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CD answers the most frequently asked
questions about recipes & cookbook writing
(for a slightly different take, check out
Notes from the Cookbook Author's Husband. |
| Are all the recipes in your books yours? |
I am always extremely careful to give
attribution if a recipe did not pretty much originate with me. (To understand
the apparent hedging of the phrase "pretty much originate", see third question
and  answer).
I believe attribution is essential, not because it is a legal matter (though in
some cases --- word for word wholesale theft of a recipe, not only its
ingredients but the way its directions are stated, it is plagiarism) but because
it is a matter of A) collegial courtesy and respect and B) teaching readers how
recipes evolve and develop, each idea giving way to another... thus, I hope,
empowering them towards their own cooking adventures, inventions, and
adaptations. |
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But what exactly do you mean by 'attribution'? |
If the origins of a recipe are traceable, if somebody gave it to me or it was
inspired by and is still
close to a recipe I read, I will say so. Thus, in
Passionate Vegetarian, you will find
plenty of names
named in recipe titles, such as Susie Pryor's "Perfectly Delicious" Stuffed
Acorn Squash, page 426, or Gigi Hamilton's Really Hot, Really Delectable Mixed
Beans with a Lot of Ginger, page 607. An "inspired by" kind of reference (as
opposed to an outright recipe given) is usually found not in the title but in
the headnote, such as this with Zwiebel
Kuchen (page 267) "... a fondly remembered onion tart Ned and I enjoyed at a
now-defunct Atlanta restaurant called Theda's." |
| In classic recipes that were introduced to me by someone, you will also find
names named, again more usually in the headnote
than in the title, as in this recipe for Parchment Cracker-Bread, page 31, which
begins "I can never thank my darling pan-pal Vicki Caparulo enough for this
remarkable and dramatic thin, crisp, cracker-bread. Known in Sardinia (its place
of origin, Vicki tells me) by the incredibly romantic name of Carta de Musica..."
The same thing is true, usually, if I researched a recipe from several
sources on the path to devising my own. Thus, in the Gumbo Zeb in my book
Dairy
Hollow House Soup & Bread, (page
237) I mention, in my quest for the perfect gumbo, the Joy of Cooking,
Leon Soniat's La Bouche Creole, and the Junior League of Monroe,
Louisiana's Cotton Country Collection. |
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Did you invent all the recipes in your books? |
| Now we revisit the phrase I used earlier, "pretty
much originate." Few recipes are truly and fully original; they are variations
of recipes that already exist. These variations are often significant, and occur
in several different ways: |
1. in technique. There are a million more-or-less similar
recipes for cheesecake out there. But in Rose Levy Berenbaum's The
Cake Bible, she introduced me and the rest of the cheesecake-baking
 world to the
technique of baking a cheesecake as you would a custard, in a hot water bath, or
bain-marie. This one change made a cheesecake that was revolutionarily
different in texture (incredibly, earlobe-of-heavenly tender) and structure (no
more cracks down the
middle). Shirley
Corriher did much the same thing for apple pie in
Cookwise: The Secrets of Cooking Revealed, where crust and filling
are prepared separately, for the ultimate crisp-crusted apple pie... out of this
world. |
| Both Rose and Shirley, thus, "invented" very common and well-known
recipes. (They are two of my culinary heroines, by the way). |
2. in ingredients. I always like to say, adding cinnamon and
substituting vanilla extract for almond does not make a recipe yours. To me, changing ingredients means something
fairly major, and, because I frequently adapt meat-centered entrees to
vegetarian ones, I do a lot of it. A vegetarian sauerbraten (such as mine
on page 228 of PV) is going to have
major differences in ingredients (and
 thus,
often, techniques as well) from the classic beef version of this German
sweet-and-sour pot-roast. A conventional mousse requires cream and eggs galore
and sometimes a bit of gelatin (a non-vegetarian product, made from cow's
hooves); my mousse-custards (pages 1051 to 1055 of
PV) have neither. Instead, they are
built on a base of silken tofu, intensely flavored, given the requisite texture
with a bit of cornstarch, agar (the equivalent of vegetarion gelatin) and raw
cashew butter. Now that's changing ingredients (and technique)--- but I
defy you to eat any one 'em and not swoon with delight. (To try a such a mousse,
slightly simplified and developed since PV
go to Chocolate-Orange Dream
Mousse or
Chocolate-Raspberry Dream Mousse --- you won't regret it!). |
3. by updating. Many cookbook writers go back to historic
cookbooks for ideas, inspiration, and just greater understanding. When
they, or I, or you (if, for instance, you are trying to update your
grandmother's recipes) do this, it's necessary to adjust for
contemporary culinary literacy, which is far lower than it was a
hundred, or even 25, years ago, as well as tools, which are far more
numerous and greatly simplify technique. It's also necessary to update
for time constraints and newly available shortcut ingredients.
As an example of the first, an older recipe might call
for "butter the size of an egg" or ask reader
to "cook in a hot oven until done" or "mix in usual fashion." What do such
directions mean to those raised on McDonald's and cake mixes? An author's
translation, for a generation that does not know even its kitchen ABCs, can
"invent" a recipe, as can changing an old recipe leavened with salaterus, an
old-fashioned and somewhat unsatisfactory rising agent, to one which uses baking
powder or soda.
