FOR THE LOVE OF FOOD

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? It's an age-old question, but the recently published "Cambridge World History of Food," a massive work containing more than 2,000 pages and 2 million words, is not afraid to tackle it, even if it does straddle the fence in its answer. Acknowledging that from a Biblical perspective chickens were created and, thus, must have existed prior to eggs, the book nonetheless points out that from an evolutionary perspective reptile eggs preceded the emergence of the first birds and, thus, eggs are millions of years older than chickens.

The smaller but, at nearly 1,000 pages, still hefty "Oxford Companion to Food" doesn't address the question, but, unlike the Cambridge work, it does describe five methods for cooking eggs, explains why vinegar added to water in which eggs are poached makes for a prettier result, and offers suggestions for frying eggs sunny side up.

Entries tell all about food

This variation in treatment reveals a fundamental distinction between these two tomes which I've recently added to my bookshelf and which are now available in the reference section at the Cape Girardeau Public Library. It's a distinction that mirrors the difference between the two great British universities which spawned them. According to John Lanchester, writing in the "New Yorker," Cambridge is the more abstruse, rigorous and correct institution, likelier to turn out philosophers and scientists while Oxford is more worldly, more eager to amuse and likelier to produce poets and prime ministers. The books tend to corroborate the stereotype, even, as Lanchester notes, in their titles. Still, both are impressive works that tell you everything you always wanted to know about food but were afraid to ask or, as in my case, were not even smart enough to think to ask.

Though the works explore the same subject, they differ in layout. The Oxford Companion is a dictionary with 2,650 entries ranging from Aardvark (where the reader learns it tastes like pork) to Zuppa Inglese (where the reader finds out why an Italian dessert has a name which means English soup). The Cambridge study, on the other hand, is a collection of 170 original essays, some focusing on common foodstuffs such as tomatoes, rice and chili peppers and others treating unconventional victuals such as camels, caribou and insects or beverages such as kava, a narcotic drink ritualistically consumed by people of the Pacific basin. In addition there are essays on nutrition, food-related disorders and biotechnology. More scientific than mouth watering, the writing is as erudite as anything in a scholarly journal. Indeed, most of the 160 contributors are academics. Thus, the essays include extensive bibliographies, graphs, diagrams, maps and photographs but no pictures of prepared dishes ready to serve.

Writers share love of food

In contrast, the Oxford Companion is more lighthearted and personable. Maybe this is because its 50 or so contributors are by and large not academics but writers who, apparently, are serious about eating. For example, one is described as a road engineer whose hobby is collecting information about local foods when he is abroad. Another is by profession an opera singer. