Darra Goldstein Brings Classic Nordic Cooking to Life with Fire + Ice
By Amanda Balagur
Although she’s best known as the Founding Editor of Gastronomica and Professor of Russian at Williams College, Darra Goldstein has a long-standing history with Scandinavian cooking. She first ventured to that part of the world in 1972, when she flew to Finland and took a weekend bus from Helsinki to Leningrad (she was studying Russian then). In 1980, she had plans to go to Moscow to research her dissertation, but unforeseen circumstances related to the U.S. boycott of the Summer Olympics resulted in a change of plans -- she and her husband, newly married, ended up going to Stockholm, Sweden instead. Goldstein describes herself as being quite taken by Scandinavia, calling her latest cookbook, Fire + Ice, a “cultural excursion into the way people actually eat there” in contrast to the often innovative and highly conceptual New Nordic cuisine.
The cookbook focuses on four core countries: Finland, Sweden, Denmark 
and Norway. The name Fire + Ice reflects the two key elements that define the region. Photos of snowy landscapes, silvery architecture and windows glowing with amber warmth gave the Pepin Lecture audience a feel for Goldstein’s inspiration as she described the local cuisine. Cold and warmth are reflected in traditional beverages such as glug, which is mulled wine spiced with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and cardamom served warm in the wintertime, and schnapps or aquavit, a distilled liquor made from grain and flavored with caraway, ginger, cardamom or even young birch leaves.
Goldstein explained the evolution of one of the most familiar Scandinavian offerings, the Smörgåsbord. It started out as a table displaying an array of schnapps, to which food was added until it became institutionalized as the feast we think of today. According to Goldstein, there is a certain way to eat at a Smorgasbord, which is broken up into five courses: his majesty the herring (a fish so important to local cuisine it’s admired in isolation like royalty!), other fish and seafood, cold meats and salads, hot dishes and desserts. After the Smörgåsbord was introduced to the U.S. at the 1939 World’s Fair, it became all the rage and eventually turned into the all-you-can eat buffets and salad bars that pepper the American landscape to this day.
Other items of importance in Scandinavian cuisine include brown bread, 
made from grains like barley, oats and rye, which ranges from chewy sourdough to delicate crispbread, and pickled, salted and fermented fish, which range from mild (gravlax) to pungent (suströmming). Additional favorites include foraged greens, mushrooms and berries, and dairy products like cheese and butter. The region’s cuisine reflects seasonality, indigenous influences and Viking conquests – it’s no coincidence that spices like cinnamon, saffron and nutmeg, encountered centuries ago via the Silk Road, are now associated with Scandinavian cuisine. The art of preserving food, shaping anthropomorphic Christmas cookies and infusing liqueurs is as much a part of life in this realm as the extremes of light and dark. To learn more about Darra Goldstein and Fire + Ice, click here. 
How to Be an Academic Food Writer
By Anna Nguyen
I am a failed food writer. For many, many years, I have tried to write publishable food narratives, but with no real success. And yet, oddly enough, I read quite obsessively. Though not all of my reading materials revolve around food or food culture, many of my favorite reads are food-focused: essays by George Orwell; Steven Shapin’s recent efforts on wine and food histories; Haruki Murakami’s pieces about his cooking practices and eating preferences. I am keen on reading any memoir by chefs or food personalities. The list goes on. People say reading is an indicator of good writing, but I am proof that this sentiment does not hold true. The only reason I write so uncharitably of my forays in food writing is because I lack the ability to write sensorially; that is, I have not yet trained myself to write sentimentally about food using any other senses than the visual.
How does one write about taste in a way that evokes anything but just visual inventory? How does one successfully translate a fleeting, visceral moment into words shared with others? These were -- and still are -- questions that I always ask myself as I attempt to write. I am perhaps thinking too much about the words in use. That is, I find it extraordinarily difficult to put into words what I’ve just tasted. I try and try and try, and I still find the end result unsatisfying. There are days that I’ve come to terms with my reductionist perspective. Some days, terse paragraphs are sufficient; other days, many other days, I’m like Thomas at the end of Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blowup. I leave many unfinished and untitled essays on food on Google Drive because I cannot muster any profound words to write what I intend to say.
Perhaps the most enjoyable aspect of my failed career aspirations is that I’ve found focused research interests in the Gastronomy program. As I am planning my thesis, I intend to address the problem of food writing and the limitations of the language of food. In particular, I intend to try to understand the meanings of words in use -- what is the inarticulate trying to articulate, and how language and epistemologies are constructed and shared.
