Cinnamon and Gunpowder by Eli Brown

If you’ve followed my blog long enough, you’ll be familiar with my great disdain for “chick lit,” not because I think literature by women for women is bad but because so much of it is terribly written, horribly edited, dumbed down, and the topic of true love is often written about in such a sappy-ass manner, or it’s totally clichéd. I can’t stand clichés, in literature or in life. However, I would deem Cinnamon and Gunpowder as a type of “chick lit” except it was written by a man. So if you can imagine a clichéd story about a female pirate on the high seas who kidnaps a male chef and makes him cook a gourmet meal for her once a week as a way to earn his freedom, I’d say, yes it has the makings of a cheesy-ass Harlequin romance novel.

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But I’d be wrong. This book is so wonderfully and well-written, so descriptive of life at sea, and written with such dry wit, and best of all, it takes what could be considered a boring literary trope – a pirate kidnapping someone and taking them on the high seas on a quest – and turns it into a feminist manifesto of a sort. And you gotta love a good female pirate, right? There are actually some female pirates in history – Grace O’Malley being the one that comes immediately to mind. 

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Mad Hannah Mabbott – and seriously, how could she be anything but a pirate with a moniker like that? – is the captain of The Flying Rose, and committed to righting the wrongs done by Lord Ramsey and his British colonial Pendleton Trading Company. Owen Wedgwood is chef to Lord Ramsey and in the process of serving a delectable gourmet meal to Ramsey and his assorted, equally aristocratic and horrible British guests, Hannah swoops in with her motley crew, kills the men, and kidnaps Owen. Owen is taken to sea initially as a lark and to cook for Hannah, who tells him he must cook her a gourmet meal once a week. The fact that he has limited foodstuffs, nearly no equipment and must cook on a swaying sea vessel has little effect on her. I think I would lose my damn mind if I were taken hostage on a pirate ship and told to cook with next to nothing, but if the pirate captain was tall, dark and handsome and I had to cook for him, I suppose I could force myself to make the effort. 🙂

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As you can no doubt guess, eventually Owen falls under the sway of Hannah’s magic, not because she is trying to entice him sexually, as you’d likely find in a chick-lit book, but because she is truly a strong woman who has grown up in a whorehouse and been sold to many  men before she gains her own independence on the high seas, because she is kind and caring in her own tough way, and because she is the mother to The Fox, another pirate who is fairly insane in his own way and her mothering instincts are what finally break down Owen’s defenses. Owen resists until nearly the end, making three ill-advised attempts to escape the ship, each funnier than the next, until one such evening he serves her his latest concoction, he notices her beauty and the fact that she is a bit curvier than usual due to his culinary skills, and realizes he is a goner.

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Being a foodie, reading the descriptions of Owen’s attempts to cook gourmet meals on a ship with few ingredients was delightful! Owen nourishes a homemade yeast starter by keeping it next to his heart and feeds it with varying liquids to keep it active. He smokes eels in tea, is able to make a herring pâté, creates vanilla-scented amaretto cookies, brews his own banana ale, rolls out homemade ravioli, braises pigeon, attempts a delectable-sounding chocolate mole flavored with soy sauce, and my own personal favorite, concocts potato-crusted crab cakes, the description of which made my mouth water.

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The last of the potatoes went into the crab croquettes. After grating and salting the tubers, I squeezed out as much water as I could and put the liquid aside to settle out. In half an hour, the starch had precipitated. I poured off the water and stirred the starch back into the potatoes (such are the humble measures of an eggless world) along with the virginal crab meat, black pepper, and dried cilantro, and set them aside for frying.

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Luckily for me, I don’t live in an eggless world, so making potato crab cakes was for me, a walk in the park.

