The Month of Much Independence
What a cheep shot eh? I didn't even go to Bahia and yet i get to stuff my face full of its bounty. successss. Well if there's anything that will get you somewhere, it's having sampled it. And i would say that the late night arrival of the Jet Setting sisters as they opened their suit cases full of edible goodies (you know you're with the right crowd when food takes up the place of clothes) and after a showering of hugs D turns to me with glee "all sem gluten! everything we found it all!" Now whether or not the notion was pulled particularly for me or not doesn't matter, there isn't a way in the world one could be left feeling less than a hundred dollars. As half the state of Bahia exploded onto the kitchen table in edible form, and midget camera cards were shoved at me to download quickly for prompt viewing, i was lost amidst the excited sped laughs of the travelers as they recapped the week away to see family that nearly three decades had separated them from. One doesn't need words to understand what's going on; happiness is a pitch, a taste, and a look. I knew exactly what they were saying, in hieroglyphic form. And this cod fish biscuit? Dear god somebody pinch me. on y va.


Where is Bahia? What is Bahia? It sounds like a beach. No, i didn't say the Bahamas. Located in the northeast corner of the country, Bahia is the fourth most populous state in Brasil, of which its capital city, Salvador, is undoubtedly what gives Brasil its most famous image abroad: Carnival dancers and beach bums sitting around drinking coconut water. success. But wait--isn't that Rio? Hmmm, i dunno. It's very difficult after all to give a nation that is larger than the US only one image of stereotype. A Paulista, Carioca (from Rio), a Bahian (?), and a Bahhh-ian (hehehe, people from Porto Alegre. I guess they are gauchos eh?) are as stereotypically different as a Texan, an Orgonian, and a New Yorker. so a priest and a Rabi walk into a bar...Bahia is the archaic Portuguese word for bay, as the state was named after All Saint's Bay, of which Salvador sits atop the cliff. Bahia pulls the second greatest volume of tourism in the country, behind what i can only presume must be Rio di Janiero. When images of Brasilian afro-influenced heritage arise, it is historically from Bahia and the rest of the northeast where they originate, as Bahia was a center of the sugar cane harvest that relied heavily on African slave labor.

A central historical region, Bahian architecture is left over from the colonial Portuguese who settled in the sixteenth century and created, in essence, mini Lisbons and Oportos. Bahia, like Minas Gerais, more so than the southern states of Brasil, maintains a much more historical connection to the colonial past as a direct result of occupation. Cabral arrived in 1500 at Porto Seguro on the southern Bahian coast; fifty years later, settlers founded Salvador, and either their saudade for the homeland or lack of creativity influenced not only the architecture, but the city planning and decor as well. Salvador--full name being São Salvador da Baía de Todos os Santos, "Holy Savior of All Saints' Bay," (you can see the need for abreves here) is the capital and largest city. D is from the city Vitória da Conquista, the third largest city in Bahia after Salvador and Feira de Santana, and as word has it has grown astronomically over the past couple decades due to commerce, industry, coffee production, and the status as a university town (Universidade Estadual do Sudoeste da Bahia.) The return after thirty years was to a city that was much different for her, though at the same time much the same.

So what of this food then. The topic: biscuits and banana leaves. biscuits? yes. my eyes widened as bag upon bag of biscuits all pretty, pale, and sparkling emergered one after the other. and these are all gluten free? Alongside the biscuits were other Bahian traditional goodies; little coconut cakes, pressed sugarcane candy in a banana leaf--gold mine. Eager to try everything--at the same time--i was confused slightly by how a few of those present reached for nothing. You see, H explained to me in front of everyone under the guise of our secret language, they look down on Bahia, to them this would be like someone in the US bringing back a whole bunch of junk from Mexico. hmmm...really? well, all i can say is--sucks to be them.

All of the biscuits, though they tasted like almond, were made from flour of mandioca root; aka tapioca. Mandioca, manioc, polvinho, goma, puma--it all come from the same root, a magical "everything begins here" tuber that i have come to adore. my next novel: I fell in Love with a Manioc, (July 2012.) Crescents, pills, sticks, twists, salty, sweet--you can make anything from mandioca. And what have we here...aqui, isso é do bacalhau. excuse me? bacalhau? Cod fish Cookies? are you for serious? Truth: they taste like a less-dried out version of nabisco chicken in a biscuit; aiater R you would be very pleased with these.

