, even though Susana had supplied copies of everything we actually made). But we didn’t just cook. One day, Susana arranged for us to have a scholar at the Ethno-Botanic Garden take us on a tour of the plants in this small but fascinating collection. I learned, among many other things, that maize was probably first bred from a wild grain (teosinte) in the state of Oaxaca, and Oaxaca still grows more native corn than anywhere else in Mexico; that the state of Oaxaca actually has greater botanical diversity than Costa Rica; that the earliest domestication of food in the New World appears to have occurred here, in around 8000 BC; that chilies, while they had come from farther south, were probably first bred for variety here, and even today, Oaxaca grows and consumes a greater variety of chilies than anywhere else in the world; of the many varieties of agave, which are all indigenous to the New World, more grow in Mexico than anywhere else in the New World, and more grow in Oaxaca than anywhere else in Mexico; and that the name Oaxaca comes from the Nahuatl word for mimosa, which grows abundantly here. (I took 14 pages of notes, so it was a very interesting tour/lecture. I highly recommend a visit to the garden, if you get to Oaxaca.)

We also spent a few mornings visiting fabulous markets, where fruits, vegetables, breads, cones of sugar, combs of honey, cooking utensils, chocolate, spices, herbs, and barrels upon barrels of chilies dazzled and enticed us. The markets were just amazing. Of course, at some of the larger markets, one could also find everything from shoes to piñatas to automotive equipment, but even at these markets, food was still the main focus. We also visited cheese makers, chocolate grinders, and bakers.

Another adventure was spending a day in the surrounding hills, visiting a Zapotec village, where four beautiful Indian women taught us how to make pre-Hispanic dishes. We had the opportunity to grind everything from chocolate to herbs on metates and cook tortillas on comals, the curving, wood-fired clay stoves used throughout this region. We moved from room to room of the small, twig-walled Indian dwelling, helping where we could, stirring black beans in a large clay pot, called an olla, which sat on another wood-burning clay stove, helping make tortillas and corn dumplings by hand. We gathered in the open-air kitchen to watch the creation of an ancient ceremonial beverage called tejate, which combines cacao with seeds, flowers, and ground maize to create a refreshing and delicious drink that is traditionally judged primarily by the amount of foam the preparer is able to generate. Then we got to sit down and enjoy all the lovely pre-Hispanic dishes created by our hostesses. What fun! And the tastes were all interesting and, on the whole, wonderful. I particularly liked the soup made of squash fruit, vines, and leaves.

It was a splendid adventure. If you have any interest in Oaxacan cuisine (said by many to be the best in Mexico), I definitely recommend Susana's school. You can learn more at the school's website: http://www.seasonsofmyheart.com/

In closing -- on the last night, during our celebratory feast, we were expected to do something to contribute to the evening's entertainment. I wrote a poem and read it. When I met PhilZ this last week, and was telling him about Oaxaca (because Susana Trilling was, happily, at the same conference -- IACP in New Orleans -- and had triggered great memories) he said that he thought I should post the poem. I wanted to give the background first, but here, now is the poem I dashed off for that last night at cooking school.

A Season in La Cocina

A southern kitchen called me, and I came.
It’s owner/chef—Susana is her name—
Gives lessons, and I hoped that I would learn
The secrets of tortillas, chiles’ burn,
Oaxaca’s seven moles, how to make
Fresh salsa and tamales, for the sake
Of knowing old and new, present and past,
Of seeing which techniques and dishes last,
Of using a metate and comal,
Of cooking many things and eating all.
Seasons of my Heart has proved to be
A season of conviviality,
Good food, and learning. Now it’s time to part.
I won’t forget this season of my heart.

Papas Arequipeña

caclampitt@att.net — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 01:08:27

Potatoes are indigenous to Peru, so it's not surprising that they figure largely in the local cuisine. This recipe originates in the city of Arequipa, in southern Peru. It combines Inca traditions (potatoes, peanuts, chilies) with colonial (milk, cheese, eggs and olives). It is delicious, filling, and easy to make. In more aristocratic Peruvian homes, this might be presented before the main course, but for most people, it's a meal in itself.