INGREDIENTS
1 large egg, room temperature
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1 tablespoon fresh parsley
1 tablespoon fresh cilantro

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
2 teaspoons Worchestershire sauce
1 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Sprinkle of sea salt
8 ounces fresh lump crab meat
1 cup mashed potatoes (I just boiled and mashed two russets and added salt and butter)

1 cup Panko breadcrumbs
Butter

METHOD
In a large bowl, whisk together the egg, mayonnaise, parsley, cilantro, Dijon mustard, Worchestershire sauce, Old Bay, lemon juice and salt.

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Gently mix in the crab meat and the mashed potatoes and form small cakes with your hands, then cover and refrigerate for at least two hours.

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Preheat the oven to 450F and line a baking tray with parchment paper. Dredge each cake in breadcrumbs and dab the top of each crab cake with a small bit of butter before placing on the baking tray.

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Bake for 17 minutes or until light golden brown, and the smell of the crab and butter tortures you.

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Serve with a wasabi-lemon mayonnaise and dive in! So delicious, rich yet light, with the hint of the far-off sea and the zest of lemon. Wonderful! I feel certain I would not be drawn and quartered by a pirate queen for these.

Sexy Sunday! Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters

DISCLAIMER! The following post contains explicit sexual language and profanity. You’ve been warned!

Welcome to the second installation of Sexy Sunday, my monthly collaboration with fellow blogger The Bookworm Drinketh, in which we read a book infamous for its sex scene or scenes; she writes a review and does her usual cocktail-to-go-with, and I write a review and do a food post inspired by the book. It’s as much fun as it sounds, kids! Here is The Bookworm’s Sexy Sunday take on today’s book.

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Today’s book of choice is Sarah Waters’ Tipping the Velvet, which on superficial review is lesbian cross-dressing dance-hall girls in Victorian England. But there’s a lot more to it than that. The heroine of the story, Nan King, works in her father’s oyster shop on the coast in Kent with the rest of her family.  Yes, oysters and lesbians. Well, no one ever accused Sarah Waters of subtlety in her early works.  At least they weren’t full-on fish mongers.

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Anyway, Nan has a great attraction to musical theater, and when she meets Kitty Butler, a lovely young singer who is performing at the theater in Nan’s hometown, she is starstruck and uber horny. The two go off together to London, where Nan becomes part of Kitty’s singing act. They dress up as men, though it’s obvious they are both women, and their affair starts. But, in the way of all first loves, Nan and Kitty’s romance goes sour. Kitty realizes that she does not want to be seen as a “tom,” as lesbians were called in those days. She loves Nan but isn’t strong enough to fight against societal expectations, so she has an affair with, and marries Walter, who had been her agent. Nan, of course, is devastated and heartbroken, and so begins her career as a cross-dressing call girl who only gives handjobs and blowjobs to men as she struggles with her grief over Kitty. Then, Nan meets the woman who will totally fuck up her life, but in a really seductive and sexual way.

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Nan becomes the “kept girl” of the wealthy Diana, who turns her on to adult pleasures she’s never experienced before. Nan is fully in lustful thrall of Diana, who essentially treats her like a fuck slave. Which she is, really. This is the sexiest part of the book, in my opinion. And I’m not even attracted to women! But damn, this scene was arousing, when Diana instructs Nan to go into a trunk in her room and fetch her…………..something.

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It was a kind of harness, made of leather: belt-like and yet not quite a belt, for though it had one wide strap with buckles on, two narrower, shorter bands were fastened to this and they, too were buckled. For one alarming moment I thought it might be a horse’s bridle; then I saw what the straps and buckles supported. It was a cylinder of leather, rather longer than the length of my hand and about as fat, in width, as I could grasp………It was, in short, a dildo. I had never seen one before; I did not know, at that time, that such things existed and had names. “Put it on,” she called – she must have caught the opening of the trunk – “put it on and come to me.”

You so know where this is going, right?

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“Come here,” said the lady when she saw me in the doorway, and as I walked to her, the dildo bobbed harder. I lifted my hand to still it; and when she saw me do that she placed her own fingers over mine, and made them grasp the shaft and stroke it. Now the base’s insinuating nudges grew more insinuating still; it was not long before my legs began to tremble and she, sensing my rising pleasure, began to breathe more harshly. She took her hands away…..and gestured for me to undress her.