My interests were shaped during my first year as a graduate student. While attending classes, I found myself growing fond of discourse analysis, textual analysis, phenomenology, and social theory -- all things that I had at one point during my undergraduate years hated and tried to avoid. But to know theory is to be able to use and criticize what is lacking. Merely suggesting that language and knowledge are social constructs are non-answers that do not address the problems that I’m interested in, problems like the vagueness of food policies and laws, and food literacy. Nor does the concept of “social construction” add anything meaningful to ongoing academic conversations. If I am thankful for anything about my time as a graduate student in the Gastronomy program, it’s for the reason that I am able to intelligibly articulate what I don’t like with more force.
I’m still writing, though my writing has shifted focus. I tend to write with a more academic tone, but it’s probably not as academic as one imagines. Allusions to my literary background and journalistic experience are still present, though I’ve tried to dismiss unnecessary imagery. Great scholars like Arjun Appadurai, Gary Alan Fine, and Steven Shapin have written about food and culture without adhering to a strict academic template, and that’s something I wish to emulate. Perhaps it’s something I’ll attempt in my proposed thesis.
As I prepare the initial stages of thesis writing, I’m reminded that food writing existed long before food studies was birthed. During my first meeting with Walter Hopp, my thesis advisor, he heralded the chowder description in Moby Dick as being great food writing. I’ve been so buried in theory and academic texts that I’ve forgotten about literature. Perhaps on some much-needed breaks from the exhausting writings of Peter Singer and Michael Pollan, I should look back at the food writings of George Orwell and Virginia Woolf. And maybe it’s finally time to read about that damn whale.
Inspiration from a World Apart
By Elizabeth Nieves
Sitting on the plane of my first international flight, I tried to imagine the landscape that would greet me when I arrived and the new faces I would see, knowing that the next ten days would undoubtedly impact my life. The small group I was traveling with was bound for Haiti. As our flight landed in Santiago, Dominican Republic, our comrades on the plane cheered. We had arrived. The butterflies of not knowing what lied ahead set in.
After a short night in the DR, our bus driver taxied us through the vast, dry countryside until we reached the Haiti-Dominican Republic border. Luckily, when we arrived at the border, it was open, as we were later informed that the border is subject to be closed any time they please. Sitting in the bus, while our bus driver, Juan, took our passports to be processed was intense. Would we be granted access to cross into Haiti? As we waited, children crept up alongside the bus to beg for money or to try to sell us trinkets. When they were spotted knocking on our windows, the police shouted and chased them away.
After about twenty tense minutes, we were on our way across the country
lines. I most vividly remember looking out the window from my seat on the bus at the women who were washing their laundry and bathing their children in the river running along the border. What was a typical day for Haitians and Dominicans was a day full of new sensory experiences for me. In no time at all, we arrived at the school hosting us in Ouanaminthe, Haiti -- a border town in the northeast region. The subsequent days were filled with completing projects around the school, playing with kids, visiting rural neighboring towns, spending time in elderly communities, eating squash soup, and a little sightseeing.
Less than six months after returning from Haiti, I found myself in a global food policy class at BU. For our midterm and final papers, we were tasked with selecting a country to research its nutrition situation, agriculture production, food security, and its progress on Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) and other food policies. As I thought about which country I would spend most of the semester researching, I thought back to all of the faces I met in Haiti: sweet Emilia from Le bon Samaritain (the Good Samaritan), the creative little boy who crafted a toy car out of a motor oil container and plastic caps, the fishermen along the vibrantly colored coast, and the children that sang to us as we colored with them in their classrooms.
Most of all, I thought about the hands I held for hours as we walked around the impoverished town of Dérac making house visits on a sweltering day 
with no trees in sight to take a rest in the shade. Many of these children did not have shoes, clothing, or food as evidenced by the swollen bellies around us. Several of them had beautiful red hair, which is quite out of the ordinary. I was later informed that the hair I found so uniquely beautiful was due to an ugly cause: severe malnutrition. It left me wondering why some people lived in such poverty while others were able to thrive in plenty. Thus, my questions of “Why is there such great poverty in Haiti?” and “How can the situation improve?” led to me researching Haiti for my global food policy class. Although Haiti has been impacted by many natural disasters and lacks resources, consequently leaving many people food insecure, the country is full of beauty and resilience.
Turning an Avocation into an Education
By Ilana Hardesty
As a new member of the Gastronomy program, I’d qualify myself as an “older” student; I’m taking my first class in about 32 years. My first semester is winding down and I’m reflecting on my choice to go back to school and pursue a Certificate in Food Studies at the age of 54. I don’t quite trust myself to make the full commitment to graduate student life by pursuing a master’s in Gastronomy yet.