Aside from the never ending stream of pale-faced biscuits that appeared from Felix's bag; there appeared alongside a plethora of Bahian cheeses and some sweet candies, among them rapadura. Technically known as tijolo, the Portuguese word for brick, because it is usually made into a solid brick form that is fairly preserved and durable. Pretty much it is a hunk of pure sugarcane juice with spices such as cinnamon and a LOT of ginger, nuts, and even fruits. Hmmm, i thought as i racked my brain to try and communicate what i was tasting, para mim, euuuh, isso é um sabore de natal. gingimbre é muito natal. mmmm. You can find out more about rapadura here or at more my level here. Rapadura first appeared in the 18th century by slaves who worked on the sugarcane plantations; high in minerals and other things that seem to give one energy, it was a crucial part of the diet as it preserved well and could last for long periods of time. according to H, this is the food that has and always will keep people from starving. For its history, the candy is commonly considered comida de pobre, food for the poor (yes i translated that myself).

As i thought of what H had said about Bahia being considered lower class it all made sense; there is much prejudice to be found anywhere, i began to think; perhaps that is how i would act if someone unloaded on my dining room table a bag of grits and collards brought back fresh from Mississippi, blech, i would think, southern food. I am not sure where this prejudice came from, i have no aversion to the culture of the southern states of the US, on the contrary i have never even experienced them, but somehow, somewhere along the way, the image and notion was planted, there is a sense in the back of my mind that connects such types of food as poor food, as country food, as lower class food. Food is as much a marker of social status and class boundary as anything; we have to be careful to not allow that to get in the way of our taste buds, else you may find yourself in regret for having missed out on something intrinsically delightful. It is impossible to control ingrained thoughts, but it is what you do with them that matters.

When I sat down to "talk out" what all these edibles were with D, she mentioned how the day happened to be Bahian independence day. what? it's its own country now? When Brasil broke from Portugal, Bahia was the last state to join the independent confederation. It is not the Brasilian independence, she continued, that is---September 7th, i cut in, i know that day. It happens to be one of my favorite days. Back to the subject--Brasilian Independence was declared on September 7th 1822, though a pocket of elite loyalists in Bahia remained true to the Portuguese crown--hmm sounds familiar, we call them Tories, but eventually they shoved off for Canada--the loyalists somehow stood their ground in battle until finally falling to the union on 2 July 1823. Hence 2 July is Bahian independence. Huh, i responded, July seems to be a very hot-headed month for revolutions; the Americans on the 4th, les Francaises on the 14th, and the Bahians on the 2nd. AND the most important of all--the Canadians on the 1st. Well. A triangle quadrangle connection of my three four favorite countries. how presh. So happy birthday Bahia, happy birthday US of A, happy birthday O Canada, and while we're at it--vive la France!

Biscuits, Bahia, Independence, family--life doesn't suck. And with a biscuit made out of cod, a weekend visiting friends and family on the back of a red motorcycle, getting lost in the neighboring city of Sorocaba on the way to another festa julhina, a backyard barbecue for little brothers entire English class, and night time riding with old jazz music--life definitely does not suck. oh did i mention the cod cookie?

a bientot

Gonzaga History 335's inaugural day of Food Study

On the first day of history 335: coming to America, a course chronologizing in finite percental detail, the threads that comprise the historical tapestry of this colorfully peopled nation, Dr. Irish mentioned, though perhaps only on a whim, that "every year i think of how great it would be if we could have a day of study of immigrant culinary traditions where tasting would be of the utmost necessity...if only there was someone to organize it." If only indeed. One word was all it took, and I knew there was a story waiting. Every year it fails to materialize? Well you've never had this loco in the class before. On y va.

With cookbooks tucked under the crook of my arm, i knocked on the door of professor Irish's office, do you have a minute? -of course. alright well you are going to think i'm crazy, -that's ok i already do. thanks, but i have here my plans for the immigration food day. -the what? really? you did? I hand him the menu; myriad ethnic dishes carefully chosen based on percentages representative of immigrant group's numerical significance as well as weight of cultural impact. For example, three possibilities for Ireland, three for Eastern Europe, two for Germany, one for Norway, three for Mexico, three for China, two for Japan, etc. until the class count of twenty seven was reached. Each possible food item not only represented a culinary national tradition, but was one that actually made it into America. To accomplish this seemingly subjective stunt, all recipes came from Greg Patent's A Baker's Odyssey (on recommendation from my favorite French immigrant, Helen...I suppose today the word is expat) as well as other relevant texts and novels. So what do you think? I ask as I hand him the documents. Holy crap...you are crazy.