Oh yes, it’s going there.

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With my hands still clasped in hers, she led me to one of the straight-backed chairs and sat me on it, the dildo all the while straining from my lap, rude and rigid as as skittle. I guessed her purpose. With her hands closed-pressed about my head and her legs straddling mine, she gently lowered herself upon me; then proceeded to rise and sink, rise and sink, with an ever speedier motion. At first I held her hips to guide them; then I returned a hand to her drawers and let the fingers of the other creep round to her thigh, to her buttocks. My mouth I fastened now on one nipple, now on the other, sometimes finding the salt of her flesh, sometimes the dampening cotton of her chemise.

And here we go. Takeoff!

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Soon her breaths became moans, then cries; soon my own voice joined hers, for the dildo that serviced her also pleasured me – her motions bring with it an ever faster, even harder pressure against just that part of me that cared for pressure best. I had one brief moment of self-consciousness, when I saw myself from a distance, straddled by a stranger in an unknown house, bucked inside that monstrous instrument, panting with pleasure and sweating with lust. Then in another moment I could think nothing, only shudder; and the pleasure – mine and hers – found its aching, arching crisis, and was spent…….At length, she laughed and moved again against my hip. “Oh, you exquisite little tart!” she said.

It’s been said that if you learn something new each day, no day is wasted. Well, while reading this book I learned many interesting things, including the meaning of the phrase “tipping the velvet.” It means cunnilingus, going down on a woman, eating at the Y, any and all of those euphemisms. So the next time you want your lover to do some eating in, ask them if they want to “tip your velvet” and see what response you get.  🙂

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Being an oyster girl, Nan inspired me to make a tasty oyster dish. Yes, someone else did the hard work of shucking them. But I cooked them and wolfed them down. So good and definitely capable of making the passions rise. 🙂

INGREDIENTS
12 oysters, shucked, but with the shells kept nearby. Also keep the oyster liquor.
6 tablespoons softened butter
1/2 cup Panko breadcrumbs
1 teaspoon dried thyme
3 cloves of garlic, finely minced
1-2 tablespoons lemon juice
Zest of 1 lemon
Fresh chopped parsley

METHOD
Heat the oven to 400F and line a baking tray with uncooked rice, to keep the oysters steady while baking.

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Arrange the oyster shells on the rice, and put each oyster back into its little shell. Add the finely minced garlic.

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Pour over the reserved liquor.

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Melt the butter, then add the breadcrumbs. Stir around until they are lightly brown.

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Add in a squeeze of lemon juice and the lemon zest, and stir again.

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Top each oyster with the lemony, buttery breadcrumbs and squeeze over more lemon juice.

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Bake for 10 minutes, keeping an eye on them. When the breadcrumbs are a dark golden brown, remove from the oven.

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Arrange prettily on a platter and scatter over the chopped parsley. Eat while they’re still hot. They are so tasty and fresh, with that hint of salty sea brine and the sharpness of the parsley offsetting very nicely. YUM! And nary a tip of velvet in sight.

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Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez

I was going to avoid any type of love story for Valentine’s Day this year, but I decided that was rather cynical of me, since expressing love for someone is one of the best and bravest things anyone can do in this world. That being said, I loathe and despise mush. I love genuine gestures of caring, friendship and love that are spontaneous and come from the heart, and that oftentimes, are completely unplanned, but sappy gush? Hell no.

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A kiss on the hand, a light stroking of hair, an unexpected embrace, even a quick smack on the ass while I’m cooking – these gestures of affection are so treasured by me when they are given. But sappy, slobbery words of love, declarations of undying love, promises of never-ending romance………meh. I suppose that stems from watching my father – married five times and engaged to two different women at the time of his death – doing the romantic number to all his wives and girlfriends on Valentine’s Day. We’re talking roses, jewelry, cards, the works, and yet, he was never faithful to any of them. I suppose that has made me somewhat cautious of the grand romantic gesture.

