Food Read: Farm City

If you, like me, are a city dweller who sometimes has pastoral visions of yourself as farmer, raising organic greens and tending to free range chickens, please consider Farm City to be a definite must-read. Oakland local hero Novella Carpenter's memoir manages to be at once both inspiring and grounding. Am I interested in digging through dumpsters of rotting restaurant waste to feed urban pigs who, among other things, also enjoy letting themselves out to roam the neighborhood at will? Not exactly. But would I consider backyard beekeeping? Well, that might be more within reach (if I had a backyard...but that is another issue).

Personally, this lively tome was all I needed to bring me back to earth in remembering the realities of growing food. Namely, that along with warm sun, fresh air, and fertile earth, organic farming also involves a lot of, well, poop. And garbage. And manual labor (and time, and money, and...shall I go on?). You get the picture. It IS fascinating, though, to read about how Carpenter embraced all of those things, along with some more unique challenges, such as a neighborhood riddled with violence and poverty, to create her own personal farm on a pirated lot next to her rented home in Oakland. And it is motivating. Surely, if Novella can persevere through the myriad obstacles she encounters to create a full-blown farm, complete with animals, in the middle of Oakland, I can spend a little more time and money at the Farmers' Market, plant a few more herbs on the deck, and, when the time comes, dive head-first back into the squashland of the winter CSA.

The bonus in this book is a fabulous section at the end with a detailed description of Novella lovingly forming one of her pigs into various salumi under the guidance of Chris Lee of Chez Panisse fame. While the rest of the book may appeal to one's hippie-of-the-new-millennium side, the salumi section is simply pure foodie heaven. It will leave you looking for your own cured meat guru - or at least a Charcuterie Board at your favorite neighborhood cafe.

Food Read: In Defense of Food

Michael Pollan is at it again. Or maybe I should say that I'm at it again - buying into his latest food-centric hypothesis with exceptional fervor. Pollan has been in the media again recently, on a small (or perhaps large, as I personally have seen several interviews with him) junket for the release of the paperback version of his most recent book, In Defense of Food. I used the availability of the less pricey paperback as my excuse to finally pick up my own copy, and have been plowing through the slim read at a steady pace. In Defense of Food is somewhat of a follow-up to the much-heralded The Omnivore's Dilemma, and I am glad that I had the discipline to force myself to read Omnivore before picking up Defense. While In Defense of Food does stand on its own, it is really made so much richer by the context that The Omnivore's Dilemma provides. It is easier, for instance, to comprehend why modern "industrialized" fruits and vegetables may contain fewer nutrients if you have read the more full and detailed description of how exactly those fruits and vegetables are produced.

In Defense of Food addresses modern American nutrition (or rather, "nutritionism") in the same way The Omnivore's Dilemma addressed modern American food production - by breaking it open and providing a solid basis for questioning the very basic premises that Americans generally take for granted. Where exactly did the U.S. government's nutritional guidelines come from? How have those guidelines been influenced by industry versus by science? And when they are influenced by science, how much do those scientists really know about how food works in our bodies? According to Pollan's research, the answer to the last question seems to be surprisingly little.

Which leads to the main premise of Pollan's argument - that the current approach to nutrition in the United States, generally centered around individual macro- and now micro-nutrients, ignores the likely very important larger picture surrounding nutrition. Pollan suggests, rather convincingly, that what makes many traditional diets successful (think of the French or Mediterranean diets, for example) is not so much a matter of a particular food or nutrient, but rather the combination of foods and nutrients eaten together. Further, he argues that how those foods are eaten, the cultural norms that have grown up around them, plays an integral part in the healthfulness of the diet as well. It's not a surprise that the French tend to be thinner than their U.S. counterparts when you take into account a culture of smaller portions and a tendency against second helpings. In the meantime, the so-called scientific approach to eating in the U.S. has resulted not in a healthier population, but rather has coincided with an increased prevelance of obesity and "diseases of civilization", such as diabetes and heart disease.