Unlike some of my classmates, I do not have a career in the food industry. I work full time on the BU Medical Campus in Continuing Medical Education. I do, however, have a lifelong avocational interest in food. I learned to cook from my mother and grandmother – a healthy dose of Jewish cooking mitigated by a father born and raised in Iowa with a love of pork chops. As an adult, I found both solace and excitement in cooking, and also in reading about food insatiably. I dabbled briefly in nutrition science, working at the Tufts School of Nutrition and taking a couple of introductory courses, and discovered the joy of communal cooking and being at the front of the classroom by teaching the occasional adult education class around town. Now, it is time to impose discipline on my avocation. Since I work full time, this will be a long-term project; I am assuming that I’m on the five-year plan by taking one class per semester.
My inaugural class is the Anthropology of Food, and it has been a fascinating journey. While I am still getting my “sea legs” and learning how to think and write in a critical and scholarly way, I have enjoyed every minute of the time I’ve spent doing classwork – even when I want to cry with frustration at how out of practice I am at being a student (I’m looking at you, Lit Review!). I suspect that my husband might feel a bit differently, as 20-plus years of routine are disrupted by my classes and homework.
The Anthropology of Food is a perfect first class, because it provides structure and academic context for the things 
we all observe on a daily basis. How does food define us? Why do we purchase, or cook, the things we do? What do our choices say about who we are? The class has made me stop and think about virtually every food transaction I myself make, let alone what I observe just moving through my everyday life.
The course, taught by Ellen Rovner, includes a semester-long project that is very thoughtfully broken up into chunks: identifying a venue in which transactions around food take place (a shop, a restaurant, mom’s kitchen) and conducting an ethnographic study of it. Through the project, I have learned not only about one specific place but also about what anthropology is and what anthropologists do. Over the semester we have been building toward our final paper , from participant observation and in-depth informant interviews to the literature review, and then pulling it all together. This has given us an opportunity to thoughtfully and through real experience develop our research questions.
I live in Watertown, MA, home to one of the largest Armenian communities in the U.S. It’s full of Armenian markets. As my research venue, I chose Sevan Bakery, a place where I already shop on a regular basis. As a non-Armenian, I was interested to explore the reasons both Armenians and non-Armenians choose to shop there as opposed to (or in addition to?) the other three markets within a half-mile radius. I learned a great deal through observation and interviews, much of which challenged my assumptions and made me rethink my questions. In many ways the project has been very personally eye-opening, forcing me to apply the theories I’ve learned in class (about cultural distinction and identity, for example) to my own assumptions, as an outsider, about how a cultural group like Armenians identify themselves. Because there are some parallels between Armenian history and Jewish history (ancient cultures, centuries of displacement, oppression, diaspora), I have found myself reflecting on my own cultural history.
As I work on my final paper, I can only hope that I do both Sevan and myself justice! In the end, though, as much as I have enjoyed the reading assignments and the writing for class, my favorite part has been getting to know my classmates. I am impressed with their varied backgrounds and look forward to getting to know them better, and learning from them.
Playing with Your Food
As a child, I always played with my food. Ok, so I still play with my food. There’s something about turning one thing into something else, maybe something better, toying with my strong kinesthetic senses, indulging my (possibly misguided) creativity, and seeing how flavors work together on the palate, on and off the plate. Maybe it’s gross, but maybe it’s important too, because it led me here.
When I tell people what I’m studying in grad school, the normal response goes something like, “You study astronomy? That’s awesome!” To which I respond, “No, gastronomy, with a ‘g’” only to be met with confused looks and a need to quickly explain my academic career. While home for Thanksgiving my own father called me a “gastroenterologist.” Not quite.
Gastronomy, a relatively new field of study concerning itself with how we, as humans, relate to food, perplexes many, and understandably so. When I applied to Boston University’s Gastronomy program, I barely knew what I was getting myself into. I was looking for direction or a peek into something I wanted to do with my life. I knew I wanted to be involved in the culinary world in one way or another: I wanted to play with my food. And although I’m only heading into my second semester in this program, it’s easy for me to say my education is much more than that.
My course of study includes a focus on food communications, which includes everything from writing to PR, marketing, and advertising. I’ve been lucky enough to have an internship in hospitality PR at 451 Marketing to supplement my education. But even though communications is my focus, my education through this program is full of history, sociology, science, and government policy, to name a few. Though I can’t be sure of the direction I’m headed towards, these experiences within different fields of the food studies world are extremely valuable. I came into this program hell-bent on becoming Alton Brown’s successor. That piece of me that wishes to indulge myself in food science is still very present, but I also wonder what a career doing PR for chefs and restaurants would be like, what it would mean to do advocacy work for food pantries, or how I would begin to start my own food business.