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Regardless, Love in the Time of Cholera has become one of my absolute favorite love stories in the world. It’s romantic, yes, but it is also unconventional, sexually explicit, funny, dark, painful, and beautiful. The love story at its heart spans 50 years, goes from youthful obsession to accepting love, from being young to growing old and still maintaining that deep, abiding love for another. Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza fall in love when in their teens, but her father refuses to allow her to marry him. She instead marries Dr. Juvenal Urbino, older, wealthier, and somewhat of a local hero. Florentino maintains his love and adoration of Fermina for 50 years, going through affair after affair after affair, numerous sexual exploits, varying relationships – 622, to be exact – yet in his heart and soul, he is faithful to his Fermina because he only loves her. When Dr. Urbino dies in the first chapter, after their 50+ years of marriage, Fermina sees Florentino at the funeral where he declares his perpetual love for her, and sets out to woo her again. Thus begins the story.

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Florentino’s love for Fermina is compared to the cholera – feverish, never-ending, destructive, devastating. Those of us who have had the fortune and misfortune to have a love so encompassing, enveloping and overwhelming can agree – love is passionate, maddening, destructive, and ultimately, redeeming.

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The other reason why I love this book so much is because the daily, grinding reality of marriage is so well described. Dr. Urbino doesn’t truly love Fermina, though he is a good husband in many ways. But the daily rituals of cooking, eating, lovemaking, washing clothes, going to work, knowing the other person so well, understanding their love of cafe con leche, their hatred of a certain song, their taste in jewelry, the way they get dressed or comb their hair…………it is in these elements that that connection is created.

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In this story, one of Fermina’s most amusing quirks is her hatred for eggplant. She despises this vegetable, and the book is littered with references to her disgust, at one point comparing it to purple poison. And one of the most touching scenes is when she initially accepts Florentino’s youthful marriage proposal with a note stating:

Very well, I will marry you if you promise not to make me eat eggplant.

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And speaking of my father, one of the things he loved to do was cook, and he was quite an excellent one. His specialty was eggplant Parmigiana, which I thought was highly appropriate in this context. This is the method that worked for me, based on the marvelous Anna del Conte’s recipe in Gastronomy of Italy, one of my absolute favorite cookbooks.

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INGREDIENTS
2 large eggs
2 cups panko breadcrumbs
1 cup freshly grated Parmeggiano-Reggiano cheese, divided
2 eggplants, cut into 1/2 inch slices, salted for an hour then rinsed
2 tablespoons olive oil

1/2 cup fresh basil
1/2 tablespoon crushed red pepper
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 16-oz container ricotta cheese
1 large egg, beaten
1 jar homemade marinara sauce (I got mine from Tully’s Italian Deli)
2 cups mixed grated mozzarella and fontina cheeses

METHOD
Preheat the oven to 375F. Combine 2 eggs and 1 tablespoon water in a shallow dish. Combine panko and 1/4 cup Parmeggiano-Reggiano in a second shallow dish.

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Dip eggplant slices first in the egg mixture, then in the panko mixture, and shake off the excess.

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Heat canola or peanut oil in a large skillet, and brown the eggplant slices, turning once to brown both sides. Drain on paper towels.

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Make the filling. Combine the chopped basil, the crushed red pepper, the garlic, the ricotta cheese, the egg, and the heated-through marinara sauce. Taste for seasoning and add salt or pepper as needed.

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Spoon about a half-cup of the marinara sauce mixture in the bottom of a glass Pyrex baking dish, and put a layer of eggplant slices onto the red sauce.

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Do one more layer, finish with the last of the marinara sauce mixture, cover with tinfoil and bake another 30 minutes. Remove foil and top with mozzarella and fontina. Bake another 15 minutes until the cheese is golden and melted.