Standing in front of the class announcing the process, I know the eyes upon me gleam the same notion: yep it's official, she's the crazy one, as i announce, because I am project dictator, you will have a list of recipes to choose from that will then be distributed to you. If you are scared of baking--you can come bake in my kitchen and i'll help you. The sign up sheet is passed around with the menu of possible choices to prepare--unfortunately Guinness and vodka had to be removed as Dr. Irish reminded us, you know very well that only the Jesuits are allowed to drink in the classrooms. did I just get you fired? oops-- accompanying the list was a prosaic blurb outlying why we were doing this:

Food is one one of the most crucial forms of cultural preservation—yet it is unique for it's elasticity in that it is simultaneously a form of cultural conglomeration. Language divides, appearance divides, religious beliefs divide, but when has cake ever divided? As a world we eat each others food, and as a world we yet maintain our own. The American language is naught but English, but the American table is spread with hundreds of dialects represented by plates of spaghetti, tacos, rice, coffee cakes, sausages, teas, pastries, liquors, etc. Food is a lens to view history, nothing edible exists without a story.

Under each ethnicity is listed a selection of recipes to choose from, the number in bold signifies the number of people allowed to choose from each category. The fun asterisk * denote the recipe's (according to me) basic difficulty. Note: proportionality is based on volume of persons actually immigrated, amount of time spent discussing a particular group in class, and overall weight of influence on American gastronomic culture.

My contribution, after much wrestling against the wish to do my preferred cuisines and pastries (France, Portugal, and my favorite tapioca-rich dreamland to the south unfortunately are not primary nations from whence the migratory masses emerged) therefore as the instigator of this shenanigan, i decided to go with the first immigrants--no not the Norse and Portuguese cod fishermen who didn't stay--but with whom we owe our frustrating yet (as a writer) majestic language to; the United Kingdom. Since no Jesuits are enrolled in the class, to import the Guinness meant to bake it--so to tribute the Union Jack, Guinness potato yeast bread for St. Patrick's Cross, Scottish shortbread for that of St. Andrew's, and orange marmalade jammie dodgers for St. George's. Yes, a bloody arsenal of baked goods; i was up to my elbows in flour for hours. excellent, one of my many cabbage patches.

The date was set for the final class period, and the result? The result was our first immigration food history day--miso soup, Norwegian krumkakar, tortillas, Polish sausages, bratwurst, Irish soda bread, Chinese almond cookies, bread puddings, Pennsylvania Dutch cake, challah, cinnamon rolls, minestrone, Cornish pasties, Borschendal pudding (African bread pudding), and many other delicacies. My classmates cooked, baked, made food--perhaps some for the first time, success! The culmination of a semester of study by experiencing something tangible: this food exists in our American culture today, illustrating that it is food, as much as language, dress, and religion that preserves and makes visible our historical makeup.

Guinness Potato Bread:
ingredients: ~4.75 cups bread flour ~ 3 mashed russet potatoes ~ 0.5 cup luke warm Guinness ~ 7 grams (1 packet) yeast ~ 2 tsps salt ~ 2 tbsps olive oil

method: 1- dissolve (completely) yeast in the Guinness (mmm smell good don't it?) 2-mix with potatoes, oil, and salt 3-gradually add all of the flour. 4- kneed until smooth, then cover for half an hour to rise. 5-roll out, either into two large rounds, or into 16 rolls and place on a floured towel, cover and let rise for 20 more minutes. 6- bake until they are done.

note: Jammie Dodgers are not linzer cookies--as there is no almond flour used, instead the cookie is more of a basic biscuit shortbread (you know how the British are with their biscuits, the French too for that matter, but only with a bit of chocolate)

Jammie Dodgers
ingredients: 2 cups (260 gr) flour ~ 1/4 tsp (2 grams) salt ~ 2 sticks unsalted butter ~ 1/2 cup (60 grams) powdered sugar ~ 1 tsp vanilla extract
method: 1) cream butter and sugar--if you don't have mixer (cough, college students) don't be afraid to whisk by hand, i do--just make sure it's room temp butter, and not melted 2) add vanilla 3) mix the dry things in another bowl 4) combine butter/sugar with dry mix 5) roll dough into a log or two, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for one hour OR MORE 6) roll out dough flat (sprinkle everything with flour) and using a cookie cutter (or jam jar lid, bottle cap, something round, cut circles of all the dough, then using a smaller circle (soda top works) cut out smaller circles in half to make the tops 7) line a baking sheet with parchment and bake ~ 5-8 minutes or until they look done at 350 degrees. 8) cool, then sandwich with jam, ganache, whathave you--but first dust cookie tops with pwdered sugar.