These considerations within any field of study are an essential part of one’s education. The Master’s in Gastronomy program at Boston University allows me to explore aspects of the food studies world of which I previously held no knowledge. It’s introducing me to hundreds of new ways to look at food. From the anthropological significance of certain kitchen objects to the philosophical and psychological beginnings of our personal palate, there are no limits on what’s possible. In its essence, this program teaches me new ways to see, to feel, to taste, and most importantly, to understand. It allows me to turn one passion into something else, toy with my senses, indulge my (well-guided) creativity, and have a better understanding of what works for me and what doesn’t. It teaches me all the new ways I can play with my food.
Hungry For Words
By Rachel DeSimone
In the second grade, I wrote an elaborate “scary story,” complete with colorful illustrations and as much suspense-filled detail as a seven-year-old could muster up. My family praised my work on high, fulfilling their parental duties, and it was set—I was going to be a writer. After about six more imaginary career changes between the ages of 10 and 23, I have come full circle back to pen and paper (I do still write things out on paper). This time, however, the topic isn’t ghouls and monsters, it’s savories and confections.
In my junior year at Boston University, I applied to be a writer for the new chapter of Spoon University at BU. Spoon University is a national food publication written by college students for college students sharing their love of food; the site has gained much recognition over the past year. Little did I know that I would become the Editor-in-Chief of the BU operation just three months after sending in my application and crossing my fingers that I’d be taken aboard. Although I was skeptical at first about my ability to handle the weight of this position, soon enough it all came naturally, and I found myself filling the Editor-in-Chief shoes with ease.
This was my first experience in a structured editorial environment, and I had just hoped to dip my toe into the buttercream. Consequently, it became the jumping off point for my future in food writing and becoming a grad student in BU’s Gastronomy program. I faced some challenges trying to popularize the BU Spoon University chapter and influence such a large student body with fast-paced schedules and widely-varying interests. With seven members to start, our team rapidly expanded to 20, then 50, people. We became a familiar name on campus and shot up from the 39th-ranked chapter within the Spoon University college network to number two.
Over the full year that I spent as Editor-in-Chief, I learned not only about 
food in the Boston area, but also how to manage a large team of people, maintain a website with up-to-date and captivating food content, and create a fun and positive work environment. I also learned that the food writing field is where I need to be. As I realized this, I was simultaneously applying to the Gastronomy program. After watching my best friend and co-leader of Spoon University BU, Laurel Greenfield, go through her first year as a Gastronomy student, I awaited my own acceptance. Upon receiving the exhilarating news that I got into the program, I knew that there was nothing better I could do for my future food writing career.
I am currently taking two core classes this semester, the first being Introduction to Gastronomy: Theory & Methodology with Karen Metheny. It which covers an array of disciplines related to the field of gastronomy, along with giving students a solid understanding of what gastronomy actually is. The second class I am taking is History of Food with Kyri Claflin, where students gain an understanding of historical method while exercising it through class work and a culminating final project. I plunged right into things as I often do with these two courses, which both demand a high quantity of work, but I have found myself advancing each week. Class readings and discussions have elevated my way of thinking when it comes to a piece of theoretical or academic writing, and I have learned to critically dissect these works while drawing parallels between them.
Taking these two classes together has been an eye-opening experience, allowing me to understand what the gastronomy program and grad school in general are all about. I have found that it is about digging deeper than you thought you had to, or thought you could, into your work, and as a result, being able to draw your own conclusions and form your own opinions with certainty. In terms of writing, I have begun to find my academic voice, and I know that further classes with help me hone in on that skill. I am looking forward to taking the Food Writing class with Corby Kummer in the spring and having the opportunity to bring some focus to my writing. I hope to inform my food writing and create a foundation for myself to move forward in the editorial field in a meaningful and scrumptious way. Each day I wake up I am hungry for words (and ice cream).
Neurogastronomy: A Flavorful Awakening in the Scientific Community
By Sophie Schwinn
What do you get when you combine the expertise of world class chefs, medical doctors, neuroscientists, agricultural scientists, and lovers of food? Why, the Inaugural Symposium of The International Society of Neurogastronomy, of course! The International Society of Neurogastronomy (ISN) held its first conference on November 7th in Lexington, KY, drawing speakers and attendees from across the country, as well as Canada and the UK.