ANZAC Buiscuits

caclampitt@att.net — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 05:57:15

ANZAC is an acronym for Australia New Zealand Army Corps. If you saw the movie “Gallipoli,” you know who these guys are. The corps served with distinction in World War I but ceased to exist when Australia and New Zealand were no longer lumped together by the British as a single entity. There are several stories about the origin of these cookies (which the Aussies, like the Brits, call “biscuits”). Some claim that a group of women created them for care packages for soldiers, another story suggests that they were making a dish that didn’t use eggs, which were dried and sent to soldiers over seas. Whatever the real story is, there is no doubt that their purpose was to honor the brave ANZAC soldiers of World War I.

One note regarding measurements: I got this recipe in Australia, which means that it used a mix of British Imperial measure and European metric. I’ve translated it into American standard measure, but thought you’d wonder why some measures are a little inexact. For example, one cup Imperial is 10 ounces, while in American a cup is 8 ounces, and tablespoons are the tiniest bit bigger in Imperial measure. However, being off one way or the other by a couple of shreds of coconut or drops of golden syrup won’t really make a difference.

Anyway, these are among the most delicious cookies on earth. Enjoy.

Not All Corn is Maize

caclampitt@att.net — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 18:23:07

One thing of which we are all relatively certain here in the U.S. is that European settlers learned about corn from American Indians. Right? Well, not really. What they learned about from the indigenous peoples of the New World was maize, not corn. Sound like double talk? Well, as it turns out, the word corn may not mean what you think it does, at least not if you’re an American. The term corn actually means the most important cereal crop of a region. Hence, wheat was traditionally the corn of England, oats were the corn of Ireland and Scotland, rye was the corn of northern Germany, and in South Africa, the grain known as Bantu corn is millet. The term can also mean small, hard seed, which is why the seed from barley is often called barleycorn. When settlers reached the New World, they called the grain grown most commonly by the Native Americans “Indian corn.” Which explains why, even though no one in Europe had seen maize before they reached the Americas, you see references to corn in older literature. Only in the United States is the word corn used to denote maize alone.

A little etymological aside here: The corn that means grain comes from Old Norse, korn, which means “grain.” The hard bump that grows on some toes, though it may feel like a hard seed, actually gets its name from the Middle English/Middle French corne, which means “horn.” So the words are unrelated.)

Zea mays, or maize, is the only cereal grain indigenous to the New World. It appears to have been domesticated around 6600 BC in the area of Mexico known today as Oaxaca, where, scholars conjecture, it was intentionally bred from a wild grass known as teosinte. (The conjecture is that it was intentionally bred, not that it came from teosinte.) Teosinte still grows in some parts of Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras. Interestingly, while teosinte does just fine on its own, maize doesn’t. Maize is, in fact, the only cereal grain that cannot disperse its seeds without human intervention. It is so domesticated it can’t get along without us.

For most of history, throughout the world, farming was small-scale, with crops being hand harvested. The advantage to this was that a farmer could notice the idiosyncrasies of individual plants and could choose to save seeds from those plants that had interesting traits, and then breed the plants that grew from those seeds. This was true in the Americas as maize was developing. Because this farmer/crop dynamic is really effective, the numbers of varieties of maize expanded dramatically and rapidly, until there was a maize variety for every purpose, climate, and soil.

An early form of maize was spreading through Mexico by around 6000 BC, being bred and modified as it moved. By 3500 BC, maize was a staple in most of Mexico and Central America. It appears to have reached Peru by 2000 BC. Trade routes carried it north, as well, until in time maize had become the primary food plant of American cultures ranging from the tribes of the Caribbean Islands to the cliff dwellers of the American Southwest, the Inca of Peru to the mound builders of the Mississippi.
Europeans first encountered maize when they first encountered the Americas. Columbus and crew were fed maize in the Caribbean islands on which they landed. In fact, the word maize is simply the Spanish rendering of the Taino word mahiz, the Taino being one of the groups of islanders that entertained the newcomers.

While maize was nutritionally inferior to other cereal grains, it had the advantage of being relatively easy to grow, and it would, in one form or another, grow almost anywhere. This is the reason that maize saved all those early settlers you read about in your history books. It wasn’t that they didn’t know how to farm, it was that they didn’t have anything that would grow in the various adverse conditions in which they generally found themselves, from the rocky soil of New England to the swampy, saline site of Jamestown.