A room full of chefs--stuffed college students on their final class day before the dread of the impending finals week, perhaps immigration in their minds has been made a little sweeter. Maybe food day is just a coy plot to distract a lesson and stuff our faces, but is it mere coincidence that all memories have somewhere embedded within a description of food? In the Godfather do we not always remember to take the canolis? At the end of the course Dr. Irish exclaimed, how will we do this next year? you will have to come back! Spokane next December? Not a chance--next December, perhaps next December I will be baking as an immigrant myself.

à bientôt

to make my harlot of a cookieSo it appears that there are no graham crackers in Brazil. (that is a country in South America by the way.) No graham crackers? I whisper, how on earth...they are the blandest, most widely known and consumed childhood day-care snack in America. What do you mean you don't have graham crackers? I ask my editor as he says, dunno what you're talking about, I've never tried one, I think they don't exist here. Well well well what have we here; they're not actually American, are they? Who else knows nothing of this cookie titled cracker? On closer consideration, never do I remember spotting one in France. Perhaps they truly are an American thing. And really what the hell is a graham cracker anyway? Such questions are in want of answers, therefore, we attack. On y va.

The graham cracker: A Purely American Invention; and like most of those was obviously not good enough (ouch) to have traversed any international borders. Though the quaint "international aisles" of many a Carrefour undoubtedly stock two or three boxes somewhere out there. It's closest cousin being the digestive, or digestif found throughout Europe. A close examination of the cracker traces its origins to an early nineteenth century no-where town in Jersey at the hands of Presbyterian minister Rev. Sylvester Graham. Presbyterian bakers? Uh oh, we already have that heart-healthy Quaker. This should be hauntingly stimulating. Rev. Graham named the biscuit for himself--clearly either an act of modesty or severe lack of self-image--the cracker is tasteless and visually unpleasing, which is why it formed the center of the Graham Diet; a regime aimed at tearing the mind away from impure thoughts and the suppression of sexual desires, which Graham beleived to be stimulated by sensual cuisine. Ah, it all makes sense now, of course there are no graham crackers in Brazil. (remember that's a country.) Hey I made a joke, laugh.

The graham cracker was then ultimately created to make people so utterly miserable with lack-luster food that any and all desire to have sex, masturbate (also known as "self abuse" that led to insanity and blindness. so just keep that in mind), have an orgasm, drink alcohol, roll your eye funny, and think a couple naughty thoughts were suppressed and overcome. According to Graham, pleasing foods were the devil, and their production and consumption led one down the lustful path toward sexual desire, which in turn led to bad health. (Perhaps this stems from a private cholesterol grudge?) Grahams followers, known as Grahamites, founded the core of the era's temperance movement, and under the leadership of the Reverend, founded the American Vegetarian Society. Bloody hell--Bourdain is always right. If you are yet left with any doubt of the Reverend remember this--he outlawed tea. What say you now. A pious man? For my tea I say to hell with the bastard.

The original graham cracker was made from unsifted coarsely ground wheat flour, as refined flour was chemically induced and cheating so to speak. But then why are graham crackers so popular (in America) today? Let's face it--there is nothing commercially produced without refined flour, therefore, Graham's cracker is now a slightly sexier cookie, with sensual varieties from honey to chocolate to cinnamon. And forget not their tempting shapes--the teddy bear graham, dino-grahams, and zoo animals. Most Americans enjoy grahams with a variant topping; peanut butter, sweet creamed cheese, jams, and yogurts. And what about the s'more? Can it get sexier than the s'more? Chocolate and marshmallow melting into each other until fused between two graham crackers-- Sorry Reverend, your biscuit's been sexed.

But we here at the Salty Cod want to do better--we're sexier than some silly blob of peanut butter or shmear of cream cheese--we'll take the reverend's chaste biscuit and corrupt its healthy wholesomeness. Oh little cracker your virginity has now been given to your seducers--sugar, flour, honey, white chocolate, and butter. Yes let's make cookies!

