The Gastronomica Reader

by Darra Goldstein

Described in the 2008 Saveur 100 as “At the top of our bedside reading pile since its inception in 2001,” the award-winning Gastronomica: The Journal of Food and Culture is a quarterly feast of truly exceptional writing on food. Designed both to entertain and to provoke, The Gastronomica Reader now offers a sumptuous sampling from the journal’s pages—including essays, poetry, interviews, memoirs, and an outstanding selection of the artwork that has made Gastronomica so distinctive. In words and images, it takes us around the globe, through time, and into a dazzling array of cultures, investigating topics from early hominid cooking to Third Reich caterers to the Shiite clergy under Ayatollah Khomeini who deemed Iranian caviar fit for consumption under Islamic law. Informed throughout by a keen sense of the pleasures of eating, tasting, and sharing food, The Gastronomica Reader will inspire readers to think seriously, widely, and deeply about what goes onto their plates.

Gastronomica is a winner of the Utne Reader's Independent Press Award for Social/Cultural Coverage

Genres: Food, Nonfiction, Food Writing, Essays, Anthologies, History, Cooking

376 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2010

Reviews

[emily · Rating 3 out of 5]

‘ — earth we cannot possess only experience — The body here, the mind separate, not merely a warden: / it has separate joys. / It is the night sky, / the fiercest stars are its immaculate distinctions— / Can it survive? Is there light that survives the end in which the mind’s enterprise continues to live: thought darting about the room, / above the bowl of fruit’ — from ‘Ripe Peach’, Louise Glück

‘Dated’ (for the most part, understandably, considering when this was written and published), but still enjoyable (for the most part). Love that Louise Glück’s poem about peaches. Reminds me some of Margaret Atwood’s poem about peaches. Maybe I’m just biased — maybe I just like poems about peaches, and peaches in general.

Notable few/loved these a little more than the rest :

Allegedly one of the earliest ‘tomato recipes’, but also — how impractical? Looks more interesting on paper/as a piece of historical bit than to be used as a ‘recipe’.

‘(Tomato Conserve) You have to wipe the tomatoes with a cloth if they have dirt on them, but do not wet them; squeeze them with your hands and put them in a large pot and let them simmer for a whole day, but first season them, and watch that you don’t let them spoil; the next day strain them through a fine sieve, and after adding a little cinnamon and cloves boil them until they are very thick, like a paste. It should be very thick and you should not be able to see any more liquid, for this is the most important point. This is why it is good not to press it to put it in pots because it sometimes gives out a little more liquid. The next day then you have to boil them again for a little and don’t seal them until you are sure that all the liquid has gone; then put it in small jars and pour on top a layer of oil or melted fat and cover with paper; it is better to use several little jars rather than one large one because once opened they can go moldy; a small coffee-spoonful well mixed with liquid is enough for a ragout.’ — from ‘Á la recherche de la tomate perdue’, Barbara Santich

Boym’s ‘love letter’ to McDonald’s (for better or worse), basically. In any case, I thought it was a very interesting read. To ‘see’ McDonald’s in Boym’s perspectives.

‘My first encounter with McDonald’s was like a sitcom episode. A young and energetic émigré from Moscow, I arrived in Boston in 1981. By a stroke of good fortune I managed to get a job at an architectural firm, even though I could barely speak—let alone understand— basic English. My greatest desire was to blend in with my new colleagues, to be as normal and socially acceptable as possible. I noticed that the architects would sometimes return from lunch and tell everyone about a new place they’d found for a good sandwich, and that this information would usually generate a lively conversation. One day at lunchtime, I wandered a little farther than usual from my office. Suddenly I came upon a strange new restaurant. It was all red and yellow, and very brightly lit. The prices were just right for my wallet. I ordered at random and tasted something I had never tried before: a hamburger, French fries, ketchup… Back at the office, I made an announcement: “Well, today I found a really great place to have lunch. You guys should try it, too.” “Really? What is it?” several voices asked. “It’s called McDonald’s,” I said proudly. Nobody laughed or said anything sarcastic, but I could see from their faces that something was wrong…

What is it about McDonald’s that attracts children and immigrants alike? As a rule, immigrants, like children, are very sensitive creatures. In their desire to blend in, they are conscious of making the wrong gesture, looking funny or different, standing out in any conspicuous way.’ — from ‘My McDonald's’, Constantin Boym

Never tried/had ‘gumbo’ but would very much love to (at some point). This might actually be my favourite one from the entire collection, I don’t know, but maybe. Southern (American) gothic vibes, I like.