Though Pollan does, as he admits, sometimes fall back on "nutritionism" to prove his point, his overall argument makes sense, and is hard to refute based on the plethora of evidence he provides. After poking holes in almost every nutritional guideline presented in the past fifty years, Pollan does not leave us with nothing, though. The final section of the book contains some very straightforward, if general, guidelines for eating. These guidelines fall under Pollan's general rules of "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.", and are the most straightforward, common sense set of nutritional guidelines I've encountered to date. As Pollan has effectively changed my thinking about food shopping, so now he has similarly affected my thinking about food eating. I will surely keep his guidelines in mind when making food choices in the future. For that reason, I definitely consider In Defense of Food a worthy read.

Food Read: Educating Peter

If Educating Peter seems to be an unlikely name for a book in the food realm, it may prove even more shocking to learn that this book is actually about wine. Yes, Lettie Teague, wine editor at Food & Wine magazine, wrote the 2007 book to chronicle her adventures in teaching her good, but wine-ignorant, friend Peter Travers (film critic at Rolling Stone magazine) a thing or two about wine. Actually, her goal was to teach Travers, who proclaimed his love for "fatty" Chardonnay, more than a thing or two about wine. Rather, she wanted to, "teach someone enough about wine that he or she would be able to read a restaurant wine list without fear, approach a wine merchant with confidence, and perhaps even score a few points off a wine-snob friend".

I have to admit that I had high expectations for this book. After hearing a light-hearted interview of Teague and Travers on The Splendid Table, I purchased the book in the hopes that it would be more engaging than the other wine books I was muddling through at the time. It was more engaging at first, but then...it lost me for a while. Meaning, about halfway through the book, I set it down and didn't pick it back up for at least a month.

I did eventually finish Educating Peter, and I have to say that in the end, it's not a bad book. To Teague's credit, she does cover a lot of ground in 250 pages - everything from wine vocabulary and bottle shapes, to wine regions old world and new, to pairing wine with food. But I wonder if she tried to do too much with this book by trying to cover so much ground, while still including Peter's reactions to each topic. The factual information about wine seems to be less than complete in the beginning, where engaging anecdotes of teaching Peter rule the text. Then in the middle, where wine-producing regions are detailed in sequence, the shear quantity of information seems to crowd out the "Peter-isms" for the most part, and left me wishing for more. The interesting thing is, this book is marketed as being targeted toward true wine novices. I would not consider myself to be a wine expert now, but when I bought this book, I was a true novice - at least close enough to be able to weigh in on this claim! I have to say that this book went a bit beyond the novice realm in so thoroughly detailing regions, producers, and even vintages. Despite being a relatively detail-oriented person, I found myself wondering how I would ever remember all of these details, short of carrying the book around with me!

Surprisingly, I did retain many more of those specifics than I ever expected, and, despite barely making it through the first time, I am actually considering reading the book again. Having come so far in my wine knowledge since I first bought it, I think I will be better able to appreciate what this book has to offer now. And, despite Teague's sometimes obvious wine-snob tone, I am interested in what she has to say. The bonus? The book's format should make it a breeze to re-read.

Food Read: Service Included: Four-Star Secrets of an Eavesdropping Waiter

After last reviewing Anthony Bourdain's back-of-the-house Kitchen Confidential, I thought it would be most appropriate to review a front-of-the-house book next (no it's not Waiter Rant). Phoebe Damrosch's Service Included was published in 2007, and I picked up my copy after hearing an interview with her on The Splendid Table in February 2008. The book (Damrosch's first) chronicles her experiences moving up the ranks at Thomas Keller's acclaimed Per Se in New York, where she is hired as a backserver for the restaurant's opening and eventually attains the status of captain (not an easy feat for a woman). The book is quite captivating from the start. Any food devotee will understand the chapter "food porn", and will know exactly what Damrosch means when she says she, "had a crush on the French Laundry Cookbook for ages". Those who are not familiar with the inner workings of very fine dining will be enthralled by her listing of The Rules ("When asked, guide guests to the bathroom instead of pointing"), by her description of VIP canapes (soup, savory sorbets, caviar, etc.), and by her explanation of the elaborate and specific intricacies of coordinating service at a restaurant like Per Se. Like Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, Service Included is studded with tips , which, for obvious reasons, are actually called out as such, and include items like "There's no need to say that you are allergic when you don't like something." And the recounts of serving food critic Frank Bruni, or any guests really, are delightfully executed. I wish I had marked the spot in the book where I began to realize it was losing me, so I could tell you exactly where that was. There is no doubt that Damrosch got extraordinary lucky (whether or not she made that luck herself is beside the point). Not only did she receive a free culinary education, compliments of weeks of Per Se training, but she was a frustrated writer who stumbled on a gold mine of book-ready experience! So it is a bit disconcerting that she seems to have lost her way a bit about two-thirds of the way through the book, when it becomes decidedly more about her romance than about the restaurant. Not that the romance isn't interesting, but let's face it, anyone who is picking up a book called Service Included is interested in the food! But all of that aside, there are more than enough well-written food facts in here to make Service Included worth the reading. Just be sure to savor the beginning, instead of holding out for the dessert!