White Chocolate & Honey Graham Cracker Cookies:
Ingredients: 2 cups white refined-bad-for-you flour ~ 1 cup crushed honey graham crackers ~ 1 tbsp milk ~ 2 tbsp honey ~ 1 cup white chocolate chips or peices ~ 2 sticks butter ~ 0.75 cup sugar ~ 1.5 tsp vanilla extract.

method: 1) beat room temperature butter with sugar until creamy. 2) add vanilla, honey, milk, graham crackers, and chocolate. 3) sir stir stir. 4) add flour. 5) roll into two long longs, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate 2 hours. 6) cut into disks and cook at 375 for 10 or 12 minutes. 7) feel like an adulterous heathen.


Graham crackers really are the classically pure snack, they are more often than not associated with children, as American children are often given the blander and more basic tastes of the world. I say American, for I know with near certainty a French child, such as little Flo, would snub her nose as high as la tour can reach at it.

We associate simple with purity, perhaps that is why I thought to turn to graham crackers for these cookies made special to send in the mail in a care package to my younger sister at the University of New England in the other northern corner of the country where everyone lives in a lighthouse. Now, I wouldn't go as far as saying she's an angel, but my mushroom topped little blond baby brings me to thoughts of sometime ago eating graham crackers. Hell I don't even know if she likes them! But nestled among other treats and treasures (such as white chocolate and honey rice crispy treat topped with candy corn), all sinful flavors of course, chocolates, fashion magazines, I hope they find their way to her stuffy little dorm room with a little bit of innocence.

A cracker for abstinence. A futile attempt to create a homemade sacrament wafer? Yet another course of history. Like most crusades aimed at quashing that most destructive of human sins (no not murder, sex) this one backfired. The graham cracker incorporated into mainstream American pop culture, reformatting itself with every fold, and each time moving piece by piece, crumb by crumb away from its maker until complete recognition as purely an after school snack for children sprinkled with cinnamon and honey, and all connectivity to its pious past forgot--save for its name. To condemn the pleasures of cuisine to sin is unto itself a sin. If food lovers, chefs, and bakers were and are sexual deviants of seduction--then i am guilty, so pass the wine and chocolate, and let's play dress up with this little graham.

à bientôt

Sparta or Spokane?--ok I won't go that farSpokane is a crispy bleached cracker of a cultural wasteland. That's exactly what has been told, believed, and lived by this part-time resident. There are two types to be found in Spokane: poor in-landers, a few rich in-landers, and then a bunch of conservative outsider rich white kids. For the most part, yeah it's all true. But only for the most part mind you. In that small crack left out of the "most" in the "part" there is oftentimes found something quite charming, and characteristically unexpected. Even in Spokane we have sparks, and on a luke-warm September evening one of those unexpected niches was found across the street of god-knows no-where in the form of souvlaki, calamatas, and feta. Oh yes the Greeks are in Spokane, maybe only twelve, or fifteen, but they are here, and they can cook. On y va.

The first Greek Orthodox community in America was founded by Greek merchants in New Orleans in 1864. During the colonial period the Greeks were among the first to arrive on the American shores accompanying the Spanish into many parts of Florida and along the Gulf of Mexico. The great majority of Greeks arrived in the United States in the early 20th century as a result of the Balkan Wars (that would be Balkan league vs. Ottomans x2) and then of course the Great War. Today there are over three million people of Greek heritage or decent living in the United States, though mostly concentrated along the eastern seaboard. An attribute of the title "Greek town" would most likely befall Chicago, Detroit, Boston, and New York, though there are thousands of Greek communities pocking the nation, communities that for the most part are set and revolve around the Greek Orthodox Church.

Greek Orthodoxy is a branch of Eastern Orthodox Christianity with surprise! A primary membership makeup of Greek ethnicity. The Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church in Spokane, WA is one of these. The members of the church are comprised of people with origin from Armenia, Belarus, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Eritrea, Greece, Lebanon, Romania, Russia, Serbia, and Ukraine--now this is Spokane, so it will be safe to say that out of that list Ukrainian will be the majority. Service is given and sung in English, Greek and Slavonic languages with an aim at keeping the base traditional. Marvelous. Annually to raise money for the church, the community holds a Greek dinner festival in which traditional food and products are sold. This year marked the church's 73rd year, a marker that signifies the resilience and strength of the concept of cultural tradition. If something like this can survive in Spokane, no matter how small, it can undoubtedly survive in your neighborhood.