‘Here we don’t talk about dying but passing, a euphemism that reflects our superstitious cosmology. People who emphasize passing to the other side, rather than dying to this one, treat death as a celebration. And people who believe in passing also believe in ghosts and hauntings, and in the dead supervising the affairs of the living. We live with the dead as vertical neighbors, not those on either side but those down there, where the bones go, and those up there, where the spirit resides. We say the dead look down, although I’m not sure from where. Perhaps this voyeuristic perch is an atavistic memory from when our ancestors lived in trees. All I know is that from somewhere on high, my mother directed the vigil that marked the one-year anniversary of her passing.’ — from ‘One Year and a Day: A Recipe for Gumbo and Mourning’, James Nolan

A brief, historical writing of electrical appliances, art, photography, and a few other things along those (lines) — pretty short, but satisfactory enough.

‘The Electricité portfolio is a smartly packaged, cohesive statement of a French electric company’s marketing posture. Salle à Manger et Cuisine, in particular, speak of the significance of the culinary sphere in the early marketing efforts of electricity providers and appliance manufacturers. In creating these images and the eight others in the portfolio, Man Ray was not seeking to deliver easy, literal, commercial photographs to his client. Instead, he drew from his independent Dada spirit to create photographs of the everyday that surprise the eye. Looking through his lens, we find humor and discover the shady alter egos of everyday household appliances. Electricité, in the end, transcends its commercial origins to become a compelling artist’s portrait of the unseen force of electricity.’ — from ‘Man Ray’s Electricité’, Stefanie Spray Jandl

[Amy · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love reading in bed and I love eating in bed. So I thought reading in bed about eating would be heavenly. Not so! This book is very heavy and large. But I am grateful that our public library has purchased such a handsome volume. I read it at the breakfast table.

[P. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Had to return this to the ILL dept so I didn't finish the last section, and skipped some essays that started to drag, but there's a couple of really outstanding, strong pieces near the beginning and end - thinking in particular of, well, everything in The Family Table section - Delicacy by Paul Russell, The Unbearable Lightness of Wartime Cuisine by a. marin, One Year and a Day: A Recipe for Gumbo and Mouring by James Nolan, and there were some truly horrifying illustrations in the piece about Dieting in the culture of American Evangelical Christianity. The interview with Clarence Jones, a 92 year old rice farmer and former sharecropper, was really good. About half were very stilted in their writing, especially the pieces about works of art, and perhaps I shouldn't have read the introduction from the editor because they really set expectations high. 50/50 is a pretty good ratio for a collection of essays, though. Just as in food, people like what they like.

[Book Grocer · Rating 5 out of 5]

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The Gastronomica Reader is a wonderful collection of food essays. Nicely illustrated, this is a great book for the serious food lover or food reader.

Alicia - The Book Grocer

[E G Melby · Rating 3 out of 5]

A nice sampling of essays, though a few feel a bit dated. But I’m late reading this. Could’ve done without the photo of the gorilla hand 😩

[Daisy · Rating 3 out of 5]

While I know I won't read every essay in this collection, it has something for everyone. I'd never heard of Gastronomica before. I need to look up if it still exits and if I should subscribe to it.
I especially liked pieces in "the family table" (not capitalized) section: Delicacy by Paul Russell, The Unbearable Lightness of Wartime Cuisine by A. Marin, One Year and a Day: A Recipe for Gumbo and Mourning by James Nolan, and Messages in a Bottle by Barbara Kirschenblatt-Gimblett. What a good way to be introduced to more writers. I'd gladly read more by these.

[Catherine · Rating 4 out of 5]

A collection of essays from the journal Gastronomica, with topics ranging from Zambia’s refusal to accept genetically modified foods in humanitarian relief parcels, Smucker’s successful application for a patent for crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and how Depression-era chocolate syrup thugs got their comeuppance. I skimmed a few, but most were informative, well written, and fun to read.

[Leslie Fields]

A wonderful collection of quirky, always well-written essays, many with depth (not always found with food writing) about all aspects of food production, preparation, consumption, etc. Good fare for night reading (except it makes me hungry before bed.)