Food Read: Kitchen Confidential

My first "food book" of the year, and actually, my first book of the year, was Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. Of course, being a devotee of both food and travel, I have seen my fair share of episodes of Bourdain's Travel Channel show No Reservations. Thus, it was but a matter of time before I picked up his writings as well. Though Bourdain wrote a couple of mystery novels prior, Kitchen Confidential was his first nonfiction piece, and I chose it because I wanted the most un-commercialized version of Bourdain I could find. Also, I was looking for a book that would give me a good, honest look at the life of a professional chef. I was not disappointed. Though Bourdain himself admits in the more recently written Afterword that, "Professional kitchens have become - for the most part - very different environments (at least at the top end) than the places described in the text," it is clear that much of the text still holds true. I would argue that even the aspects that have changed serve a purpose for the reader, particularly for one who did not live through the seventies and eighties in adulthood. It is easier to appreciate where we are, when we know where we have been. And how entertaining it is to learn about "where we have been" when Bourdain is describing it! Fans of his characteristic frank, rough, no-nonsense voice will be elated to find it here in quantity. Bourdain does not sugar coat anything - not the business, not the people behind it, not even his own sordid past. Indeed, he still seems to hold a certain amount of pride in many of the macho antics he describes, even while denouncing them in the very same sentence. To his credit, he does not get mired in stories of his "drug years" as many a writer can, and does. Rather, this book is all about the food. Often, he detours from the story of his journey through cooking in New York to give the reader advice. Don't eat fish on Monday. Don't eat in a restaurant with a filthy bathroom. Do invest in a decent chef's knife, a plastic squeeze bottle, and a metal ring. Use roasted garlic in your cooking. Never use "that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screw-top jars. Too lazy to feel fresh? You don't deserve to eat garlic." But the main message? Cooking is hard. Bourdain's goal in writing the book was to describe the world of professional cooking for what it is, and to caution all of us food romantics against letting things get too romanticized. Did he succeed? Well, I'll never hear the words "mise-en-place" again without thinking of his accounts of the kitchen "battlefield", "What? You don't got yer meez together...?" And you can bet that I will never take a career in food lightly, not that I would have before. Kitchen Confidential is a reality check for anyone who needs one. But for us food lovers, it can't help but leave us wanting more.

Food Read: Alice Waters and Chez Panisse

I recently finished reading Alice Waters and Chez Panisse, Thomas McNamee's authorized biography, which was published in 2007. Shamefully, I have to admit that I did not know much about Ms. Waters, or Chez Panisse for that matter, before I picked up the book. Of course, both Alice (as she is referred to throughout the book) and Chez Panisse had reputations that preceeded them. I knew that Alice was considered a pioneer and champion of the local and organic food movements. I knew that Chez Panisse was an institution in the United States, if not the world. And I knew that as a person who is passionate about food, it was a travesty that I didn't know more. So I started reading.

It soon became obvious to me that it was quite fitting for me to be reading this book as I was embarking on two simultaneous journeys: beginning these writings dedicated to simple, accessible, beautiful, and (when possible) local, organic food, and, crossing the country to taste the offerings of a city that embraces that notion (in Portland). In fact, our meal at Beast easily embodied the Chez Panisse way, and if I had any doubts, I had but to count the Chez Panisse cookbooks included in the stack above my head as we enjoyed our artisan cheeses. But, I digress.