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Serve alone or with pasta. I chose spinach noodles because I love the color and the taste.

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Underrated by Josh Abraham

I don’t normally read a lot of non-fiction, mainly because I read to escape reality……particularly these days, when the world around us seems to be going insane. But having discovered this pop culture gem, Underrated, while waiting at my dentist’s office, I changed my mind. Slightly.

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Josh Abraham takes some of the most classic pundits of modern culture that everyone loves to hate – Good Times, Jay Mohr, diet Dr. Pepper, The Godfather III (and for that, I thank him heartily because I happen to think that movie was pretty all right – save the hate mail, please), and that classic American slab of comfort food known as meatloaf. And what could be more underrated than meatloaf?

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I go back to my original statement about The Godfather III. HELLO! It’s still an amazing film. It’s Coppola, for God’s sake. He could film someone reading the history of ground beef and it would be amazing.  Abraham details why this film should not be given short shrift – for all the reasons I always thought! Lack of quotable lines combined with none of the old-school characters combined with Sofia Coppola…….who, IMHO, was not that bad, and thank God she wasn’t that great because then we wouldn’t have her directorial awesomeness in Lost in Translation, The Virgin Suicides, or Marie Antoinette.

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But the piece on meatloaf is what got me thinking. Goddammit, I LOVE meatloaf! It’s classic American fodder food and seriously, if you screw up meatloaf, you are beyond help.  Anyway, my deeply buried love for meatloaf reasserted itself after reading this book, and I decided that a nice loaf would be the perfect blog post. If you don’t like meatloaf, well, go order a pizza, then.

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Ok, so meatloaf isn’t the most exciting of dishes. It’s also perhaps not the most aesthetically pleasing of foods, either. But this version, perfected after many variations and experiments, is really, really good. The key is using half pork sausage, which adds more flavor and keeps the ingredients moist, even after baking. Trust me!

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INGREDIENTS
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
7 baby carrots
1 celery stalk
1 red onion
6 cloves garlic
Tablespoon each of fresh thyme, fresh parsley and fresh oregano
1/2 lb ground beef
1/2 lb ground pork sausage
3 tablespoons Worchestershire sauce
2 eggs
1 heaping cup of Panko breadcrumbs
Salt and pepper to taste
Teaspoon mustard
4 tablespoons tomato sauce

METHOD

Heat the oven to 375F. Melt the butter and olive oil in a large pan over medium heat on the stove. Finely chop the carrots, celery, onion, garlic, and fresh herbs and add to the pan. Saute for 10-12 minutes.

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In a separate bowl, add the two ground meats, the eggs and the Worchestershire sauce.

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Pour over the breadcrumbs.

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Let the vegetable mixture cool in the freezer for 15 minutes, then add to the eggs, breadcrumbs and meats.

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Add the mustard and the tomato sauce to the mixture, and then mix everything together well, using your VERY clean hands. Pat into a loaf tin.

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Bake for an hour. Let cool. Cram down your throat. It’s that good –  and totally underrated! If you want to go full-on retro, serve with peas and macaroni and cheese, the old-school kind from the box. Good stuff!

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The Alienist by Caleb Carr

The story of the United States is varied and unique, as any historian will tell you. We have the story of the indigenous Native Americans, the British pilgrims, the ancient Vikings, the Irish, German, Polish, and Scottish immigrants who came in a wave to this country between the mid-1700s and late 1800s, and the the Spanish conquistadores who brought their religion – by force, mostly – to the Southwest Pueblo and Plains Indians, to name just a few of the groups who make up this vast melting pot that is America.

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With these diverse groups came diverse religions, cultural beliefs, histories, folklore, and food. What all of these cultures and people have in common is the fact that, no matter where you come from or what you believe in, there is still the criminal mind among them all.

