The Presidency and Really Big Cheese

I cannot actually vouch for Jefferson's opinion on the Packers, but I do know he looks hilarious in a cheese head hat.

In 1802, Thomas Jefferson was gifted a 16,000 pound cheese. Cheshire's Baptist pastor, one Elder John Leland, brainstormed the effort as a way to show his appreciation to the Republican President he had worked to elect - and also as an effort to stick it to his Federalist enemies. Baptists, at this particular juncture in American history, were both a beleaguered minority and ardent supporters of the separation of church and state. How things do change.

The cheese was created from the milk of every single cow in the small Massachusetts town of Cheshire, barring, of course, the Federalist owned bovines, "lest it should leaven the whole lump with a distasteful savour." At Leland's direction, the immense chunk of dairy bore one of Jefferson's own mottos: ""Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God."

Leland, however, did not consider the issue of transporting his cheesy monstrosity all the way to the Capital. As it turned out, the cheese was simply too big to be transported on wheels. But the cheese was created in winter, and Leland found a way. The dogged pastor ended up transporting his highly patriotic cheese on a sledge, all 500 miles to Washington. The cheese was delivered, appropriately, on January 1st 1802. Although the cheese garnered criticism from Leland's Baptist hatin' enemies, Jefferson was properly appreciative. He deemed the big-ass cheese an "extraordinary proof of the skill with which those domestic arts...are practiced by [the citizens of Cheshire]." In a private letter to his son-in-law, Jefferson went even further in his praise of the delicious gesture. "It is an ebullition of the passion of republicanism in a state where it has been under heavy persecution." The cheese remained in the White House as late as 1806 according to some accounts, at which time it was (shockingly) "very far from good." Perhaps Jefferson grew attached to it.

A statue saluting Leland and his magnificent cheese was erected in Cheshire in 1940. I smell a photo op!

But this was not the only incident of giant-cheese-making in the history of the American presidency.


I'm surprised no one lost a limb in the melee.

The populist Andrew Jackson featured 1,400 pound block of cheddar cheese at his last open White House party. Gifted to him by a supportive New York dairy farmer, the cheese was allowed to age for almost two years in the White House. Although the cheese was vast, the appetite of the people was greater. It is rumored that the cheese took no more then two hours to entirely disappear, and that the White House stank of cheese for week on end. (Incidentally, does Jackson remind anyone else of Sarah Palin? Run to Wikipedia real quick, then get back to me).

A detailed description of this magical event is found in "Real Life in the White House" by John and Claire Whitcomb.

""Shops and offices closed early, and a throng descended on the White House. The marshal of the city and his deputies screened people at the front door, but what a contemporary called 'rag-a-muffins of the city' got into the gardens, climbed to the terrace, and entered through the East Room windows to mix with congressmen, officers in dress uniform, and elaborately arrayed diplomats. The rooms overflowed with people, until the hall, the doorway, every possible space, were filled...The cheese was demolished in two hours; the White House floors and carpets were likewise demolished, and the mansion reeked of cheddar for months."



This is Calvin Coolidge. And this is his cat. Cats have nothing to do with cheese, but the Internet sure seems to like them.

One more big-ass cheese has entered the glorious gates of the White House. In 1928, "Silent Cal" Coolidge received a 140 pound Wisconsin made Swiss cheese - rather dwindling in comparison to the behemoths of his predecessors, but still worthy of eating with crackers. . Coolidge doubtless appreciated the gift, being an ardent cheese lover himself. He maintained a private stash of the stuff at the White House, nipping into it occasionally, one imagines, when the stress of farm subsidies became too great. (Seriously, his presidency was just that boring).

In more recent times, "Big Block of Cheese Day" was referenced on the White Wing. Apparently the ever-dashing Martin Sheen, in his simulated presidency, would host a day for usually over-looked interest groups to enter the white house, and presumably, nibble on the metaphorical cheese of Presidential attention. Or something like that.