Within the first two pages of the book, R.W. Apple, Jr. proclaims, as part of the foreward, that Alice Waters "is no chef". What? For someone who had only heard of Alice Waters referred to as a chef, this was enough to knock me off balance a bit. But in continuing to read, I began to understand. Yes, Alice Waters is able to cook, undoubtedly much better than the majority of us, but it is not her talents in the kitchen that have led to her being credited with creating a food revolution in the United States. McNamee highlights many of Alice's more favorable qualities - an exceptional palate, an eye for creating a certain ambiance, a unique sense of style, an ability to recognize potential in others, an untiring persistence, a subtle but undeniable magnetism. It is this last characteristic that seems, in McNamee's description, to be much of the secret behind Alice Waters's success. Above all, perhaps even above her untiring persistence, Ms. Waters seems to be shockingly capable of using her support system to make her visions come to life, even when those visions seem to be completely illogical, impractical, or just plain impossible.

McNamee's book tends to be very complimentary of Alice Waters, though contradictory views are presented. At first, those views felt somewhat self-conscious to me, as if provided purely for the sake making the claim that a balanced view was provided. But perhaps it is a credit to the writer that, in the end, I left the book feeling somewhat conflicted. Yes, Alice Waters may be all of those wonderful things, but she is also presented as an extreme perfectionist who has difficulty relinquishing control and who seems to pass off the "dirty work" to others. She has more than once been accused of taking credit for others' work. And, she sometimes seems to ignore reality in a way that would be considered foolish if done by anyone else but her.

Still, how can I not find kinship in this person who, like me, finds so much beauty in a single piece of the freshest watercress? How can I not feel anything but awe for a woman who was able to have such a profound effect on how I view food, despite the fact that I knew next to nothing about her? I cannot. And Thomas McNamee's book does well to bring home that point. Chez Panisse sought out local, seasonal, organic, and "heritage" ingredients at a time when it was unheard of to do so. The restaurant formed relationships directly with farmers, when dealing strictly with purveyors was the mandate of the day. And Alice herself is responsible, at least in part, for the popularization of farmers' markets, school gardens, "California cuisine", and "arugula" as a household word, just to start. Alice Waters may be a hero to many, but more than that, she is human. McNamee's book reminds us how much one little human can do.

Food Read: The Omnivore's Dilemma

There's so much fantastic "foodie lit." out there! This past summer I read Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals. I was a little behind in reading it (Dilemma came out in 2006 and Pollan's next book In Defense of Food was published in 2008), but I'm so glad that I didn't give in to my desire to skip right to Defense. I'm a city girl at heart, but this book made me want to farm. While I found it in the Sociology section of my local book store, Pollan is actually a professor of journalism by trade. His writing can be very convincing, despite the slight feeling of sensationalism that peers through here and there, undoubtedly due to Pollan's passion for his subject, as well as the surreal realities of the subject itself. In the book, Pollan follows the three primary food chains, starting with industrial farming, then organic farming, and, finally, hunting and gathering. The book was an eye-opener for me not only in its portrayal of modern food production (I will never, ever look at factory farm chicken the same way again), but also in its exploration of alternative methods of food production. Pollan's discussion of the effects of a surplus of cheap, subsidized corn on our diet (thanks to high fructose corn syrup and corn-based additives, corn has made its way into almost every processed food we eat), our environment (a fertilizer-induced "dead zone" the size of New Jersey now exists in the Gulf of Mexico), and even our cattle (cows are built to eat grass, not corn, remember?) is chilling. But equally adrenaline-inducing is his discussion of an alternative to industrial agriculture, Joel Salatin's Polyface Farm, a place where the natural systems, instead of machinery and chemicals, create efficiencies that can only be described as symphonic. This book not only got me thinking about where my food comes from, but also moved me to make changes in the way that I eat. For that reason, I highly recommend The Omnivore's Dilemma, and look forward to reading In Defense of Food within the next couple of months.