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Caleb Carr, one of my most favorite historian authors in the world, gave us what I consider his masterpiece in “The Alienist,” which details the story of Dr. Laszlo Kreizler and his band of crime-fighting allies in 1890s New York City, a place of huge waves of immigrants, incredible racism and poverty, and during the tenure of Teddy Roosevelt’s stint as Police Commissioner for that city.

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It’s a murder mystery, a treatise on early scientific methods in policing, fascinating psychological analysis, excellent historical fiction, and an unusual love story all rolled into one. Told from the POV of John Schuyler Moore, a journalist who is recruited by Dr. Kreizler to be part of the team to solve a series of increasingly gruesome child murders, the industrial feel and outlaw mentality of that era in NYC history is vividly brought to life. Moore is a great narrator, detailed yet very amusing at time, and his journey from disbelief to staggering endorsement of Dr. Kreizler’s methods echoes the mentality of most people back in that time and place.

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As much an excellent historical portrait, the clothes, architecture, transportation, and food are also described vividly. One of their favorite restaurants to eat at, and a New York institution, is Delmonico’s. Delmonico’s is still in operation, though it’s gone through many different variations, and of course, there is the famous Delmonico steak. But Delmonico’s provides the crime-fighting team with amazing meals, including one at a very heart-wrenching and sad period in their investigation.

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With unfailing psychological insight, Kreizler had selected for our breakfast the only place in New York where I might have been able to either collect myself or eat anything at all. Alone in the silent main dining room at Del’s, with the light that came through the windows soft enough to allow my shattered nerves to begin to heal, I actually managed to consume several bites of cucumber fillets, Creole eggs…………..\

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Along with Creole Eggs and cucumber fillets, fried potatoes and artichoke hearts are mentioned as part of this poignant breakfast, so that’s what I made. My Creole eggs were based on the great Louisiana chef Emeril Lagasse’s recipe, with my own tweaks for taste. This is the method that worked for me.

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INGREDIENTS
1 28-ounce can of chopped tomatoes
1 green pepper, deseeded and finely chopped
1 cup sliced mushrooms
1 red onion, peeled and finely diced
1 celery rib, finely diced
3 bay leaves
1 tablespoon chicken bouillon paste
Salt and pepper to taste
6 eggs, room temperature
1 cup breadcrumbs
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese

METHOD
Saute the green pepper, onion, mushrooms, celery and bay leaves in a bit of olive oil for about 10 minutes.

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Pour in the tomatoes, and simmer together on low heat for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

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Add the chicken bouillon paste and if necessary, salt and pepper. Simmer another 45  minutes, stirring to keep from sticking or burning.

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While the sauce is simmering, start frying your potatoes.

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Heat the oven to 350F. Spread the tomato sauce across the bottom of four ramekins.

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Crack two eggs into each ramekin, so they rest atop the tomatoes. Add a bit more salt and pepper.

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Sprinkle over the breadcrumbs, then the cheese, and bake for 20 minutes, until the eggs set.

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Remove from the oven, and allow to cool. The cheese puffs up like a miniature souffle – very elegant – and gets bubbly and golden brown.

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Serve with fried potatoes, artichoke hearts, and cucumber fillets for a tasty Sunday afternoon treat. I do feel the great Dr. Kreizler would approve!

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Strange Pilgrims by Gabriel García Márquez

5152QdYs-aLI’ve had a long-time passionate love for Gabriel García Márquez for years now, originally fueled by Love in the Time of Cholera and Of Love and Other Demons, and most especially, Strange Pilgrims. This book, a compilation of twelve surreal and dreamlike tales, tells of a woman who sells her dreams – speaking of which – to the wealthy citizens of Vienna, two young brothers who endure the torture of an English governess one Greek summer, a family vacationing overnight in a haunted castle in Italy who wake to find themselves covered in blood, and a saintly man who carries the uncorrupted body of his dead daughter to and from the Vatican each day hoping to have her canonized, among others. Chief among my favorite of these stories, is Maria Dos Prazeres. Perhaps because I fear dying old and alone, perhaps because I, too, spent many years in the thrall of loving someone terrible for me, and perhaps because I also have a little dog that I cherish, could I relate so strongly to this story of an aging prostitute who fears no one will weep at her funeral and so trains her little dog, Noi, to weep over her grave.

