American as Apple pie? No question, but as early as the Middle Ages, apples were being baked into crust. Lots of other foods have established themselves as uniquely AmericaHamburgers. Apple pie. Potato chips. Foods that helped shape our nation.American food gets an unfair rap these days. With the rise of ethnic cuisines – whatever that means, in this great melting pot — and supermarkets full of salad bars and microwave dinners, it’s easy to forget how many extraordinary homegrown delights are still served on tables across the land. Foods with a sense of place. Foods, I don’t feel too bold saying, that helped make America great.
It’s time to celebrate a few.
Our list isn't meant to be comprehensive. We didn't include barbecue because once we started our accounting — from North Carolina pork to Texas Hill Country brisket — it became clear we’d need a long, separate list to give BBQ its due. And apple pie, while iconic, is a European import that spread everywhere in Johnny Appleseed's wake.
All these 10 express their origin, though. And each is worth a trip to hunt in its native habitat, from sea to succulent sea.
1) New England clam chowder (Massachusetts) While no trip to Boston is complete without a proper bowl of clam chowder, it's not fair to hand this one to Massachusetts alone — or to pretend that chowder is any one thing.
Clam chowder — as good in a cup as in a bowl.
The original etymology is thought to be French, from chaudière (cauldron), perhaps passed along by French fishermen who crossed the Atlantic in colonial times. In his book “50 Chowders,” Boston chef Jasper White traces the first recipe to a 1751 edition of the Boston Evening Post. However, that soup not only neglects to mention clams but fish at all. Its basic foundation was salt pork and onions, followed by spices and soaked biscuits.
Cod or bass were added in by the end of the 18th century, but not until the mid-1800s do clams begin to appear in recipes, and the milk — now considered an essential component — didn't appear until the 1860s or so.
The formula was cast by the early 20th century, though the creamy classic occasionally vied for competition with tomato-based Manhattan clam chowder. (Not, in fact, from Manhattan.)
The clam of choice is usually the Eastern variety known as a quahog (CO-hog), with a shell thicker than three inches; its meaty insides help give chowder a briny kick. Smaller clams of the same type, Mercenaria mercenaria, are better known as littlenecks or cherrystones and not usually used for chowder.
A proper chowder is deep and aromatic, with layered flavors atop a porky foundation. Between the Red Sox finally winning, and all that chowder, I'd warn residents of Boston to expect a flood of visitors who won't leave. And I'm not talking about Harvard students.
2) Pastrami (New York) Reasonable citizens can disagree about which pastrami is the best in New York, and therefore the universe. Some praise the prototype at the ever-flashy Carnegie Deli. Others stake their money on the thick, hand-cut version at Katz’s. (While we appreciate the fervent West Coast partisanship of Langer’s fans in L.A. ... c'mon.)
To watch the countermen at Katz's hand-slice pastrami is to watch an act of true artistry.
What’s beyond dispute is that pastrami on rye is the Platonic ideal of deli food: two simple slices of good caraway-laced bread, an inconceivably high pile of warm sliced beef, perhaps a modest smear of mustard.
Pastrami is the very triumph of man over meat. It begins with a simple slab of brisket (or plate) — a cut that, unlike the simple grill-and-serve of more obvious hunks of cow, begs for transformation.
Then a dry cure: salt, undoubtedly a good portion of cracked black pepper, maybe some sugar and spice — which sits on the meat as it is smoked with eternal patience. New York meat expert Mr. Cutlets notes the Carnegie cures their pastrami for two weeks. When finally ready, whole pastramis are steamed for several hours before serving.
It’s an Old World cooking schedule, with a name derived from a Yiddish take on Romanian pastrama, and even older possible roots in Turkey. But it was New York’s Jewish immigrants who claimed pastrami as their own in the early 20th century, and made it a staple of culinary life in this greatest of food cities.
3) Shoofly pie (Pennsylvania) Americans are suckers for fruit pies, but this Pennsylvania Dutch treat strips pie-making to its essential, tasty core. Crust, with molasses and crumbs. Nothing more. (Though James Beard insisted raisins were part of the mix.)
Another theory: Food historian William Woys Weaver contends in his book, "Pennsylvania Dutch Country Cooking," that shoofly pie actually is a breakfast cake that dates to 1876.
Its origins are slightly gooey. Author John Mariani found a first reference in 1926, while Linda Stradley posits that it’s an update of treacle tart, which was made with refined cane syrup.
In either case, the Amish — who enjoy both “wet” (crumbs on top) and “dry” (crumbs mixed in) versions — have claimed it as their own. Some might claim the dry is really more a crusted cake than a pie. We're not going to quibble, because either way, it tastes pretty good.
Those crumbs add texture to a dense, rustic molasses taste. In Amish country, you might be told the name refers to the constant need to shoo flies away from these toothachingly sweet treats and the pools of molasses that formed atop them.
Variations abound, incorporating chocolate or Steen's cane syrup. They're good too, though the original doesn't need much updating, save for a dollop of whipped cream on top.
Shoofly pie is perfect baked-good simplicity. It’s proof that sometimes basic ingredients are all you need.
4) Smithfield ham (Virginia) Italians have their prosciutto, Spaniards their serrano. These are hams of character and substance, hams with history. So why are so many American hams just pasty hunks of flavorlessness?
You can get Smithfield hams both cooked or uncooked. The cooked hams have such a strong, salty flavor, you'll need to slice them paper-thin
.
.
0 comments:
Post a Comment