Month: March 2015

World War I Quilts, by Sue Reich, (Schiffer Publishing Ltd.), 176 pages, release date 28 December, 2014

One of the books that sort of slipped in under the radar at the close of 2014 was Sue Reich’s World War I Quilts. For anyone interested in quilting, crafting, or the history of World War I, this book is a wonderful resource. Reich pairs photographs of quilts from the era with newspaper mentions of quilts from the same time: notes about Red Cross quilting fundraisers and blankets for soldiers, pieces claiming a local owns the world record quilt for most pieces. The names of soldiers—both those who returned and those who didn’t—were embroidered on blocks

The early 20th Century was an interesting time for quilts. It saw the first national quilt competitions. It also saw a rise of women entrepreneurs creating and marketing quilt kits. Before this, newspapers published block patterns, but quilters used their own fabrics, rather than ordering fabric selected for a specific design.

At the end of World War I, appliqué quilts were popular—particularly those featuring poppies. This motif served as a reference to Flanders Field, a way to create something beautiful while honoring the dead.

This book is a bit pricey at $39.99, but the ample color photographs justify the expense. To see the quilts in color, to see samples of fabric marketing at the time is a real delight for people like me who are interested both in historical quilts and in making reproduction quilts. While World War I Quilts doesn’t include any quilt patterns, it is still sure to inspire many quilts.

Sherlock Holmes, the Missing Years: Japan, by Vasudev Murthy, (Poisoned Pen Press), 284 pages, release date 3 March, 2015

Sherlock Holmes, the Missing Years is the second recent novel to place Holmes in Japan (the other was Laurie R. King’s Dreaming Spies). Both are definitely worth a read. I preferred Murthy’s novel for the plotting, while I preferred King’s characterizations.

The Missing Years purports to have been written (rather recently) primarily by Holmes’ sidekick Dr. Watson, but is accompanied by letters and case notes from a variety of other players, including Holmes himself, Moriarty, and the abbot of a Zen monastery. Murthy’s Watson is rather a curmudgeon, particularly regarding his (female) Poisoned Pen editor, who appears as a very minor character. He is insulted to be receiving editorial advice from a woman and longs for the days when his work was published as is, without stylistic quibbling. To portray Watson in this way seems to me a disservice. Yes, he’s old-fashioned, but Conan Doyle never depicted him as the kind of misogynist he comes across as in spots during The Missing Years.

The Missing Years is a novel of a journey. The case begins and ends in Japan, but much of the novel describes Watson’s travels—first alone, then with Holmes—across East Asia. There are ports of call along the Indian coast, a train ride through the center of the continent, a journey on foot through Angkor Wat, then more time spent at sea.

Many of the characters are not who they seem to be, which adds to the fun of the mystery. Like Watson, the reader has to guess when s/he’s encountered Holmes in disguise. The reader is also left uncertain about villains and allies alike, which inspires a particular sort of engaged reading—many characters’ actions can be interpreted in multiple ways.

In all, this novel offers a promising start to a new series, a new incarnation of old friends beloved by readers everywhere. I trust Murthy’s Watson will grow more respectful toward his editor—and toward “modern” women in general. That will add to the pleasure of spending time with him in the future.

The Healthy Mind Cookbook: Big-Flavor Recipes to Enhance Brain Function, Mood, Memory, and Mental Clarity, by Rebecca Katz and Mat Edelson, (Ten Speed Press), 256 pages, release date 10 February, 2015

The full title of Katz and Edelson’s Healthy Mind Cookbook makes some big promises. These aren’t just recipes that will taste good; they’re recipes that will optimize your brain function. Given the rapidity with which any nutritional consensus falls out of date, I’m hesitant to accept that the book will deliver all it promises, but Katz and Edelson are generous in citing the science they’re drawing on. The first two chapters are devoted to explaining this science in clear terms. The third chapter is devoted to a discussion of taste and flavor. After this, come seven chapters each devoted to a different kind of dish. There are the usual soups, vegetables, meats and such. There are also more winsome chapters focused on things like “Dollops” and  “Tonics and Elixirs.” In other words, this is a cookbook that provides a nice mix of the expected and the unexpected.

