Adventures of a Cookbook Traveler
by Dorty Nowak
I collect cookbooks the way others collect travel books. More than souvenirs of places I have been, they help me recreate memories and whet my appetite for further trips. Over the years, I’ve accumulated an impressive library, with Europe, Asia and the Americas grouped together on my bookshelf. When I open Provence, the Beautiful Cookbook, and look at a picture of glossy tomatoes clustered with deep green zucchinis, papery garlic, and branches of rosemary I can taste the wonderful ratatouille I had in Nice, and I’m there once again.
I developed a taste for culinary travel early. My mother, who hated to cook, had a limited repertoire, which reflected her German-Irish roots. Meat, potatoes and vegetables cooked to a uniform grey were standard fare and I could usually predict what we would have for dinner by the day of the week. The Joy of Cooking was the mainstay of her library. It was, and is, a no-nonsense compendium of recipes, with no pictures to grace its pages. When I was fortunate to travel to Europe in college, the pleasure of sampling new foods, and the beautifully illustrated cookbooks I collected were almost as exciting as touring the sights.
As with any voyage, culinary travel in my kitchen requires some pre-planning and effort. Country chosen and recipe selected, I go in search of ingredients. Fortunately, food has benefited from globalization, and with a little effort it is possible to track down most ingredients thanks to specialty stores, ethnic groceries and the Internet. The gift of a vial of Indian saffron, or Czech poppy seed mix from a traveling friend is a pleasure. That gift of poppy seed also brought home to me the pitfalls of my kitchen culinary explorations. I had promised my friend I would make her poppy seed rolls with the mix. Not being able to read the instructions, which were in Czech, I missed that the poppy seed needed to be ground and boiled with milk. Instead of the silky, earthy filling I anticipated, my filling tasted like stale coffee grounds.
Another lesson I have learned is that it is often better not to serve my friends foods from their own country. I live in Paris, and after a number of years struggling to reproduce the blanquettes de veau and soufflés that came so effortlessly from my friends’ kitchens, I discovered that I could serve them American dishes like meatloaf, and yes, even my mother’s tuna casserole, and they would enjoy the novelty.
Several years ago, while visiting Istanbul, I took my culinary tourism to a new level and enrolled in a one-day cooking class. An American expatriate who had lived for many years in Turkey taught the class, which was held in the kitchen of a local restaurant. She gave her eight students recipes for the dishes we would make, including dolmas and red lentil soup. At the end of the class we would have the pleasure of eating the results of our efforts. Uniformed in an apron, I stood at my station, recipe by my side and ready to chop. That is when the lights went out.
Our teacher was unfazed. “Happens all the time here,” she said. “They will come back on soon. They did not, and we carried on with the lesson by the light of the gas burners in the stove. Fearful of chopping off a finger, I felt the contours of each vegetable I was about to dice, and worked slowly, guided by my fingers and my memory of having read the recipe once before everything went dark. I wrapped dolma fillings gently in their grape leaf covers and nestled them in their pot. Without being able to see well, I discovered a new relationship to food, a zen-like experience driven by touch and smell.
Just as we finished preparing our menu, the lights came back on. When we filed into the dining room, we had another surprise. We had prepared lunch not only for ourselves, but for the restaurant’s patrons as well. Fortunately, it was delicious.
In thinking about that meal in Istanbul I realize that the key to savoring new foods lies not only in following a recipe on the printed page, but in being open to experimentation, and to the unexpected. And for me, that’s true of travel as well.
So, it’s time to hit the road. I still have room in my bookcase, and many more countries and cuisines to visit.
Dorty Nowak is a writer and artist living in Paris and Berkeley who writes frequently about the challenges and delights of multi-cultural living.
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Reader Comments (14)
I love this story! It's fun to remember how many levels of new experience can be gained from traveling. I'm glad you kept your wits and your fingers while chopping in the dark!
okay- now i am very hungry...and want both the tuna casserole and the dolmas for breakfast- i love being open to experimentation and the unexpected! come cook with anna soon...i will eat it, i promise! and yes- good to know those beautiful fingers are in tact for more cooking, piano playing, knitting, painting, writing and baby holding! xox
Never thought of cookbooks in this way. How very delicious! Visually and for the taste buds! We will have to make a Farmers Market trip if/when u come to Santa Monica!
Wonderful story! Love the idea of cooking in the dark, feeling the contours of the vegetables. Maybe I'll try that at home!
I thought I was the only one who could tell the day of the week by what was served at dinner! We were eating graham crackers crunched in milk when we had that conversation, so it was Thursday...Travel, food, and thoughts of Mom--all good!
I loved the story. I always buy spices on my travels and try to recreate some of the dishes I enjoyed. Trips to markets, food shops and supermarkets are always part of sightseeing. Thanks for sharing some great experiences.
ALWAYS a delight to read your stories. I thoroughly enjoyed your latest!
Ah...those childhood memories of overdone peas and boiled chicken from a mother who avoided the kitchen as much as possible! Great story that brought visions of my mother at the sewing machine but never at the stove.
This was great! I don't plan on trying to cook in the dark anytime soon but sounds like a fun adventure!
Where to next? Thank you for such a beautiful article. You collect cookbooks, I collect kitchen utensils. I had to leave a pair of boots behind in Ireland in order for the gorgeous cutting board I found at Ballymaloe to fit in my suitcase!
I'm ready - how about someplace warm, sunny and savory!
A for effort with the poppy seeds! Culinary tourism sounds fantastic, such a wonderful story to share the concept. Can't wait to read more wonderful articles!
loved this article. the part about the black out in an istanbul cooking class restaurant made me laugh. as a greek, i need a couple of glasses of wine and some rebetic music to make dolmas. if there were a fire in my house, i'd grab the cookbooks and run.
thanks dorty,
irene
Great story. Sharing holiday dishes in foreign countries is the way to go. Thanksgiving in Paris anyone!