Since those earliest encounters between Old World and New, maize has spread worldwide, particularly to Africa, Asia, and the Mediterranean. This spreading was not always a happy thing. Because of its nutritional shortcomings, in areas where diets were more focused on starchy staples (and this included Italy, as well as Africa, back in the 1700s), there were huge epidemics of pellagra. Native Americans had avoided the problems two ways. Of course, you probably already know about the beans/maize/squash triad, but indigenous peoples also treated corn with lime (the alkali, not the fruit). This improves the nutritional value of maize and reduces the chance of developing pellagra. The new countries where corn was introduced didn’t know corn’s shortcomings or the methods for overcoming them, so corn at times seemed more a curse than a food source. (It wasn’t until 1937 that it was discovered that supplementation with niacin could prevent and even cure pellagra.)

The sweet corn that is now so popular, both on and off the cob, is a comparatively new discovery. The Iroquois appear to have been growing it in central New York by the 1600s, but European settlers didn’t discover it until 1799. However, it wasn’t widely cultivated until after the Civil War. After that, its popularity grew steadily, and since World War I, canned sweet corn has outsold all other canned vegetables in the U.S. (And, as an aside, in a world where labels are strange and fluid things, while there are many fruits that are considered vegetables, corn is the only cereal grain that is considered a vegetable.)

Most of the maize that had traveled to Europe before the discovery of sweet corn was dry and not as useful in traditional cuisine as the other, abundant grains already growing there. So it didn’t catch on, other than in the Mediterranean. Many Europeans still view maize primarily as animal fodder, but then, their experience has often be limited to the field corn that is actually used primarily as animal fodder in the U.S. Most of them still haven’t experienced the tasty varieties that make up such an important part of the culinary scene in the Americas.

Despite its popularity in China and Africa, maize still enjoys its greatest importance in the hemisphere of its birth. The United States produces more than half of all the maize harvested in the world. Maize is grown in every state of the Union and on three-quarters of the country’s farms.
Outside the U.S., as well as among Native Americans and Hispanics in the American Southwest, the corn being used is rarely the sweet variety. The corn varieties ground for flour or meal or processed into hominy, whether in Africa or South America, are higher in starch and lower in sugar than sweet corn.
Maize is now one of the world’s three most important crops, in third place behind wheat and rice. However, though more wheat and rice are consumed by humans, because maize has so many other uses (from cattle feed to packing material to alternative energy sources), more maize is harvested than either of the other staple grains.

So wherever you go, you’re likely to run into maize in some form or other. And don’t worry too much about the corn/maize terminology. Because American culture has spread as far as maize has, you’ll find that, in most places, people will know what you mean now when you say “corn.”

[This article first appeared in a slightly different form in Hungry Magazine.]

Arab Cinnamon Chicken Pilaf

caclampitt@att.net — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 20:35:17

In December of 1972, I was in Israel. I traveled in an old bus, with the luggage piled on top, through the golden south and greener north, among stone houses with chickens and goats in the yards and stone-walled fields where oxen or mules still drew the plows, past deserts, hills, and the rusting remains of tanks from various battles. The range of climate, as well as terrain, was astonishing for such a small country, from the chill, and even snowflakes, of Jerusalem to the mildness of Tiberius, where the gentle sea breeze murmured in the palms along the beach, to the heat of Jericho, which lies 1300 feet below sea level.

Of course, for me, food has always been a major component of travel, and the food in Israel was great. I had falafel for the first time in the open-air market in the Arab quarter of Jerusalem. In Tiberius, I was introduced to millet, and had wonderful breakfasts of goat cheese, tomatoes and olives, gnarly bread and dark coffee.

A friend of my father’s, Doug Young, had founded a college in Jerusalem, the American Institute of Holy Land Studies, and I had received an invitation to come to dinner. The Young’s apartment was fabulous, with Oriental rugs, brass lamps, and inlaid wooden chests. The cuisine was Arab: chicken and rice flavored with cinnamon, onions and almonds. We sat on the floor and ate with our hands. Hot, mint tea was served in tall glasses. It was a memorable meal.