Not all the dishes are accompanied by photos, which was a bit disappointing. On the other hand, those pictured look delicious. The glistening Avocado Citrus Salad with its slices of blood orange is enough to inspire an emergency grocery store run. Castilian Cauliflower isn’t pictured, but should prove a visually striking dish with its inclusion of  paprika, chili powder, and pimento-stuffed olives.

Black Cod Duet is wrapped and allowed to absorb flavor and nutrients after bring covered with either an herb or a spice crust and before being cooked. Though I’m not always big on salmon, I love the Roasted Ginger Salmon with Pomegranate Olive Mint Salsa—and I’ll definitely be trying the salsa with other dishes.

Bottom line: this is a recipe collection that will provide satisfying, healthful dishes, and—if the scientific consensus doesn’t change too soon—it may also be good for your brain.

 

 

The CSA Cookbook: No-Waste Recipes for Cooking Your Way through a Community Supported Agriculture Box, Farmers’ Market, or Backyard Bounty, by Linda Ly, (Voyageur Press), 224 pages, release date 7 March, 2015

I love browsing cookbooks, but seldom buy them, partly because we already have shelves full of them, partly because while most have a few recipes I like, very few have a critical mass of such recipes that makes buying seem worthwhile. The CSA Cookbook is a definite “buy!”

You may or may not have CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) where you live, and, if you do, you may or may not be a subscriber. The premise is simple: pay a set amount up front, then receive a mixed box of fresh produce every week throughout the growing season. Some cooperatives will even deliver the boxes direct to your door, rather than requiring that you go to a pick-up location.

We aren’t current subscribers to a CSA, but we have been in the past. The benefits are obvious: lots and lots of in-season produce grown locally to minimize its carbon footprint. The drawbacks? Well, it’s a lot of produce. Also, on any given week you may or may not be familiar with cooking the produce included in your box. Fennel? Romanesco? Pea Shoots?

Even if you don’t subscribe to a CSA, The CSA Cookbook will provide you with lots of ideas for using produce—not just bits of it, but whole plants. I love buying beautiful organic carrots with fluffy green tops, but those tops usually wind up in the compost. The same goes for the leaves around a head of cauliflower or broccoli. However, if you follow Linda Ly’s directions, you’ll find yourself turning unusual produce and unusual parts of produce into delicious meals.

Ly opens the book with a chapter of basics: recommended brands of olive oil and fish sauce, the best methods for storing particular fruits and vegetables—and an entire section on the possibilities of pesto. This is followed by chapters focusing on different groups of vegetables: Tomatoes and Peppers, Leafy Greens, Bulbs and Stems, and so on.

The CSA Cookbook doesn’t just offer the “usual suspects”: the maple carrots, citrus salads, and roasted lemon asparagus that seem ubiquitous in cookbooks. These recipes are genuinely original. How about Grilled Green Onions with Chile Lime Marinade? Sweet Potatoes with Mustard and Thyme? Pan-Fried Cucumbers in Honey Sesame Sauce? Fennel Frond and Ginger Pesto? Ly dreams up all sorts of brilliant combinations. She’ll also have you foraging for interesting new ingredients like nasturtium seeds and radish pods.

Ly’s writing style is clear and friendly. Reading her book is like kibitzing with a good friend on a weekend afternoon. The ideas keep coming and there’s ample room for play and variations. Ly is full of what I’d called “real-kitchen tips.” The kind of suggestions that comes from years of home cooking, rather than from working in a state-of-the-art restaurant.  For example, she advises us to “roast broccoli on the most battered and blackened pan in [the] kitchen, as the broccoli seems to caramelize better, producing beautiful bits of brown that are full of flavor.”

Almost every recipe is accompanied by a photo, which makes this book particularly fun for browsing. You can flip through the pages looking for a picture that catches your eye. Or you can use the index to find options for that farmers’ market impulse buy that you suddenly don’t know what to do with. This is a cookbook that will spend as much time open on the counter as it will on your shelves. Use it to broaden you palate and to make the most of each and every produce purchase.

