Word on the Street 26/09/10

Word on the Street

National Book and Magazine Festival

Victoria Park

September 26, 2010

11-5

More specifically, at 1:30, under the Flavours of the Maritimes tent, I'll be telling a 'how to write a cookbook' tale.

Below, the long version, first published in the Coast, a long, long time ago...

The Making of a Book
by Lindsay Cameron Wilson

It all started with a book on juicing. Juice? We drank it, we loved it, we understood its benefits. But writing a book entirely devoted to juice wasn’t our intention. My colleague Pippa and I had a different idea; one that we felt would fill a huge, curiously ignored gap in the cookbook market. We put a proposal together, stuffed envelopes, licked stamps, sent it to fifteen different publishers, sat back and waited. Then we got rejected, fourteen times (idea to remain top secret in the event that one of the 14 publishers decides to change their mind). When the fifteenth proposal was returned I tore it open over the garbage can (as was the routine - discarding rejection somehow balances the pleasure/pain ratio) but paused just before it took flight. It was only a partial rejection: they liked us, but not our idea. They wanted to meet us. Could we churn out 100 juice recipes, quickly? Did we mind the small fee? Were we willing to accept their policy of not offering royalties or copyright to first time authors?

We knew we could write a cookbook together. I am a Canadian food writer and she's a New Zealand food stylist and has a nutrition background. Our collective experiences are perfect for a global cookbook market. But neither of us thought we would ever write a healthy cookbook. Pippa and I, you see, inhibit a world where aesthetics and the story behind food is paramount, while health is a distant second. Even the cookbook shop in London where we met shares the same philosophy. The succulent food books are displayed at the forefront, while books on healthy subjects are tucked behind the front door. But neither of us could harness our desire to explore unchartered flavour combinations, regardless of the calorie content or first time author stipulations. It was a mission, and we chose to accept it.

Over the following four weeks we could either be found in the market, at the computer or in our respective kitchens, aprons on and ear plugs in, stuffing roughage into our shiny Breville juicers. This model is loved for its external waste receptacle and wide feed tube, but it sounds like a 747 about to take flight.

Once the juices were blended, I would take a sip and record my thoughts. If it passed the test, it was poured into a zip lock bag for my husband to try. Then I'd give Pippa a call. This is where our co-authorship was essential. Who else could possibly understand that a juiced leek, despite its powerful detoxifying qualities, can burn your nose hairs? Who else wants to hear that their co-author had an equally adventurous day discovering the powerful laxative effect juiced pears and prunes had on their digestive system? What about the shared elation of discovering how delicious juiced lychees with a touch of rosewater could be?

Our juice testing coincided with the advent of winter. My flat was cold and damp. I wore the same juice stained sweats every day. I only left the house to buy ingredients. I couldn’t get a comb through my passion fruit pulp encrusted hair. But there was no time to primp. We had a pre-Christmas deadline that we were determined to meet. Yet as our deadline grew closer and our work load increased, we remained intact. The book that had began as a flavour combining mission had blossomed into a health giving orgy of calming goodness. Our hair grew thicker. Our skin glowed. Our bodies were cleansed and energized. To be truthful, it was the 'damn you look good' comments that really kept the juices flowing right through those dark and cold December days. Thank goodness. We needed the extra fortification to get us through the January editing.

Juice! turned out to be a success, and our publishers suggested that be it turned into a series (complete with royalties!) Fueled and fortified by juice, we moved onto Ice Cream! Soup! Barbeque! Pizza! Cookies! (be sure to pronounce each title with fervor and excitement). We’ve just finished the last book in the series, Veggie! I now live in Halifax , Nova Scotia , and Pippa is still in London . But thanks to email, we’re carrying on, exactly the same as before. Well, not exactly the same. My kitchen is bigger, my fridge twice the size, I now have two little boys tugging at my apron strings. But food styling the books brings me back to London twice a year. That’s also when Pippa and I have our future recipe brainstorming sessions. It’s always good to go back to London – the food, the shops, the friends, the chaos – but as they saying goes, there’s no place like home.

Sometimes I feel like I haven’t really left.

Culinary Confessions

Last Spring I was asked to write a piece for Tidings, the University of King's College alumni magazine. The assignment was broad: write about a food adventure. Every day is a food adventure, from baby food explosions to candlelit sausage stews on the propane stove during a hurricane. There are stories in every mouthful; the question is which mouthful is rich enough to share? I decided to turn the assignment into something more of a food confession. Read on, or click on the Tidings website where you'll find the story complete with a beautifully immortalized zampone.

The five course meal starts out strong. Fragrant, amber-coloured stock fills

a shallow, white porcelain bowl. Fresh pillows of gnocchi and slivers of

garlic scapes swirl within. Next comes a warm plate featuring what looks

like a thick slice of sausage nestled within a spoonful of soft, puréed

lentils and a touch of zucchini pickle. The sausage, made from pork,

cinnamon, nutmeg and Parmesan cheese, is encased in a thick, cream coloured

casing. I scoop out the filling with my fork, and top it with helpings of

lentils and pickle. The combination of flavours – tart, sweet, salty but

fresh – and textures – creamy, with a little pickle crunch – are incredible.

As the filling is devoured, its casing falls limp like a thick ring of bacon

fat onto the plate. The chef is my friend Larry, who grows his own

vegetables, makes his own cheese and raises turkeys, ducks and chickens.

When the course is finished, he looks at my plate, crestfallen. As a fellow

food professional, I have broken a tie that had bound us together. I am no

longer brave in his eyes, no longer authentic, no longer a practical eater.

I’m just a squeamish city girl who eats high on the hog.

The dish is called zampone, a speciality of Modena, Italy. To make zampone,

Larry shaves the pig’s trotters of excess hair with bic disposables. He then

bones and washes them and fills them with a rough sausage called

cotechino. The whole thing is oven braised for 4 hours, sliced into

thick rounds, and served with a lentil purée. The word zampa means paw; a

large trotter is called a zampone; a small one is a zampino. Zampa, zampone

or zampino; I just… can’t do it. There I’ve said it. In fact, if I had a

postcard handy, I’d post a secret: I can’t handle a little pig’s foot with

a few short hairs still attached.

While I’m at it, I may as well add: really red blood sausage grosses me out.

Sweatbreads? No thanks. I could never knowingly eat horse or dog. And don’t

even get me started on durian.

I am a grateful eater. Food, prepared for another, is the sweetest gift.

Especially Larry’s food, which is lovingly prepared from start to finish. He

knows where every bit of his food comes from; in fact, the pigs that offered

up their trotters for this meal are his neighbours. I believe in ‘nose to

tail eating’ in practise, but have trouble with execution. It’s hypocritical

of me, but I’m learning that personal taste and food politics collide in my

mouth.

These culinary confessions have made me vulnerable. Uh oh. Hopefully Larry

will have me back.

The Lunenburg Farmers' Market*

The Bounty

clockwise, from left:

lisianthus from Maple Grove Greenhouse and Farms, beets, carrots, basil and cherry tomatoes from Glad Gardens Family Farm,

Pain au chocolat and those delicious ? jam-filled oversized-french thumbprints from Boulangerie La VendÉenne, and finally, perfect peaches from a nice guy who let me try one first

*Every Thursday from 8-noon at the Lunenburg Community Centre, May 14th till October 8th

**Missing from photo: fat scallops from Evan's Fresh Seafood