The recipe below is my recreation of the memorable dish I enjoyed that night. It’s okay if you eat this with a knife and fork, but if you try it with your hands, remember not to serve it piping hot, and remember, too, that if you were in Arab company, you would have to use your right hand to eat.

England for Food Lovers

caclampitt@att.net — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 18:51:16

I wonder sometimes why England has such a bad reputation for food. I’ve been going to England for decades, and I’ve only had one or two mediocre meals, and most of the time I’ve eaten splendidly. Sure, nowadays everyone points to the handful of famous venues that are popping up on “best restaurant lists.” Or people will say, “It’s because of the great ethnic eateries.” Yeah, England has those—big time. When I lived in England as a student, I relied heavily on the ethnic restaurants, though mostly because they were fun and cheap. But even before my university days, I’d already learned to love English food.

And what’s not to love? It’s an island, so fresh seafood is abundant and glorious. Even the French envy England’s rostbif. There is wonderful game and fabulous produce. And England has a glorious cheese heritage that dates back to the Roman Empire. To tell the truth, when I plan a trip to London, the food is one of the things I look forward to.

I’m not the first person to think this. Before scads of Americans were exposed to the tattered remains of British cuisine during World War II, England had an incredible international reputation as a food destination, and as a nation of foodies. If you want proof, just read Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin novels. They are primarily about the British Navy during the 1700s, but so much time is spent talking about food that a cookbook (Lobscouse & Spotted Dog) was published to recreate the dishes featured in the books, from goose and truffle pie to ship’s biscuit. England was wealthy, and ever since the ancient Greeks decided that people with money should eat better than everyone else, wealth has meant good food. And remember, the English didn’t spread the island’s imperial mantle to India because they liked bland, uninteresting food. They went for the spices.

England has long been on the cutting edge of culinary consumption. It was in England in 1700 that milk was first added to chocolate. Earlier still, it was England that initiated Europe’s love affair with coffee. Though coffee was being drunk in Muslim countries as early as the 15th century, it was not until a Jewish merchant from Turkey opened a coffee house in Oxford in 1650 that coffee culture really caught hold in Europe. France was next, then Vienna, and soon coffee houses were all over Europe. In England, coffee houses became the gathering places of intellectuals, politicians, and anyone else who liked to talk. One great chain of coffee houses, Kardomah, became a fixture in the high streets of towns throughout the UK. Welsh poet Dylan Thomas and his circle of friends frequented these shops with such regularity that they were known as “the Kardomah boys.” I can remember stopping at a Kardomah coffee house when I first visited London at age 14. They served coffee with amber sugar crystals, rather than plain, white sugar. I was enchanted. Today, though Starbucks has now displaced the majority of the old Kardomah cafés, there is still a lovely coffee culture in England.

England’s oldest restaurant, Rules, opened in 1798, and it’s a great place to indulge in classic English fare. Their menu offers a wide range of delights, including many varieties of game. Friends with whom I’ve dined assure me that everything is outstanding, and one friend still rhapsodizes about the smoked Scottish salmon. I believe them, but at Rules, I always order the same thing: the velvety, rich, flavorful Stilton soup as my starter and the splendid wild highland red deer for my main course. The preparation of the red deer varies each time I visit, but it is always superb. The history at Rules is almost as rich as the food. This is where Bertie (later King Edward VII) took Lilly Langtry while he was wooing her, and it has been the hangout of England’s literati for generations (Graham Greene loved the place). The interior boasts gorgeous wood paneling, murals, stained-glass skylights, hundreds of pictures, and mounted antlers and animal heads. I try to get to Rules every time I go to London.

Another favorite place to eat in London is Simpson’s-in-the Strand. As it approaches its 200th birthday, Simpson’s remains a bastion of all that is best in Britain’s dining traditions. The polished oak-paneled walls, high ornate plaster ceiling, and glowing chandeliers of the Grand Divan, Simpson’s main dining room, offer a wonderfully imposing setting for the flawless service and classic food. At Simpson’s, I’ve indulged in rich lobster soup, potato soup with truffle oil, and butternut squash soup with toasted pumpkin seeds. However, while I vary my starters here, I am as stuck on my main course as I am at Rules. Simpson’s roasts are almost legendary, and I invariably order the flavorful Scottish Angus beef, which is aged for 28 days and roasted to perfection. A carver rolls a silver-domed cart to your table and carves your beef tableside. It comes with buttery Savoy cabbage, roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and a rough-cut horseradish mixed with heavy cream that is unsurpassed anywhere.