It is evident that ridiculously huge blocks of cheese have played an important role in American history. Indeed, we may credit giant blocks of cheese with many of our successes as a sovereign nation. The great pageant of American history may not have been possible without the existence - and service - of these gigantic congealed chunks o' dairy. It is certain that these cheeses provided comfort and nutrition to both Presidents and common people, in need of savory succor in times of hardship, depression, and uncertainty.

So who wants to go in with me on a monstrously huge chunk o' Brie for Obama?

Anyone?

Stop making cricket noises.

Richard H Collin, The UnderGround Gourmet

The Underground Gourmet’s Platonic Legacy



New Orleans lost one of its longest-standing food legends this week with the passing of 78-year-old Richard H. Collin, otherwise known as the Underground Gourmet. Collin died in Birmingham, where he relocated after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. But the Philadelphia-born Collin was a consummate New Orleans man, and his contribution to the food culture of the city was defined by his game-changing “Underground Gourmet” guidebook to the city Arguably the cities first real restaurant critic, beginning at the New Orleans States-Item in 1972, Collin's legacy will loom large in NOLA's culinary world for a long time to come.

The first “Underground Gourmet" New Orleans guidebooks first appeared in 1970, as part of a series first originating in New York City, published by Simon and Schuster. The ambitious and food-obsessed Collin wrote to the publishing company to ask if he might do a New Orleans version, and to his surprise, the publishers awarded the as-yet-unproven restaurant critic the contract.

Collin enthusiastically rose to the challenge, tirelessly researching, eating, and exploring the food of his adopted city, drawing from luxury epicurean palaces, low-rent po-boy joints, and ethnic restaurants in almost equal numbers. The resulting guide was written in Collin's characteristically laissez-faire style, perfectly suited to the character of the Crescent City - the book proved an immediate success. Opinionated, hyper intelligent, and adventurous, the Underground Gourmet books provided a fantastic introduction to the cities food for tourists and locals alike.

Collin was an adventurous eater, as well an opinionated one. His book was one of the first to devote attention and affection to the city's smaller hole-in-the-wall restaurants, moving beyond the traditional French-Creole stalwarts into the soul food joints, poor boy houses, and working mans lunch-spots of the general public. Collins didn't mince words or hang fire on lousy restaurants, either: one chapter is, after all, entitled "The Great Center City Disaster Area," enumerating Collin's justifiable disdain for the poor food served to the business lunch set (one can only hope that matters have improved). Collin's disapproving descriptions include such damnations as "Keystone Kops levels of amateurism," "watery Northern coffee," and just plain "absolutely awful."

But Collin's praise could be as potent as his criticism: when a restaurant really got something right, The Underground Gourmet's enthusiasm was marvelously obvious: as he himself explained in the introduction to the guide, he approached restaurants as an "incurable optimist," and was capable of waxing rhapsodic about a "heady" shrimp remoulade at Galatoire's, an "exquisite" raw oyster, or a "beautiful" dish of butter-soaked barbecued shrimp at Pascal's Manales. Needless to say, New Orleans restaurateurs of the era quickly learned to both respect and fear the Underground Gourmet's criticism.

New Orleans food buffs of all stripes will appreciate a browse-through of the easy to find 1973 revised edition of the guide: the book provides a fascinating time capsule into what New Orleans cuisine was and represented in that particular era, and Collin's remarks on still-existent restaurants are illuminating and often highly entertaining. Antoine's, Pascal Manales, the Camellia Grille and other modern-day stalwarts are addressed here, as well as a cotorie of gone-but-not-forgotten eating emporiums, some dearly missed and some not so much. Collin's dining world in 1970's New Orleans contained considerably more aspics and "tropique" salads then our own does, and startlingly cheaper prices. One cannot help but long for the days when you could still order a nice sirloin steak for the princely sum of $5.50. (One also wonders where the remarkable assemblage of fine Chinese restaurants the city used to possess have gone).