So what's for dinner. Sizzling in row upon row of carnivorous goodness were to be found souvlakia, greek shish-kabobs of chicken or pork (hmmm hey where's the lamb? hmm) that are marinated in lemon and herbs. Each kabob is then slapped down on a grilled pita and covered with a tzatziki. So gluten free-ers, we're going 50% here, just toss the pita.

Along with the meat was offered an assortment of Greek salads including orzo pastas with feta, bean salads, olives, and dolmas--my particular favorite. Dolmas are grape leaves stuffed with rice, herbs, nuts--they come in myriad variety and are found throughout Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and the Balkans. Salty Linguistic lesson: Dolmak is the Turkish verb to stuff, therefore a dolma is a stuffed thing. Now you know.

Loukoumades, the Greek version of the elephant ear or beignette, were available for purchase from a verbose mustached man half-hanging from his cart. The deep fried dough puffs drizzled in honey and sprinkled with cinnamon are quite the popular festival fair no matter what the ethnicity. Baklava, wedding and moon cakes, cheeses, tinned fish--all proudly up for sale. It's not perfect, there's missing vast building blocks that make up traditional Greek cuisine, but it's a start. It's a taste. It get's one thinking.

Tiny. Homegrown. A small, backyard event this was. But perhaps it is far better that way. A certain spark accompanies something that tries to survive, something that exists somewhere unexpected. It's like the candle above the fireplace mantle, though the heat is taken from the roaring mammoth below, we light him none the less. We like to see it's shape though small; its own little teardrop of light. This is American cuisine, finding what people have brought to us. Sitting in the "beer tent" with my fellow festival going amigos--we laugh aloud, "hey, this is what Hercules ate" and then, with our olives, we walk home.

Braided Honey Bread with a little ImmigrationMilk and Honey. A phrase of goodness, sweetness, abundance, hope--is there anything you wouldn't lick with milk and honey on it? Don't answer that. A land of milk and honey is a land of opportunity. Thinking of the ingredients one is pulled to the thought of immigration, well at least I was, though inversely. Throughout Americas golden age of immigration (17th century through the 1930's) the term has held repertoire for lady liberty's shores, and has enticed millions, like bees to a daisy, to emigrate with dreams of soaking their bread crumbs in the flowing sticky-sweet Venetian streets. Consequently, rarely was there ever much honey, hell milk would make for quite nice eh. What is a history of the United States if not a study of immigration? Such an invitation as well may be extended to all of the Americas for that matter. Our lands are made of milk and honey, figuratively speaking, but what a nice pair of ingredients, wouldn't you agree. On y va.

Can you tell that i'm back in school yet? Perhaps taking a history class on immigration? Just wait I'm in a Mexico history class too, we'll have some aroz com leite coming up. Hehe. Don't worry though, I will not be making Texas Toast in honor of my course on US westward expansion. I draw the line of dorkiness only just past the dignity level. Any and all information and historical facts mentioned will not be cited, for they will derive from lectures attended and from what I somehow manage to keep in my head. So citation of information here will go to Dr. Irish, Dr. Montezuma, and Dr. West.

When we look at the history of immigration to the United States the primary thought is ah the British! But collectively very few Brits ever made it to the shores of New World. American immigration must be analyzed in sections distinct from one another: first the colonizing wave which includes Europeans and Africans through the slave trade. The second is immigration following independence up until the early twentieth century. And then finally the mid to later twentieth century.

Ok ok, yes the first US colony was founded by the British, Jamestown 1607, but they were not the first ones here. I know I need not mention the cod to you, but don't forget that the Spanish and the French were already past the Appalachian mountains by this point. Almost a century prior the Spanish were in Florida, crawling along the coast of California, and settling the American South West. The French were already masters of the Great Lakes, sailing down the Mississippi River to New Orleans, and making their way into the interior via route of the Indian fur trade. Spaniards and French: Americas first immigrants. Now who doesn't like Cajun gumbo and Spanish Florida? oh yes we owe much to our first immigrants.

Focusing on the European colonists stuck between the mountains and the sea during the colonial era, we see a makeup of stationary farming Germans settling in Pennsylvania, over 100,000 Scotch-Irish (Scottish, not Irish at all) taking on that bandit "frontiersman" role of hills people, Scottish Highlanders settling in South Carolina and Jersey, the Irish coming in as indentured servants (slave laborers), the Dutch in New Amsterdam, what we call New York, French Huguenots, Spanish Sephardic and Dutch Jews from Brazil (yeah are you confused?) and then of course a few of those Englishmen cowering in the corner of a minority complex. These are the first people (the first people after the murdered native population) that peopled this country, that created this country. A nation of immigrants drawn to the milk and honey who tried to make bread of it.