Neurogastronomy is a very young discipline – the term was coined in 2006 by Dr. Gordon Shepherd -- so every session at the symposium brought something completely new to the table. Chefs talked about the importance of making healthy food available to those who need it most and of simply making healthy food taste good. Clinicians spoke about the need to overhaul the food systems in our hospitals. They pointed out that patients can’t thrive by eating tasteless food on plastic trays when what they really need is food that tastes great, brings them joy, and makes them want to be healthy again. Bench scientists shared their findings about how our sense of flavor is 
created in the brain and how our other senses can influence our sense of taste. Agricultural scientists contributed information on how they could provide better quality food to chefs by implementing their new research findings as well.
Several speakers also shared personal stories about loved ones battling illness, especially cancer, and how diet was a key component in their treatment. Clinicians shared the struggles their patients face with extreme treatment plans. Some examples include the success of the ketogenic diet in treating epilepsy and the extreme difficulty of maintaining it, the challenges of chemotherapy, which essentially destroys the patient’s sense of flavor, and the struggle to increase appetite in patients in memory care who have diminished taste and difficulty eating the bland hospital food. Chemotherapy was an ongoing theme, with discussions ranging from whether neuroscientists could uncover more about why it causes an overwhelming metallic taste, to whether chefs can come up with a way to make that metallic flavor palatable, to how we can help chemo patients deal with constantly changing taste aversions.
The progress we could make just by facilitating this interdisciplinary collaboration is astounding. One very basic example was a recent finding that simply serving food on a blue plate can lead to increased appetite in dementia patients because the greater contrast between the food and the plate makes it appear more appetizing. This may seem like an insignificant detail, but for those who have a loved one wasting away in the hospital due to lack of appetite, it’s a ground-breaking discovery!
After the conference sessions were over, the lecture hall was abuzz with interdisciplinary conversations. Hospital nutritionists were thanking scientists for sharing their work and discussing how they could implement new findings in their practice right away. Chefs were meeting with scientists to see how they could help facilitate more research and swapping business cards with doctors to start getting food that actually tastes good into hospitals. Scientists were talking with clinicians about their biggest research needs. ISN’s first symposium was an incredible first step to getting the latest scientific findings into the right hands so they can make a positive difference in people’s lives.
Yeast
By Sonia Dovedy
The dense odor overwhelms my nose while walking down the supermarket aisle. I'm looking for a simple bottle of water so that I can quaff my thirst in this wind-chill. Turns out, the bottled water section just so happens to share shelf space with...the bread section.
You know, ten weeks ago, I would have just described this scent as "bread," and I would hardly have been irritated by the fumes. But today, I know that this smell is something deeper than that, something I have smelled so often these past weeks. And that pungently unpleasant, suffocatingly sharp group of molecules emanating from the packages across from me is quite plainly yeast.
I dash out of there as fast as I can.
Did you know that yeast is the catalyst in the chemical reaction that turns lovely little sweetheart grapes into alcohol and CO2? Also known as vin, VINO, wein, vinho, and oh yes, wine.
It feels amazing to be back in school! I just finished my first summer course of my program, An Introduction to Wine Level 1. Doesn’t that sound like fun?
So, yes, I tasted a ton of wines, but this class went far beyond simply enjoying wine. (In actuality, we hardly consumed any wine, as spitting is essential to bringing out the residual tastes and textures in the mouth.) This course was about meeting the wine, sensing its personality, understanding its roots, its values, its character, and tapping into our own sense organs.
For example, I now understand a dry spicy Riesling. It likes to be chilly, thriving in regions such as Alsace, France, and prides itself on being quite sour, crispy, and refreshing. I also understand that if a red wine is harshly astringent, it is probably just too young and excited. It needs some time to grow up. Age and maturation will soften the tannins.
I could share cool things with you about wine all day, but what I really want to talk about is the evolution that took place within me during this course.
Let me back up a little.
--
Class One. We all arrive. I have just come from yoga class, so naturally I am in yoga attire. Behind me is a stay-at-home mom. There are two disheveled-looking boys who have just gotten off their shifts at a restaurant, a few girls my age. There is a wine-expert-in-suit and a gentleman-in-light-pink-lacoste-shirt-and-boating-shoes. Very eclectic crowd. We line up our glasses as our professor passes around our first wine, showing us how to observe, smell, swish, sip, and spit.
So the first thing I notice is that this wine is definitely red. Well that was a cinch. I put my nose in the glass, and I am getting the smell of, hmm, well...honestly it just smells like the smell of wine. This is a silly class, I think.