 

Meeting the English, by Kate Clanchy, (Thomas Dunne Books, Macmillan), 320 pages, released 3 March, 2015

Meeting the English is a modern-day (set in 1989) comedy of manners: country bumpkin meets city slickers, but the bumpkin is more than he first appears and the slickers aren’t all that slick. In this case, “Bumpkin” means hailing from a mining town in central Scotland that no longer has a mine; “Slicker” means residing in London, convinced that one’s own sensitivity/intellect is superior to others’.

Struan Robertson (pronounced, STREW-in, not Strew-ANNE; it’s not an iamb) an exceptionally gifted student, planning to pursue a career in dentistry, takes a summer job working as an assistant to a fading playwright who has recently suffered a stroke. The playwright, Phillip Prys, is surrounded by a largely dysfunctional grouping of family and friends. His ex-wife (and mother of his two children) is a former actress, now losing money flipping houses (as we would put it today) in London’s falling real estate market. His current wife, a formerly wealthy refugee from Iran, paints post-modern Persian miniatures. His son is a self-absorbed want-to-be playwright who’s just been rusticated (in other words, kicked out for a year) from Oxford. His daughter is angry and lonely, sure she’ll never find love or happiness. His daughter’s best friend is a recovering anorexic. His agent is a semi-closeted gay man who finds Phillip demanding more and more time, while bringing in less and less revenue.

Hilarity (mostly) ensues. Some find love; some get their comeuppence; all are changed.

This is a great book to pick up when you want to laugh (not too unkindly) at others’ foibles. The style is breezy. The plot holds some surprises. If you’re starting to dream of vacation reading as you wait for winter to end, this book would be a fun title to put on your list.

 

Root to Leaf: A Southern Chef Cooks Through the Seasons, by Steven Satterfield, (HarperWave), 496 pages, release date March 3, 2015

I have a very specific list of things I want from a cookbook:

• I want interesting flavors: combinations I wouldn’t come up with on my own that work well together.

• I want recipes that feature fresh produce I can find at my local farmers’ market.

• I want recipes that use a minimum of refined carbs.

• I want recipes that minimize the use of meat—I like to think of meat as a type of seasoning, rather than the bulk of any dish.

• I want recipes that I can put together in a reasonable amount of time, so I can make a delicious dinner when I’ve finished work and still have time for some reading or knitting in the evening.

I can easily find cookbooks that meet a few of my criteria, but I rarely find a book that meets them all. Steven Satterfield’s Root to Leaf is one of those rare books that gives me everything I want.

Root to Leaf focuses on seasonal produce and is divided into four sections: spring, summer, fall, and winter. Each section features a dozen or so types of produce, the varieties they come in, and their various uses—and the description of each type of produce is followed by several recipes. “Fall,” for example, includes cauliflower, chicories, green tomatoes, mushrooms, and nuts, along with other fruits and vegetables.

A few of the recipes here are familiar enough that I don’t really need them—the blueberry coffee cake with streusel is one of these, as is the cucumber, tomato, and onion salad—but most differ in some key way from recipes available in other cookbooks I use.

For example, there are roasted carrots with red onion and thyme. Roasted carrots aren’t anything new, but the pairing with red onions is (at least for me). There’s a snow pea salad, which might sound pretty standard, but Satterfield has us julienne the snow peas and adds in a bit of Myer lemon sauce and a mix of fresh herbs. Creamed corn is familiar—but how about using corn cob broth to balance the richness of the milk and cream and adding in some mushrooms for extra flavor?

Some of the recipes are completely new: cold brine-pickled blackberries, for example. There’s Brussels sprouts leaves with pear, bacon, and pecans. I might have thought to pair two of these, but I wouldn’t have come up with a mix of all four on my own.

I particularly appreciate the sections on different lettuces and greens. Satterfield describes their various tastes in detail and explains the optimal way for handling each. In the section on lettuces, he follows the descriptions with several recipes for dressings, letting readers experiment with their own combinations of lettuce varietals.

Root to Leaf is also a beautiful book, full of pictures of individual ingredients and finished dishes. It’s the kind of book that makes you want to cook. Just flipping through a few pages can bring you to a recipe that needs to be tried now or can get you thinking about the wonderful flavors you can create with a few fresh ingredients. This is the kind of cookbook one keeps, because of both its practicality and its inspiration.