There is a bread recipe coming, I promise. (the above photo is my entry for this months Click The Photo Contest themed Crust)

Following the revolution, the vast majority of immigrants were, well the Irish. The years 1820 through 1920 have been coined the century of immigration in which America received 4.5 million immigrants comprised mainly of, again the Irish, but also Germans, Scandinavians, and later the Italians. Though the great famine held significant weight during this century, political and religious sanctions against Catholics also helped lead to the great depopulation of Ireland. By the late 19th century the Irish made up at least 15% of the population in each of the fifty largest cities. So truly why are we to say British North America when in fact it should be Irish North America? And why am I not making an Irish soda bread then? Consequently the Irish are not known for cuisine, though while in Galway I did chance upon a remarkable cabbage soup.

The major wave of immigration ends in the 1930's. Why? Well if you were in history class with me you would hear IMMIGRATION ACT of 1924 that's why, which the yell of is a startling deja vu from a few years past. The other great waves of immigration consist of immigrants from Asia and Latin America. But we'll talk about them at another time. Though they came as well for milk and honey, so, if we owe our land, our people, our who we are to milk and honey, we should use it more often. If there is an American cuisine, it should be milk and honey. Not the Italian, Greek, Chinese, Mexican, pizza, hotdog what-have-you that makes up what we eat in this country as "american," but milk and honey, a food stuff that by definition must have preceded the immigrant.

Honey & Milk Almond Challah style bread:
(Yes I did make a yeast bread--and braided it too. A Salty Cod first) This bread started from a recipe for Challah, a Jewish sweet braided bread, but like everything I do i feel i am so much better and must change things, and bake it Hawaiian style in a skillet.

Ingredients: 4.5 cups four ~ 2 eggs ~ 4 tbsps olive oil ~ .5 tbsp yeast ~ 1 tsp salt ~ 5 tbsp sugar ~ tsp cinnamon ~ 1 cup warm milk ~ 2 tbsps honey ~ almond extract

method: 1) in a bowl (with your arm) whisk one cup of the flour, sugar, yeast, salt, cinnamon 2) add milk, 2 eggs, olive oil, and 2 honey. 3) mix, and then slowly add all of the rest of the flour, then obviously it will be too thick to stir and you will need to kneed with your hands. 4) kneed dough 4 minutes, roll in olive oil then place in bowl, cover, and wait 2 hours. 5) cut dough into three equal pieces and roll each out like a robe. 6) cross them at the middle, and then braid them like hair, keep them stretched. 7) wrap it around the inside of a heavy black skillet pan and pinch tight together the ends, then cover and let rise 1/2 hour. 8) squish the whole thing down very hard with a pan or something, then beat an egg mixed with honey and olive oil and completely wash the whole thing 9) bake in a preheated 350 oven for 30 minutes, 15 minutes in wash with a mixture of hot honey and almond extract. 10) remove from oven, and sprinkle with almond slices, well i would have if i had some.

Honey butter spread: whip butter, some honey, and a little powdered sugar. But shhh! don't tell anyone that honey butter is just butter and honey, you will lose the goddess aura.

This clearly has nothing to do with the fact that I am currently taking a history course on Immigration to America at my University. Nahhh. I wanted an excuse to make some bread, we shall attribute it for what it is; hey whatever inspires right? America the melting pot has been debunked. Instead we see America as a salad, but not a tossed salad. That phrase has been ruined for me (thanks editor). But a salad in which there are eggs, tomatoes, pears, green beans, and even tuna all making each other taste better. Somewhere in that salad is a vinaigrette, hopefully with a little milk and honey.

Bake a braided bread to remember that we're all a bunch of braided strands. There are so many differences here in these American countries, but that's what makes us the same. That we are different.

there are eggsHow eggstraordinary, eggcelent, eggceptional--are there not but one thousand corny though cliche options to form a cheeky yet oh so clever jeux des mots with the incredible edible egg? That eggsasperating debate of who preceded who, the chicken or the egg? And did the chicken really only cross the road to get to the other side? The idioms endure endlessly toward eggsaustion. But what can be said of the egg in praise, in gratitude?--an egg arrives as a friendly feast: smooth- no hard edges, gentle and kind. Oval and wobbly- a personification of a laugh. Small- portable for those in and for those out. Versatile- a thousand and one possibilities for preparation. Vital- if lacking the world of baking would forever stand at a still. Constant- no matter where in the world, the egg may be prepared differently, but it is always the same recognizable egg. Happy- a bright spotted sunshine in a pillow of whispering white clouds. The egg is perfect. Consumed universally world wide in myriad shapes, sizes, and colors continually through the centuries. A gem in the world of gastronomy. So we give our friend a nod. On y va.