Meanwhile, I glance around to see wine-expert-in-suit furiously swishing his wine in the glass and making chewing noises as he spits out into the spit cup. Strange. Disheveled #1 is scribbling and scratching his disheveled hair. What is so fascinating to note? Stay-at-home-mom is in deep contemplation. Boating-shoes raises his hand and affirmatively states, "I smell cherry cola, good leather, and a hint of pepper."
What?!? I look at him in disbelief and submerge my nose back into the wine, trying to pick up anything, anything at all. That doesn't work, and instead makes me sneeze. I doubt whether I will ever be a decent wine taster. Oh boy.
--
Slowly, surely, effortlessly, the world around me has started to change for my little nose. I open my cupboard and at once, the aromas of dried figs and those dried currants hidden up in the corner jump out at me -- YES, I remember these scents from my red Bordeaux wine. The dust of cocoa powder that flutters up when I open the box instantly brings clarity to that bitterness that I sensed in the Chilean Cabernet. Green bell peppers, olives, nutmeg, cumin, new tennis balls, grass, green apples, and more come to life. I've started to pause during my day and pay attention to different things that I perceive in the nose, making little mental notes in my olfactory's factory.
I like to close my eyes and visualize different things that I have smelled before, when I search for what is "in the nose" of the wine. A little conversation takes place, of memory, recollection, and the present moment.
Do I sense those lemon piths that make me wrinkle my nose? Or is it oxidation from a browned apple core that was sitting out on the counter today? Cooked fruits from Thanksgiving pies? Or fresh fruits from the springtime? Yes, this one takes me back to kindergarten, to the peach syrup from those canned peaches Mom used to pack me for school. This one reminds me of mildewy sweat from the yoga room. That one of wet-wipes -- yuck. I smell gushers and Robitussin cough syrup. Yuck again.
Fast-forward to Class Five, and I am really starting to get the hang of this. Together, my comrades and I enter into a deep discussion about the nuances in each glass. As my nose opens up, I become more chatty and daring, sharing what I actually do smell, even if it's something silly, like "a forest". Sometimes, people even agree with me, which is something I never thought would be possible in Class One! Our disagreements are what really make things interesting. We stimulate new ideas and we laugh at the crazy things that come up in our noses. For instance, Disheveled #2 always finds a way to smell "basement" and "cigars". And sometimes he is right. It's a subjective study indeed.
What I realize is that in order to taste wine properly, you have to pay attention to the fragrances that surround you. It requires a keen sense of imagination. And it is much more enjoyable with a friend to bounce ideas off of.
What's more, I find the practice of wine tasting to be much like yoga.
Let me try to explain.
Yoga postures, or asanas, exercise each cell in the body to sharpen and sensitize your physical awareness. Wine tasting exercises my nose and my brain's power to remember and recall smells. In just nine short weeks, my nose has become sharper and pointier, like Pinocchio minus the telling lies part. I've realized that I rely so much on my sense of sight, and that perhaps sight is overrated. Smelling and tasting sense organs on their own are far more incredible in the details of information that they can provide.
Learning wine has strengthened something within and is starting to teach me a bit more about myself. Just like yoga, this study is refining my insides like a pencil sharpener. My goodness. This world is too exciting. I think it calls for a celebration, don't you?
Cheers to wellness, spontaneity, and refreshing imaginations.
You can find this post and others on Sonia Dovedy’s food, yoga, travel blog at Bake with Sonia.
A Dish through Time & History: Cauliflower Soup 1901-2015
By Louise Beck Brønnum
Have you ever wondered why your grandmother’s stew tastes ten times better than the one you try to make yourself? It’s all bound to tradition, the context of time and place. By making a very simple recipe from two different time periods, a reflection of these influences becomes clear, and even enables us to not only understand how people once ate, but also why and where. As part of the Culinary Laboratory Arts class, we were challenged to find a recipe from two different time periods and cook them. This is my experience of cooking a dish through time and history.
Cauliflower Soup
I am an exchange student from Denmark, and the whole new Nordic cuisine movement inspired me to cook something from a Danish cookbook. Many traditional recipes in Danish cuisine require specific ingredients. I wanted to relate an older recipe for cauliflower soup to one found in the new Nordic Cuisine to give a time perspective. From participating in the Culinary Arts Lab course and by looking at different recipes over time, I’ve found that soups have gone through the most remarkable changes, both in cooking techniques and methods.
Finding the Recipe
It all started on a rainy Friday afternoon. My classmate Erica and I decided to visit the Schlesinger Library at the Radcliffe Institute of Advanced Study at Harvard. With help from the librarian, we found cookbooks from the 17th and 18th century. I found cookbooks based on French cuisine that were written by Americans, on Southern food, Chinese food and even Danish food. I could have chosen an American recipe, but I found it harder to understand them from a food-making and cultural perspective, so, I decided on one from a Danish cookbook.