The Fifth Gospel: A Novel, by Ian Caldwell, (Simon & Schuster), 448 pages, release date 3 March, 2015

I was absolutely delighted to see a new novel out by Ian Caldwell, one of the co-authors of The Rule of Four, a literary puzzle novel built around (among other things) the Voynich Manuscript, an actual text from the middle ages, written in an unknown script and full of unusual illustrations.

The Fifth Gospel, Calwell’s new novel and a solo endeavor, shares many of the strengths of the first work. It’s highly intelligent, bringing to life questions of scholarship and church politics that quickly become more fascinating than they might appear on the surface. Instead of the Voynich, this book has two mystical centers: the Diatessaron and the Shroud of Turin. Most readers will have at least minimal familiarity with the Shroud—purportedly the burial cloth of Christ that was ultimately proved, using scientific dating techniques, to be a medieval forgery.

The Diatessaron will be less familiar. Assembled in the second half of the second century A. D., the Diatessaron was an early attempt to combine the texts of all four of the canonical gospels into a single text. Tatian, the compiler, wasn’t worried about contradictions among the gospels; he wanted completeness. Where the gospels disagree, he chose the wording from one, then edited it to include vocabulary and additional details from the other accounts.

Caldwell sets his novel within Vatican City (actually a country in its own right) near the end of the reign of Pope John Paul II. There are hopes of reuniting the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches, and a new exhibit at the Vatican Museum focusing on the Shroud and the Diatessaron will provide an opportunity for representatives of the two branches of Catholicism to meet. Mere days before the exhibit’s opening, its curator, Ugo, is found dead by a gunshot wound in one of the papal gardens.

The novel’s action is recounted by Father Alex Andreou one of a pair of brothers who are both priests and who were both close to Ugo. Their father was a Greek Catholic priest (this denomination allows married men to become priests); their mother was the sister of a very high-ranking figure in the Vatican Hierarchy. Alex, like his father, is a Greek Catholic priest; Simon, his brother, is a Roman Catholic priest. Simon has been accused of the murder and refuses to defend himself. Alex is determined to prove his brother innocent.

The Fifth Gospel works wonderfully as a thriller. It’s one of those novels that keeps enticing one to read “just one more chapter,” followed by another and another. The sense of menace is palpable. The case hinges upon tensions among differing church factions.

If this were all The Fifth Gospel was, it would still be a rip-roaring read. What takes the novel beyond the thriller genre are Caldwell’s depictions of Biblical scholarship, cross-denomination conflicts, and the politics of the Vatican. The reader needs to sort fact from fiction—but this fictional tale has lots of factual scaffolding. One leaves it, not just entertained, but with richer understanding of the development of the Catholic Church—something that can fascinate regardless on one’s religious beliefs.

This is a book that should be picked up now—no waiting for the paperback edition. It is certain to spark all sorts of interesting conversations: literary, historical, and spiritual.

John the Pupil: A Novel, by David Flusfeder, (Harper), 240 pages, release date 3 March, 2015

David Flusfeder’s John the Pupil is one of those books you enter like a world. Within a few sentences, you find yourself living inside of it—and your immediate surroundings become no more than white noise. The thirteenth century, in which it takes place, is an era of terror and knowledge.

The John of the title is a student of Roger Bacon. Along with two of his Franciscan brothers, John has been sent on a pilgrimage to Rome with the goal of delivering a new book by Bacon to the Pope, Clement IV. This journey is traveled on foot for the most part, and in the tradition of their order the Franciscans are expected to preach daily for alms that will provide them with food and, sometimes, housing.

The pace of the book is slow, as is a pilgrimage on foot. John records events on scraps of parchment, labeling the entries with the names of the Saints’ Days on which they were written. One day is much like the next: sore feet, the constant threat of violence, and an inner dialogue that John uses to try to understand the meaning of his journey even as he undertakes it. This pacing is part of what makes the book so all-consuming—it pulls readers into the rhythms of life from seven centuries ago.

Flusfeder’s prose is both beautiful and unadorned, true to the book’s era as is the pace. Wording is simple, but precise. Sparseness, rather than rich detail, is what brings these characters to life.

Give yourself the pleasure of reading this book. Let yourself settle into its rhythms and language and experience a world we left long ago.