As an example of the second, everything from preparing
fruits for preserves to making smooth bisques has been revolutionized by the
food processor and the blender. Showing readers where contemporary tools can
save agita is another piece of "inventing" a recipe, as is simplifying
such once-complex recipes as brioche by reinventing method so they can be made
in the processor. Helen S. Fletcher, bless her heart, did this in the article
"Brioche in 60 Seconds", which appeared in
 the
March, 1986, issue of Bon Appetit.
As to the third, one has only to look around at all the
Five Ingredient in 10 Seconds and Halfway towards Homemade-style cookbooks that
are out there to get this one. An older basil dip might have called for cream
cheese, garlic, basil, parmesan, and nuts --- now it would probably call for
cream cheese and purchased pesto. |
| 4. in the way directions are worded. Again, because of a lack
of familiarity with basic cooking procedures, today even the simplest
recipe needs everything spelled out. This requires a huge amount of
thinking, observation in the kitchen, writing, and rewriting, to really
consider what might be unclear to a brand new chef. |
And then there are the recipes of pure, 100% invention or inspiration. Once,
a shaft of clear, pure fall sunlight poured in through my Arkansas kitchen
window and fell on a bowl with the first of the
winter squash and the last of the summer tomatoes. I looked at them and thought:
pumpkin-tomato bisque. The recipe (and it's a delicious one, and simple) is in
both Dairy Hollow House Soup & Bread
(page 157-158) and Passionate Vegetarian
(page 181-182).
Do you test all the recipes in your books? |
| All the recipes in books are tested.
But, in most cases, not by me. Here's how it works. |
| 1. I write down a theoretical working recipe --- maybe something I've made a
dozen times without really measuring, maybe one I've "invented" in one of the
ways described above (or, more usually, a combination of those and other ways).
|
2. I give it, in written form, to a recipe tester. I like to have someone who
does cook, but is not a trained chef --- a good average home cook. I ask her, or
him, to follow it line by line and word for
word, making no adjustments, checking off each ingredient as it used, making
notes on anything that is not clear or downright wrong (if I said it would make
a dozen muffins and it makes 18... if I said it would be golden-brown in 15 to
20 minutes and it's actually 25 to 30 ... if it does not come out of the pan).
If a recipe is clearly, in its making, not coming out, the tester will call me,
and I'll make adjustments --- on the written recipe (not verbally), which she or
he then follows. |
| Why do I do this? Because, without a third party
testing from the written form, I could easily do something in the kitchen that
is not on paper. (Right, a tester --- Mishala --- and her dragon hide coyly near the fridge. Photo, Rich Rommer). |
| I do sometimes wind up testing my own recipes myself, but I really
believe third-party testing is the gold-standard of creating a recipe
that is consistently reproducible --- that it will be the same no matter
who makes it, if they follow directions as given. |
 3. In most cases, my tester and I then plan and host "tastings", where anywhere
from four to ten people,
besides us, taste and evaluate anywhere from two to seven dishes.
(Darling Mishala Jones, my most recent tester, is
shown below, dishing out a cornbread stuffing at a tasting; I'm in the green
apron.The young woman between us is Brattleboro, Vermont, herbalist. Sage
Maurer. Photo, Richard Rommer.) |
| Tasting parties --- well, they're not exactly parties, they are
working occasions, though tasters usually wind up having a big ol' time
--- are actually a whole other topic, and they have their hilarious moments. I'm
planning an page on the most recent round of them, for my next book, which is on
cornbread. But until I get around to
writing that one, you can learn a little bit about it at
Of Moose and Men (and Women), and
Bi-Coastal Cornbread and forthcoming
books. |
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Who pays for all this? |
| The cookbook author pays, not, as is commonly thought, the publisher. The
author pays for ingredients. The author pays for testing. The author pays for
gas to get to the co-op to buy soymilk or maple syrup or cornmeal or whatever.
(Did you hear that sound? That was the sound of one cookbook author sighing.)
The one exception: when recipes are developed by a commercial team or book packager, such as the Betty Crocker cookbooks, or the Better Homes & Gardens
cookbooks, rather than individual author. |
| Now --- do you understand why I want you all to run and out and
quick order copies of Passionate
Vegetarian
(for everyone on your Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, or general birthday list?
Order early, order often. |
| The premise of a promise |
| Okay, now the serious stuff. I think publishing a recipe is a promise.
If you, the reader,
take the acquire the specified ingredients and put
them together as explained, then the result --- the finished dish --- will be as described.
|
 Implicitly, each recipe says: I'm telling you the truth here, count on it.
Count on flavors and textures and colors as I've represented them, count on this making as many
servings as I've said it would. Also implicit: that the cookbook writer,
food editor, or whoever is saying I respect the time and and money you
will put into making this recipe; it will be a good use of both. |
| And I do my level best to keep my word. So --- sit on down. Dinner is ready, and
you may have as many helpings as you like. (Again, the
headnote is the first part of the recipe, and in
some ways the most interesting... check it out). |
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