Collin’s notion of a "platonic" dish was perhaps his trademark eating thesis and the most fascinating idea to come out of his food writing: to the Underground Gourmet, a "platonic dish" was "the best imaginable realization of a particular dish," a preparation that perfectly captured the essence of New Orleans cuisine, a dish that could not (and would not) be equaled anywhere else or in any other locale. Commander's Palace Oysters Bienville, Galatoire's trout meuniere amandine, and Casamento's New Orleans oyster loaf were all awarded this philosophically-meaningful honor: Collin’s was not afraid to make it clear when a dish did meet his always-stringent expectations.















Richard Collin's wife, Rima, was herself a formidable food authority. A former Fulbright scholar in France, she founded the New Orleans Cooking School in 1980, and provided counsel, advice, and delicious food to her husband for the entirety of their long and prosperous marriage. The two self-described “oddball academics” worked well together inside and outside the home: Richard and Rima authored the classic “New Orleans Cookbook” in 1975, an ambitious tome that gathered what the couple felt to be the most authentic Creole recipes in existence. The two tirelessly researched the book's contributions, attempting to gather, test, and perfect "platonic" versions of iconic Creole preparations, ranging from gumbos to oyster loaf to baked quail and other classic Creole specialties. Their efforts paid off. The resulting two hundred and eighty-eight recipes included remain excellent examples of real-deal Creole cuisine, a quality the public immediately recognized upon the book's release. The Collin's couple’s “New Orleans Cookbook” remains in print to this day and is estimated to have sold over 100,000 copies. Another little known fact: the book was edited by legendary editor Judith Jones, best known (of course) for her work with Julia Child.
Richard and Rima also collaborated on "The Pleasures of Seafood," an extensive treatment of seafood preparations from around the world. After Rima's passing in 1998, Collin wrote the 2002 “Travels with Rima," a celebratory and poignant elegy in travelogue form, a book that remains a testament both to the couple's love and to their shared adventuresome spirit.
Collin's expertise ranged further then food. He served as a well-loved emeritus professor of history at UNO, and was a highly regarded Theodore Roosevelt scholar, publishing "Theodore Roosevelt's Caribbean" in 1990. He delighted in travel (especially with Rima), the opera, and fine art, as well as enjoying the many delights of his native Crescent City: Collin’s life was not one lived without a consideration of pleasure.

The multi-faceted and multi-talented Richard H. Collin will doubtless be fondly remembered and revered for his contribution to New Orleans’s food culture. Let us hope that the Underground Gourmet’s platonic dishes will be enjoyed in the city he loved for a long, long time to come.

An Ode to Key Lime Pie

Key Lime Pie is my favorite dessert.



We have all got our favorites of course, and our preferences can (I theorize) be traced back to early influences. Jeb likes apple pie because his mama made it on Thanksgiving, Tricia favors pineapple cake because she was born in Hawaii, and me, well, me: I like key lime pie because I am a native Floridian, and they have it at Florida Publix grocery stores, and brothers and sisters, it is damn good.

Don't cast up your noses immediately at the mere thought of consuming a mere grocery-store pariah, a foodie pariah-pie, a rightful outcast. After all, Key Lime Pie is in and of itself a low-rent operation, a food that is essentially unable to be dandied up, to be turned into gourmet cuisine. No matter how artisan the limes are, no matter how hand-whipped the whipped cream is or how organic the graham cracker crust is, no matter what, key lime pie is still made with condensed milk.




Match, set, the hipster foodie contingent is out in the cold, they have no defenses against condensed milk. For a key lime pie would be nothing without condensed milk, would not possess its cool and delightfully smooth creaminess, would not be the delightful hot-weather treat that it currently is. Condensed milk is key.

I went to Florida early last month, to visit my grandparents. I had one request for my grandmother. "Have a key lime pie for me in the fridge." The same request I make every time. You can't get good ones in California - they do key lime tarts, which are sissified, do not fufilll my needs completely. No, I need key lime pie in total, the right stuff, and I got it. That evening, watching Rick Steve's in Amsterdam on my grandparent's television, I popped open the box of key lime pie. I cut myself a large slice. I sat Indan style on the rug and ate it. Mostly with my hands, like a wild jungle savage. It was more delightful then I can say. I licked my fingers.