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Maria Dos Prazeres has a long-time client, an elderly count who comes to her house once a fortnight with a bottle of champagne and the paper, and sits to read while she prepares them both a meal, in a very odd parody of a marriage. They then retire to the bedroom. But the meal she cooks him sounded unusual and quite delicious.

“The visit had turned into a ritual. The punctual Count would arrive between seven and nine at night with a bottle of local champagne, wrapped in the afternoon paper to make it less noticeable, and a box of filled truffles. Maria dos Prazeres prepared cannelloni au gratin and a young chicken au jus – the favorite dishes from the halcyon days of fine old Catalonian families – and a bowl filled with fruits of the season.”

This recipe works on the premise that you already have some tomato sauce already made, and which I tend to always have on hand because it’s so calming to make. Anyway, if you don’t have some made, you can use a can of Italian-style diced tomatoes but I can’t promise they will taste as good. Anyway, onward!

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This is the method that worked for me.

INGREDIENTS

8-10 cannelloni or manicotti pasta shells
6 chicken thighs, boneless and skinless, and poached and shredded. (I usually do this day before.)

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1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
2 shallots, finely diced
4 cloves of garlic, peeled and finely minced
1 bag of spinach
1 carton of raw mushrooms, sliced
2 cups of fontina cheese
3 tablespoons of flour
3 tablespoons of butter
1 1/2 cup of hot milk
Bunch of flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1 cup of Italian-style breadcrumbs
2 cups of already-made tomato ragú sauce

METHOD

In a large pot, bring about 8-10 cups of salted water to a boil. When boiling, cook the cannelloni shells for 10 minutes, checking for doneness. They should be al dente, chewy but with a hint of firmness. Drain the noodles, but don’t rinse, and leave to cool while you make your cannelloni filling. Save about a cup of the starchy pasta cooking water and set aside.

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In a large skillet, heat the olive oil and add the diced shallots and garlic. Slice about half the mushrooms and add them in, so they saute as well. Cook for about 10-12 minutes, then add the spinach and wilt it down in the onion, garlic and mushrooms, so that all the flavors mingle. Remove from heat, add the cooked chicken and some of the saved pasta cooking water, stir together to mix well, and set aside to cool while you make the bechamel sauce.

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In yet another pot (did I mention you’ll have a hella big amount of dishes to wash after this?), melt the butter over medium heat and when melted, slowly add in the flour. Stir vigorously with a whisk, so that the flour incorporates. Gradually pour in the hot milk, continuing and whisk until everything is amalgamated. Lower the heat to medium low, and stir stir stir, until the sauce thickens. This will take about 10 minutes, and don’t leave it because the milk could curdle or burn and that would just totally suck, wouldn’t it?

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When nice and hot and thick, add in the chopped parsley and some salt, lower the heat again, and stir some more so the parsley flavor infuses everything. This is the point where you want to add in a good cupful of your tomato ragú sauce, which will make the bechamel a gorgeous, deep pinky-red color. Remove from the heat and allow to cool while you assemble the cannelloni shells.

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In a buttered glass or metal pan, add a good spoonful or two of your premade tomato ragú sauce to the bottom. Grate the Havarti cheese into the chicken-spinach-mushroom mixture and mix together well, preferably with your very clean hands.

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Stuff each cannelloni shell with some of the divine-smelling mixture. Once all the shells are filled, lay them in a row in the glass pan, add some chopped raw mushrooms, pour over the reddish-hued, luscious cream sauce, top with the Italian breadcrumbs, and bake for 35 minutes, or until the top is golden. The smell from the oven – what divine and sweet torture it is!

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Remove from the oven and admire the golden, gooey beauty that this dish is. Then, of course, apply it to your face. Yum!