Pubs are almost always reliable places to get food, as well as to sample England’s wide range of beverages. I don’t fancy beer, but I love the hard ciders that English pubs generally have on draft. Pub grub can range from simple sandwiches, leek pies, and beef roasts to complex, French-influenced dishes. For a hearty midday meal that is delicious, traditional, and relatively inexpensive, try a ploughman’s lunch. A ploughman’s lunch consists of a large chunk of whatever cheese is the local specialty, fresh bread with butter, a pickled onion, a bit of salad, and something known as Branston pickle, which is a bit like large chutney. This meal can generally be found in even the most remote and humble of pubs. Of course, if the sign outside a pub says “Chef and Brewer,” forget humble and expect to be impressed by the extensive menu.

Pubs predate restaurants by centuries, so the oldest pubs are older than the oldest restaurants. London has a number of delightful pubs that are 300 or more years old, but Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese is probably the most famous. Here, the history is as important as the food. Parked in the middle of Medieval London, in an area that was home or hangout for many of the giants of English literature, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese hosted Dr. Samuel Johnson, who lived around the corner, and Charles Dickens, who describes it (though he doesn’t name it) in A Tale of Two Cities. The pub was rebuilt after the Great Fire in 1666. You can pop into the bar for a pint of their excellent private-label cider or beer, or you can eat in the ancient, creaky, wood-paneled dining room, where royals, diplomats, writers, and locals have mingled for centuries. The food can on occasion be overcooked, but most of the time it ranges from good to excellent—classic English fare such as duck and port pâté, roast beef, steak and kidney pie, bubble-and-squeak, and spotted dick (a classic steamed pudding dotted with currants).

England’s food has roots that stretch back for millennia. As invading Romans marched toward London in AD 43, they found a thriving, well-established food market on the southern side of the Thames. It was called the Southwark Fair Market, and it became even more successful after the Romans built the first bridge across the river. By 1014, merchants from all over Europe were traveling to this market to trade. The market was acknowledged as an institution by 1276, and in 1754, the market at Southwark was officially recognized by Act of Parliament, with its 4.5 acres in Central London permanently safeguarded. Still vividly active today, the Borough Market in Southwark is a bustling culinary paradise packed with fabulous seafood, game, fruit, veggies, honey, jams, herbs, and myriad other delights. The crowds include not only knowledgeable shoppers stocking their private larders, but also restaurateurs in search of the freshest and best ingredients. And noshing at the 2,000-year-old marketplace can extend beyond the odd free sample, as many vendors sell snacks and even lunches, so you don’t have to choose between shopping and eating.

The Romans didn’t just view the goodies they found in England; they introduced their own foods and food ideas. Among the most important of these was cheese. England is a dairy farmers’ delight, so cheese culture throve. With moderate temperatures and lush grass, there was an abundance of good, rich milk from cows, sheep, and goats. Some of the world’s most famous and revered cheeses evolved in the verdant English countryside: Cheddar, Stilton, Cheshire, Wensleydale. Though England’s cheese culture was seriously damaged by the two World Wars, a movement that began in the 1970s has seen an emphasis on protecting and promoting England’s wonderfully varied cheeses, and many varieties rarely seen since World War I are now reemerging.

In London, there are no better places to sample the delights of England’s cheese makers than at Neal’s Yard or Paxton & Whitfield. If you haven’t had Stilton, you must try it, but also check out Gloucester, Derby, and Leicester. At these great cheese emporia, you can also find farm-made cheeses that are uncommon even in England, such as Cornish Yarg, a creamy cow’s-milk cheese that is aged wrapped in the aromatic leaves of the Cornish nettle; Ticklemore, a crumbly, flavorful goat cheese from Devon; or Lord of the Hundred, a sheep’s-milk cheese from Sussex. But ask for recommendations—and samples. The merchants in these shops love cheese, and they love talking about it.