Where did key lime pie come from? From what genius brain did it emerge?


William Curry himself.

The Key Lime pie story, most agree, begins with a Mr. William Curry. Curry began life in 1821, born into a dirt-poor Bahamian immigrant family in Green Turtle Cay. He soon became a salvager, rescuing people from the water after their ships had been ransacked by pirates. His success as an early search and rescue stud led him to bigger and better things: via clever manipulation of the stock market, he would become Key West's first millionaire, and began building the elaborate and still-standing Curry Mansion in 1855. He died in 1896 as Florida's richest man. His descendants still reside in the Keys, keeping up the mansion and maintaining it as a luxe bed and breakfast.

So what does Mister Curry have to do with Florida's most excellent dessert? His cook,of course. Only known as "Aunt Sally," this delightful woman is thought to have created Key Lime pie in the mansion's kitchen in the late 1800's. Some posit she got the idea from local sponge fisherman, who often brought condensed milk, limes, and eggs with them on their expeditions, producing an ideal climate for Key Lime pie creation. Many credit Key West's lack of fresh milk as a major agent in the pie's genesis- condensed milk was what people used instead of the fresh stuff, and condensed milk is what makes key lime pie so damn good in the first place. Some say the first key lime pies weren't even baked, relying on the reaction between the juice and the milk to firm up. The first official mention of Key Lime Pie occurs in a 1930's newspaper, pitched to tourists as an exotic treat. Key lime pie has been going strong ever since. I suspect Florida restaurants lose their food-service license if it isn't on the menu.



So what about the key limes? Odds are good they're not what you're getting in your pie. The tiny, intensely flavorful fruits arrived in Florida from Malaysia around the 1500's. The hurricane of 1926 and Citrus canker disease devastated South Florida key lime plantations, and growers replaced the plants with hardier Persian limes. This means that finding an actual key-lime in a key-lime pie is somewhat akin to finding a magical unicorn in your bathroom.

Try telling that to Florida State Representative Bernie Papy, who in 1965 attempted to pass legislation that would slap a $100 fine on anyone selling pie made without real key limes. Needless to say, it didn't work. (Watch out, there be pie bandits among us! Oh no, Aunt Irma's in lock up! She lied about the limes!) Most of today's key limes pies are made with juice imported from Mexico and South America.


How does one define a good key lime pie? Everyone's got their sweet spot, but I like them simple. No green food coloring, for Christ's sake - a vaguely yellowish color is all that should be going on. The filling should be creamy and solid, with a nice give to it. The flavor should be tart, more crisp and bright then creamy and sweet. A fresh graham cracker crust, not too sweet, delightfully crumbly. Some real whipped cream around the edges. Some swear by key lime pie with a healthy adornment of meringue in top, which sounds good to me - I just haven't run across one made like that before. Key lime tarts, needless to say, are just wrong somehow.

As for real key lime juice vs. plain old lime juice? What's the taste difference? Is it really noticeable? Someone needs to do a taste test and report back. Maybe I will someday. Perhaps.

More links:

An excellent newspaper article on Key Lime Pie's history.

The Curry Mansion's official website.

The Blonde Giraffe Key Lime Pie factory. These guys have it all: from pie to key lime pie cookies to pie on a goddamn stick, they've thought of everything.

Kermit's Key West Key Lime Shop. Every key lime product known to man available here, including key lime moisturizer, key lime spicy barbeque sauce, key lime pretzels, and yeah, maybe a pie or two.

Steve's Authentic Key Lime Pies. These look pretty good, and these folks are committed to using real fresh squeezed key limes, all the time, no ifs-ands-or-buts. God bless em'.

Foodie Events in NOLA

The Southern Food and Beverage Museum is hosting the first-ever Food Symposium and Literary Feast this weekend, in what should be the first in a series of food-writer friendly events in the Big Easy. The readers and writers conference will bring together food writers, food professionals, gourmets, and everyday foodies together, in an exchange of ideas, expertise, and a good recipe or two. The focus of this years event will be "The World's Fairs in New Orleans and Inventing Creole and Cajun Cuisine," and discussions will be conducted by local food figures such as Susan Tucker, Judy Walker, Peggy Scott LaBorde, Lawrence N. Powell, and others. Lunch will be provided in the ticket price. Check out the website for more information. 