There is no point on the human timeline to place the dawn of egg-consumption. In our modern time the most commonly consumed egg is the chicken egg, though other fowl and reptile eggs are common edibles in variant regions around the world. Why the chicken? Food historians attribute the preference to the birds domestication in China around 1500bc. Domesticated fowl for the purpose of egg cultivation took place in ancient civilizations all over the globe; in Egypt and throughout the middle east evidence of ostrich and pigeon egg consumption has been discovered as well as evidence of eggs used as binders in baking. The Romans ate peafowl eggs, and were later introduced to the chicken by the English, Gauls, and Germanic tribes. And the American chicken? Whence did he cometh?

Obviously the chicken and the egg arrived on American shores with Christophe in the north and the Portuguese and Spanish colonizers in the south around the 1500's. Or did they? Over the past few years the chicken story of the Americas has been under heated debate as archaeologists and historians ponder the notion of a pacific migration of the bird--or rather introduced to the people of Peru by the Polynesians two hundred years prior to Spanish conquest. A continued historic debate? Yes. Either way, the chicken made it, so why did the chicken cross the (both) ocean? Why to get to the Americas of course where combined North and South America today produce more chickens and eggs than anywhere else in the world. cluck cluck.

The egg has a world history of consumption, hence what follows is a world history of its preparation. In America the preferred egg of choice is the scramble or omelet, though over easy, sunny side up, eggs Benedict, and hard boiled all take close seconds. In France the egg is enjoyed unanimously either semi-soft boiled in an egg cup (oeuf a la coque), or as egg en cocotte, a mixture of egg and cream baked in a ramekin. Marbled eggs are popular in China, a cracking of the shell half way through the boiling process followed by saturation in a combination of tea, soy sauce, and spices creates a visual veining affect, complete with dipping sauce. Americans are all too familiar with Mexican huevos rancheros, and egg custards are found throughout Europe and Asia, as is the white-only whipped confection of meringue. Oeuf, æg, ovo, ei, huevo, we all love eggs for better or for worse.

The iconic and cultural image of the egg is one of, obviously, nourishment, fertility, and life. A magical power? A charm of fertility, of luck? Jack found his lucky goose who laid for him the golden eggs. Around the world for Easter and celebrations of springtime and rebirth we paint eggs in colors of every hue, and at the same time form their likeness from chocolates and candies of every kind. What is more fun than the egg toss competition at a festival? Does the egg indeed have mystical healing powers for a hangover? Perhaps we merely covet their simplicity yet grand ability to provide so much for so little. In the United States eggs are a relatively inexpensive grocery, but the amount of protein and nutrients proffered are extraordinary.

The dark horse on the back of the egg however is that nagging little word; cholesterol. Eggs are high in cholesterol, but that doesn't necessarily mean it is bad for you. Blood cholesterol does not increase by consuming cholesterol, but rather by high consumption of processed flour, sugar and fat. How about that. Gluten frees of the world, we win, in the end. So the egg is healthy, the egg is satisfying, and the egg is healing. Whether chocolate or not.

How do we at the Salty Cod prefer our eggs? Many ways over, though above all others soft boiled, in a egg cup. The white becomes hard, and the yellow remains viscous though cooked. Sprinkled with salt, with paprika, with whatever is always a smooth creamy texture that though short, is worth it. As Clotilde Dussolier says in her books, ouefs a la coque will cheer you up as you hack off their heads. Louis XVI is said to have been very gifted at the egg hat removal technique, Louis being the one who popularized the now house hold necessity that is the egg cup; the singularly most important piece of personal dishware one will ever own in a lifetime. You do not have an egg cup? There is still time, though you must hurry.

Eggs in my household?--well there are now a lot of eggs to be eaten by my darling friends and house mates. that is for certain. Happy, healthy, and healing. Eggs could feed the world, but sadly they don't. I guess our world is not perfect after all. But there's still time damn it. Inside every egg is a little sunshine waiting to get out. Help it. Boil an egg for a friend.

So why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side. Smart poulet. We'll follow suit. Just make sure to look both ways. cluck cluck.