And speaking of dairy products, what about Devonshire cream? Afternoon tea with a bowl of almost unspeakably rich Devonshire clotted cream for spreading on your scones is heaven.

We haven’t even touched on the wonderful pie shops, fish and chips, kedgeree, or the full English breakfast, and this piece is already running long. But a word must be said about two of London’s most famous food shopping destinations: Harrods Food Halls and Fortnum & Mason. Harrods Food Halls are gloriously elegant and stunningly extensive. Marble fountains showcase the freshest seafood in the fish and seafood hall. Chandeliers in the fruit and vegetable hall are sculpted to reflect the wares below. The prepared food hall features more pâtés, terrines, and specialty delights than most people can comprehend, and the candy hall is paradise. Most of the décor and even the attire of some who work in the food halls reflect the periods that gave rise to this over-the-top food palace.

Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707, is even more elegant and 150 years older than Harrods. Tales of F&M are woven into England’s history, literature, and lore—and it is important enough to have been alluded to in the film The Madness of King George. Knowledgeable clerks in morning coats see to the needs of customers in the remarkable wood-paneled food hall on the ground floor. Stroll to the back, past displays of teas and coffees and glass cases filled with glacéed fruits, decadent pastries, and fabulous prepared foods, and you will find yourself in a lovely restaurant that offers an outstanding Welsh rarebit, as well as an unbelievable chocolate gateau for afternoon tea.

English food is not dramatically different from American fare, and perhaps this is why some are disappointed; the food is not sufficiently exotic. But the food is not entirely the same—and perhaps that creates problems for those who think that, because they speak English, their food will be just like American food. Don't go expecting giant differences, but do expect some. There is enough familiar to comfort the less adventurous, but also glorious goodies to be enjoyed by the lover of great food. And there are even a few adventures to be had: keep an eye out for jellied or stewed eels, once the almost ubiquitous “fast food” of England’s working class, but still available in some of London’s venerable pie shops.

Of course, the ethnic places are a treat (check out Southall for the newest infusion of Indian eateries), as are the newer, high-end news-grabbers. These can add variety to the menu, if your stay is long and you find you’re tiring of English fare. And yes, to be honest, you can find poor cooking (though I've even found bad food in France, so this isn't unique to England), and I wouldn't recommend English breakfast sausage (more filler than most Americans will fancy), but I have found that one can consistently eat well, and even splendidly. So don’t go expecting to hate English food, because English food is great.

Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum

caclampitt@att.net — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 05:20:50

There are few other phrases that so quickly conjure images of pirates riotously celebrating another Caribbean conquest as that hearty “yo ho ho.” But why rum? Quite simple, really—because, beginning in the 1600s, the Caribbean (or West Indies, as the region was then known) was all about sugar, and what better thing to create from sugar by-products than rum? But rum was more than just a nice way to blind oneself at the end of a successful day of pillaging. For a few hundred years, it was a surprisingly important part of international economics, politics, and events.

There is some disagreement as to the origin of the name of rum, but the most common etymology given is that it comes from “rumbullion,” which means “a great tumult or uproar”—which seems appropriate. Though fermented sugar-based beverages date back millennia in the southern regions of Asia where sugarcane had its origins, rum was born in the New World. The first mention in written record of the distilled drink we now know as rum was in Barbados in about 1650. Not knowing how to treat the various fevers and blights that affected Europeans in the tropics, rum became the cure-all for every problem, from Yellow Fever to disappointment.

Sugar was in great demand (this was the era when coffee, tea, and cocoa consumption was on the rise), and sugar plantations were spreading like wildfire through the French, Spanish, Dutch, and English colonies in the Caribbean, as well as in South America, especially Portuguese Brazil. Distillers were close on the heels of the growers, and these colonies were soon cranking out copious amounts of the new beverage. They offered rum at low prices to European navies, with the express purpose of keeping the military close to shore. The spread of sugar plantations meant an explosive growth of wealth in the region, and pirates who had once happily pillaged Spanish galleons carrying gold and silver from mines in Mexico and South America now turned to wealthy plantations and island towns. The presence of the odd naval vessel offered a degree of protection.

