Ringing in the New Year with Food Books

I came back home on New Year's Day, tired, ravaged from a ridiculously early flight from St. Louis to LA (via Houston). My mother put a few cute daisies on my desk in a small vase, with a nice note welcoming me home. I looked and saw that the large easy chair that occupied a good third of my room was now gone, opening up a nice section for...open space.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see that my bookshelf was completely re-organized. I don't know why she did such a thing, considering that I had a whole method to my madness that is the bookshelf. Sure, my food books were in easy access, just left of my desk. I can whip out Alinea cookbook or How to pick a Peach by Russ Parsons, with a flick of a wrist. If I had Nancy Silverton's book, then I could be doubly hilarious by flicking a wrist to a book of that same name.

My mother decided to showcase my entire collection of Zagat guides, the first few editions I paid full price for, but later realized I could have sent to me for free for pretending to participate in the actual Survey. I have 2004 to 2010 for the City of Los Angeles, with the exception of 2005. I don't know which restaurants were good that year, and neither do I care. Next to it is a book that surpasses the value of all of those books combined, Eat:Los Angeles, the first edition that includes writing from Pat of Eating LA, among others. This book is chock-full of great eateries, groceries, suppliers, and stores for cooks, foodies, chefs, and newbies.

I'm amused to see a few rogue books that I didn't even realize I owned. The Complete Fish Cookbook, a relic of the generic 80's sits next to "Alternative Cures that Really Work", a book that probably involves food in ways that I'd rather not know about. The regal Bordeaux, an older edition of Robert Parker's famous volume, collects dust next to The All New Joy of Cooking, which was recently replaced by another edition. I collected this one at some used bookstore.

A Passion for Pasta juts out with its day-glow green cover, and I was almost going to throw it into the Goodwill bin until I opened the cover. It it, my dad wrote affectionately, "To Matthew. Someday we'll own a restaurant! :) From Dad, 10-15-2006." Sad thing is that I don't remember when or why he gave this to me. He must have left it on my desk without me ever knowing. It's not the greatest cookbook ever, as a simple Reader's Digest series cookbook, but that little tidbid as made it a treasure on my shelf.

The big books toward the bottom are very important: Larousse Gastronomique, a book that Daniel and Shirley gave me in my early days of gastronomy. They've inscribed the book as affectionately as my father did, with Daniel saying, "I am so thankful that you are in my life (Gosh I sound like we're going out)" while Shirley wrote, "You are such a crazy, amazying (just like that), encouraging brother to me & so many other people (who?)" These two wonderful people will no doubt becoming married this year (Lord willing!). I bust out this book whenever I try to attempt the latest John Dory, Turbot, or Black Truffle recipe that floats my way, because we all know how abundant those ingredients are in Southern California.

There's a book in Portuguese that my parents bought recently from Brazil called Aperitivos. It looks excellent except that I can't read it. Nearby is a weathered paperback version of La Technique, Jacques Pepin's seminal work on classical cuisine. I tried thumbing through to the quenelles recipe, but just gave up after seeing its complexity. Maybe when I have 2 whole days to kill.

Food memoirs are my favorite section. To me, food is about stories, recollection, memory. I still have my paperback of Kitchen Confidential that led me to read voraciously about food. Next to it is A Cook's Tour, Bourdain's first book on Travel. Mimi Sheraton's memoir (a stature that Frank Bruni will probably attain in a few decades) sits next to The Art of Eating, MFK Fisher's grand anthology, and probably the best food memoir ever written. My Life in France, on loan from Cathy of Gastronomyblog, is still half-read. I need to finish it. It's been months. It's very good though, if you ever get around to reading it. Then again, she does have my copy of It Must've Been Something I Ate, from my favorite food writer of all time, Jeffrey Steingarten.

