Food

Before the many farm stands were boarded up for the winter, they displayed a handsome crop of winter squashes. Some even found their way into the produce departments of the chains. The pumpkins to be sure, but also hubbards with warty shells in shades of red, some small, some immense.

The gray hubbards looked unfinished, like concrete awaiting a coat of enamel. Turban squash, an apt name for the prettily striped and puffed shape, was a centerpiece on many tables.

A delicious but simple cooky, great for gifts, is a childhood memory. I had a friend whose mother came from Waterproof, La., and this is her recipe — actually a variation on the Viennese crescent.

Forget everything I've ever said about growers and wholesalers devising ways to pick and ship produce while it is still green and how this works to the advantage of everyone but the consumer. The pear is the exception.

You've probably been eating local cucumbers for weeks. They have been with us since July and the season isn't over yet. There was a time, in early August, when you would have had trouble finding a cucumber that wasn't local. You could easily identify the outsiders by their excessively dark and shiny skins.

Real tomatoes, grown out of doors and in the sunshine, tasting juicy and fresh, are everywhere. Buy them; you have no excuses.

I was reading a magazine article, the other day about colors and how they affect the appetite. Seems a man with a flair for experimenting got together a group of guests and seated them at a table with tempting foods. The guests were hungry and looking ahead to good meal. Then this experimenter turned on some special lights. The steak turned drab gray; the green celery looked pink, and the coffee become a muddy yellow. Most of the guests couldn't cat the food at all: yet it was precisely the same food they first saw in natural and appealing colors.

I wonder how many of us to stop to think when we are preparing tasty satisfying dish such as this how good a friend the onion is to cook. Some happy day a perceptive food writer will do a definitive monograph on the onion that will rank with Lamb’s essay on roast pork.

This isn’t a complicated cornbread formula, but the secret of its appeal, judging by the way our friends and neighbors eat at our Saturday and Sunday suppers — is the touch of allspice. Offhand, I don’t recall seeing any cornbread recipe calling for allspice. 

This recipe from the Star's archives is for a classic, country-style chicken fricassee, a stew that's only limited by the ingredients in the pantry.

A lady asked me the other day to define "old fashioned" chicken pie as contrasted with a "modern." I can tell you the chief distinction without any difficulty. The "old fashioned" had plenty of chicken meat in it.

Cinnamon comes from the inner bark of a tree that grows in Java, the West Indies, Brazil, Egypt, and Ceylon. The last area produces the best-quality cinnamon with a tangy, pleasant, and distinctive flavor due to the tree's aromatic oil. Since ancient days, cooks have used this spice for its unique flavoring power.

I am very partial to stews, soups, and chowders, and I have spent considerable time in evolving this recipe. This is due notice that this beef stew recipe supersedes any previous material I have written on the subject. I don't believe there's anything so basically wrong with our nation that more stews of this caliber will not correct it.