Frøken Jensens Cookbook (1901)
The classic Danish cookbook I found is almost an institution in itself, written by Kristine Marie Jensen. She was a housekeeper and cookbook writer who lived from 1858 to 1923. When she died, her cookbook, “Frøken Jensens kogebog”, had been edited 27 times and sold 15,000 copies during the first year of publication it! It is still one of the most acknowledged cookbooks in Danish food culture and within Danish bourgeois cuisine. Jensen stated that the Danish housewife had forgotten the responsibility of providing a home with tasteful and caring food. She explained and included all the classical and traditional techniques and methods of Danish cooking in the cookbook. Any housewife would be able to use it to cook her husband dinner, says Jensen, “without feeling like it is a huge burden, but a great mission to keep the home with hygge.” Under the white thickened (lier) soups in the second part on supper dishes, I found a cauliflower soup recipe. To complete it, I had to make a standard “savings stock.”
Ny Nordisk Hverdagsmad Cookbook (2011)
An obvious choice for finding a modern recipe was a cookbook based on the manifest of the New Nordic Diet. A huge research project named OPUS was conducted in cooperation between Copenhagen University and Claus Meyer. Meyer is a food entrepreneur who started catering companies, delis, food schools, and food-related projects promoting seasonality, sustainability, and health. He was one of the people behind NOMA, rated the top restaurant in the world, and will soon be opening a huge Nordic store at Grand Central Station in New York City. The New Nordic Diet cookbook is a small cookbook that includes 60 recipes of simple and easy-to-make dishes that follow the principles of the New Nordic diet. The cookbook is divided into parts depending on ingredients, including soups, vegetables, fish, meats, bread and sweets. I found a cauliflower soup under the chapter for soups.
The Shopping and Preparing Process
The biggest difference between the two recipes is the way they are presented. In Frøken Jensen’s cookbook (FJ) the only ingredients listed are two cauliflower heads and five pots (liters) of stock. In the Ny Nordisk Hverdagsmad cookbook (NNH), the ingredient list is very precisely stated -- including the salt and pepper used for seasoning. Furthermore, the FJ recipe serves 12 and the NNH serves two, which reflects family size and the norms of eating in different time periods.
The FJ recipe calls for a homemade stock, cauliflower, butter, flour, egg yolks and suggested using grated parmesan cheese. In NNH, the ingredients include cauliflower, onions, garlic, semi-fat milk, salt and pepper, and a blender was needed to puree the soup in the end. I realized that the recipes exemplify two different techniques, one a white, thickened soup and the other a pureed soup. FJ does have pureed soups, but she used a chinoa to mash them. This is a clear indication of the evolution of cooking technology over time; blenders did not exist in the 19th century.
When shopping for ingredients, the garnish for the NNH recipe (a wild herb from the Danish forest and whole hazelnuts) where the most difficult to find. Though they suggested tarragon instead of the wild herb if it was not available, it seemed contradictory to the concept of easy-to-make. This also shows how cooking a dish from a different cuisine in another country can include constraints, especially in terms of finding the exact ingredients.
The Cooking Process
I started off with preparing the stock for the FJ recipe, which is described as “savings stock.” You basically make it out of leftover meat and vegetables, adding a “visk” (mire poix) and herbs. After boiling you put it in an “høkasse,” an old method of Danish slow cooking which is similar to a low simmer. While making the stock, I boiled the whole cauliflower head in salted water until just tender. Afterwards, I separated the small florets and preserved some of the cooking water for later.
I found a terrine-style pot, which was required for the recipe. This is where I got confused in the cooking process. I needed to bake off butter and flour and then add stock and the preserved cooking liquid, but I wasn’t sure whether I should do it in the terrine with the cauliflower or in a separate pot. Perhaps it’s an indication of culinary wisdom lost in time. I decided to bake the flour and butter first and then add stock, water and the small cauliflower florets all at once to the terrine. Again I was confused about the process. When should I add the egg yolks to thicken the soup? I decided after 15 minutes of slow simmer to lower the heat and add the egg yolks. Stirring it all together, it turned out to be a wonderful and very rustic soup, with a clear taste of cauliflower and texture from the small cauliflower florets. The soup was liquidy, but had structure from the egg yolks and roux. This balanced the mouth feel so it became almost like silk contrasting with the small bites of cauliflower .