Interlude - My Top Ten Favorite Food Books of All Time (that I've read or own)

1. The Art of Eating by MFK Fisher
2. It Must've Been Something I Ate by Jeffrey Steingarten
3. On Food and Cooking by Harold McGee
4. The French Laundry Cookbook by Thomas Keller, Michael Ruhlman, et al
5. My Life in France, by Julia Child (yes even though I'm not done with it!)
6. The Soul of a Chef by Michael Ruhlman
7. Sixty Years of Writing from Gourmet Magazine, edited by Ruth Reichl
8. Tender at the Bone (actually any of Ruth Reichl's three books qualify here)
9. Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain
10. Fork it Over, by Alan Richman

There's so many more books, but the first book I ever bought has now been safely returned to my shelf. I've mentioned it before, but it's the Longhi's Restaurant Cookbook, from a high-end bourgeois restaurant on Maui, purchased from a family vacation there in 2005.

I still remember trying to cook Penne Arrabiata for the first time, and Bob Longhi's writing was the first time I encountered notes on a dish, and how it could affect one's cooking. I still use this recipe for a brief weeknight dinner, or a casual night in with the family. It's delicious, and super easy. It's how I officially started my foray into food and cooking. I hope 2010 becomes less about trying that fancy new restaurant or the hole-in-the-wall joint in East LA, but about making food memories for a lifetime. We can all easily forget a meal, but chronicling our lives with the lens of food lets us remember long after it's been eaten.

Penne Arrabiata (adapted from Longhi's: Recipes and Reflections from Maui's Most Opinionated Restauranteur)

This is the perfect dish to help you practice what I call, "cooking meditation." Everybody talks about meditating; they go to India, they go to gurus, read books, buy tapes, learn a mantra, do everything they possibly can so they can meditate. In my opinion true meditation is being completely in the present, and when you make this dish, you must be in the present. Your mind cannot wander - you cannot be watching television or talking with your friends. You must watch the garlic so it doesn't burn, although if you don't cook it enough, you won't get the right flavor. Another thing to remember with this dish is to always keep the heat high. Arrabiata means "agitated," so use high heat throughout the cooking. Put all your attention into the dish, and when you are finished and have done it properly, you will one of the great dishes of all time. People will call you a great book just based on this one dish. Good luck. ~ Bob Longhi

1 teaspoon kosher salt
dash of olive oil
1 pound of dried penne pasta, preferably with ridges, to better soak up the sauce
1 28 ounce can of whole tomatoes
18 cloves of chopped garlic
1/2 cup of extra virgin olive oil
1 to 2 hot chili peppers, chopped; or 1 teaspoon of red chili flakes (or less if you're concerned about too much spice)
1/2 cup of chopped Italian parsley (keep that curly stuff away!)
salt & freshly ground pepper
parmesan cheese, freshly grated, and preferably aged parmigiano-reggiano or grana padano

1. Bring water in a large pot to a boil, adding 2 tablespoons to season the water. Drain the canned tomatoes and reserve the juice.

2. Add penne after water comes to a rolling boil. Cook for 9-10 minutes or until al dente (don't overcook or they'll be flubby and nasty!)

2. Heat olive oil over high heat in a saucepan. Once smoking, add garlic at once. You should hear a sizzle from the garlic, which means the oil is hot enough. Shake the pan lightly the spread the oil and let the garlic cook until dark brown, just about to burn. Then add red chili peppers or red chili flakes, then after 10 seconds or so, carefully add in the whole tomatoes. Break up the tomatoes up with a wooden spoon. Stir the pan until the residual juices cook off, then add the remaining tomato juice drained from the can. Let the pan simmer for 5-10 minutes, or until the sauce thickens a bit.

3. Drain penne, reserving a bit of the cooking water, and pour carefully into the saucepan. If your saucepan isn't big enough, transfer the whole lot into a large, wide pot, over medium-heat heat. Mix sauce into the hot pasta, adding a bit of pasta water to help the sauce loosen up. Add chopped parsley, give a few cracks of black pepper, and a dash of salt.

4. Serve onto warm bowls or plates and serve immediately. Sprinkle parmesan generously.