The British Navy rather liked this easy access to rum. In fact, the British Navy began specifying a daily ration of rum by the 1730s—a half-pint per day of 160-proof rum for each sailor. Alas, on those occasions when sailors pitched in parts of their rations to help one of their mates celebrate a birthday, the death of the celebrant was not uncommon. The ration was eventually diluted with an equal amount of water, which produce the drink called “grog.”

Not too surprisingly, giving rum to guys in boats made the spread of rum both easy and swift. By the late 1600s, a thriving export trade had developed. Rum punches began appearing at parties in Great Britain, and rum replaced gin as Britain’s dominant spirit in the 1700s.

When Britain passed laws forbidding the direct trade of spirits between colonies (a law designed to protect British distillers), the New England colonies began trading lumber and salt cod for molasses from the West Indies, and then built their own distilleries. New England’s rum became a key element of international commerce and an essential part of the notorious “Triangle Trade.” Slaves were brought from Africa and traded in the West Indies for molasses. The molasses was carried to New England, where it was distilled into rum. The rum was then sent back to Africa to trade for more slaves.

Rum became the drink of choice throughout the North American colonies, surpassing the previous beverage staples of cider and beer. In fact, it became such an important item of colonial trade in the 1700s that it was among the factors uniting the soon-to-be-independent Thirteen Colonies. Not that they were simply united by drinking the stuff, but as trade intensified, with goods moving among the colonies, the colonists simply got to know their neighbors—and their neighbors’ trade goods and foods. And finding their needs met through trade with other colonies, the colonists became increasingly independent of the Old World.

Rum became the major liquor distilled during the early history of the United States. From the time of the American Revolution until President Andrew Jackson squelched the practice in 1832, American servicemen were all given rum as part of their rations. (Surgeon General John C. Calhoun had been lobbying against rum for some time, noting that sobriety was generally desirable among people who were being given guns. Jackson specified that the military receive coffee and sugar instead.) British sailors, on the other hand, continued to receive regular rations of rum (or, rather, of grog) until 1970!

Rum remained so important in Canada’s maritime provinces that, when Newfoundland and Labrador joined Canada in 1949, the right to continue producing Screech, a locally distilled over-proof rum, was one of the demands for acceptance of confederation (Canada having previously limited the alcohol content of rum).

Even as rum distillation spread to other countries, the Caribbean remained one of the two major producers, along with Australia, which began producing rum shortly after settlement began in the late 1700s.

Rum played a different part in the early days of colonial Australia than it did in the Americas, but it was still a mighty significant part. Rum was a valued commodity in a harsh, thirsty land. With the help of the New South Wales Corps (a British military force formed solely for the controlling of the new continent, known at that time as New South Wales), it became the colony’s primary currency. Wages were paid and purchases made with rum. Through import monopolies, the New South Wales Corps maintained control of the trade and, therefore, of the colony, for nearly 20 years.

Such liquid assets were easily forged, and illegal stills abounded. Of course, the problems involved in an economy built almost entirely on an illicit liquor trade are legion, and England eventually sent a stern disciplinarian out to solve the problems. Captain William Bligh (of Bounty fame) was installed as Australia’s fourth Governor.

The scope of the problem had been underestimated, as almost all military officers and free settlers were involved in the rum trade at some level, and Bligh’s interference and accusations merely served to precipitate the Rum Rebellion. Bligh was arrested by Major Johnston, Commander of the New South Wales Corps, in January 1808, and spent more than a year in confinement. When news finally reached London, a new Governor, Lachlan Macquarie, was sent out, this time accompanied by a full regiment to back up any orders he might wish to make. Macquarie was a bit more judicious than Bligh, and, rather than directly attacking the rum trade, he simply worked on expanding and developing the colony until land became more profitable than rum. However, while no longer the key to the country’s economy, rum remains an important product in sugar-rich Australia.

Rum is still a popular drink worldwide. It is often drunk neat in the hot countries where it is produced, but it is widely used in mixed drinks and cocktails, as well. It is also a popular flavor for cakes, sauces, and other sweets. I rather fancy it in the form of hot buttered rum, a New England tradition that makes cold winters more amiable.

[This article first appeared in Hungry Magazine.]