The pureed soup from NNH was easy to prepare and took me almost only 10 minutes to mise en place. Following the instructions, I sweated the onions and garlic in oil until tender, then added the cauliflower florets. After that I added milk and set the pot to simmer until the cauliflower was tender. I used an immersion blender to puree the soup and seasoned it with salt and pepper. An additional garnish was made with tarragon, peanuts, scallion and apple cider vinegar, some of which substituted for ingredients I couldn’t find at the supermarket. The texture of the soup was creamy, and the fresh and sour flavor of the tarragon was a great accompaniment. Crunchiness from the nuts was delicious, but a clear flavor of the actually cauliflower was not as pronounced in this soup as in the FJ soup.
The Overall Comparison
Taking into account how I searched for, prepared and the two soups, the most significant difference between them was the expected cooking knowledge of the people preparing them. The cooking methods and equipment were also different, which shows the evolution of technology over the past 110 years. I served both soups to people with gastronomic and non-gastronomic backgrounds, and their preferences were split. Personally, I loved the freshness of the NNH, but on the other hand, I also loved the clear flavor of cauliflower from the FJ recipe. It seemed like one’s general palate and mood at that moment made the greatest influence on taste preferences. Timewise the NNH seemed like it was the easier one in the sense of following the recipe, but for me both were easy and applicable to my level of cooking.
Alumna Emily Contois Explores Icons of Australian Food Culture
By Amanda Balagur
Despite the wet and windy weather last Thursday evening, a lively crowd attended the third Pépin Lecture of the semester to learn about “Icons of Australian Food Culture: Vegemite, Kangaroo & the Flat White”. Emily Contois, who graduated from the MLA in Gastronomy program at BU in 2013 and is in her third year as a PhD student in American Studies at Brown University, greeted the audience warmly and dove into her topic with enthusiasm.
While she grew up in Montana, Emily’s father is Australian, and she and her sister were born Down Under. So it should come as no surprise that she feels a connection to the food and culture of her homeland. There are quite a few iconic dishes from Australia, including meat pies and desserts like pavlova and lamingtons. However, Emily chose to focus on three slightly polarizing foodstuffs: kangaroo, the flat white and Vegemite.
According to Emily, kangaroo is a lean gamey meat that has been eaten by Australia’s indigenous population for thousands of years. Since it’s considered to be ecologically friendly and nutritious, there has been a recent (and mostly unsuccessful) effort to get more Australians to incorporate it into their diet. However, kangaroo meat is often associated with road kill and pet food (it’s largely exported to Europe as an ingredient for the latter), and the trend has been slow to catch on. But creative marketing, such as 2008’s Taste of Kangaroo/Roocipes campaign, may be making a dent in the Australian market -- kangaroo is now more widely available, and sales may be increasing.
While Aussies may be slow to embrace eating kangaroo meat, the same can’t be said for the iconic treat Emily spoke 
about next. The flat white was described as “Australia’s greatest contribution to global gastronomy” by Australian food history scholar Michael Symons. Stemming from European coffee culture, this popular hot drink is a product of 20th century immigration. It consists of a double shot of espresso and micro-foamed milk, resulting in a coffee drink that’s velvety sweet without the fluffiness of a latte or cappuccino. Traditionally served in a 165ml tulip cup, it’s also enjoyed at a slightly colder temperature than other coffee/milk specialties. From Emily’s point of view, the flat white is uniquely global, created as something new in Australia based on Italian coffee culture. Members of the audience at the lecture who had enjoyed the flat white while visiting Australia agreed it was a truly enjoyable part of their daily ritual while traveling there.
The
last featured food of the evening seemed to spark the most interest from the crowd: Vegemite. Developed in 1923 due to the decreased availability of Marmite from England during World War I, Vegemite is made from yeast extract left over from the beer brewing process and is seasoned with salt and vegetable extracts. From the start, it has been promoted as a health food that is “packed with B vitamins”. Emily shared some impressive statistics, including that Vegemite can be found in 80% of Australian kitchens. It’s also rumored to be many Australian babies’ first solid food, and many Australians don’t leave home without it (because, of course, it comes in convenient 
travel-size tubes). She pointed out the culinary tie to the British Empire and explored marketing campaigns in Australia and the U.S., noting the correlation between the first successful sales of Vegemite in America and the Aussie pop culture wave that occurred here in the 80s.
The evening ended with a Vegemite tasting; each audience member received two Ritz crackers with a thin coating of the inky spread, which garnered some spirited reactions. Overall, it was a fun and informative presentation, and the audience was keen to participate. For more information on Emily’s work in food studies, visit her website or follow her on Twitter @emilycontois.