The Big Read Kickoff Party and Food Symposium Reception will be held this Friday from 6:00 to 9:00 PM, featuring free food (sweets, gumbo, red beans and rice, a dish from Leah Chase), new exhibits, and book signings from local writers Sara Roahen (Gumbo Tales); Jerry Strahan (Managing Ignatius); and Bill Loehfelm, (Fresh Kills and Bloodroot). 

-Check out the Garden District Bookshop's book signing event with local chef John Besh this Tuesday. The chef will sign his new book, "My New Orleans," and discuss various aspects of his culinary life and times.

From the Garden District Book Shop's mailing list:

Upcoming Events:  My New Orleans  by John Besh 

  Discussion & Booksigning Tuesday Oct. 27  5:30-7:00 PM  

My New Orleans will change the way you look at New Orleans cooking and the way you see World-famous chef John Besh. It's 16 chapters of culture, history, essay and insight, and pure goodness. Besh tells us the story of his New Orleans by the season and by the dish. Archival, four-color, location photography along with ingredient information make the Big Easy easy to tackle in home kitchens. Cooks will salivate over the 200 recipes that honor and celebrate everything New Orleans.

Chef Susan Spicer of Bayona will be on hand at the Bookshop November 9th at 6:00 PM, to discuss Daniel Boulod's Letters to a Young Chef. Like all Cookbook Club meetings, this event will be held pot-luck style: that means good food, good conversation, and a fascinating discussion on the ins and outs of the restaurant industry. Don't miss it. 

Farmer's Market Profiles: Crescent Cremes

Crescent Cremes Pralines



Crescent Creams produces some of the most divine pralines and candies in the area. Wayne Brown's creations include the distinctly old-fashioned Nipples of Venus, and delicious "gator mints," a buttery and addictive concoction with the fresh snap of real mint.



And of course there are big and delicious pralines, in four different flavors: coconut, cafe au lait, chocolate, and the much-beloved pecan. Gift boxes are available for far-flung praline lovers, and can be ordered off the website.



Crescent Cream's story begins in the aftermath of Katrina, when Mr. Brown began to make pralines as a "thank you" gift to those who had helped him get through the storm. Using his mother's recipe, Brown's friends ate them up - more then that, they told him he should start selling his candies. Which he did. Brown is now a fixture at the Crescent City Farmer's Market, selling his delicious treats to a healthy contingent of satisfied customers.



Brown told me a little bit about the illustrious history of his Nipples of Venus, which hail from an extremely old French recipe. The mildly erotic looking candies are the antecedents of the flat pralines we know and love today, and were called "prasline" in their native home. The name is thought to be a homage to sugar industrialist and candy genius Marshal du Plessis-Praslin, who invented the European style praline: almond in caramelized sugar. The chef, Clement Lassagne, has a variety of origin stories surrounding him and the invention of the praline. An innocent tale involves the curious Clement coming upon children caramelizing sugared nuts over an open fire. A more colorful version involves the hound-dog du Plessis-Praslin asking the chefs to invent a treat that would really make court ladies skirts fly up - we may never know the truth.

French immigrants to New Orleans brought over their candy recipes, and found that local pecans made a convenient substitute for the almonds they used back home, added cream for thickening purposes, and incorporated local cane sugar: the recipe evolved in a delicious direction from there on out. Nipples of Venus, then, may be viewed as primordial praline, a true taste of the past, complete with a "scantily clad" chocolate drizzle. Nipples of Venus are still a popular treat in Europe, and turn up in a dizzying array of varieties around the continent.

Praline in Europe means something different from the flat patties known in the Southern USA. European praline generally refers to ground sugar coated nuts, and is often used in pastries, cakes, and chocolate candies. It's tasty stuff, but in my (unbiased) opinion can't hold a candle to the stuff we eat in America.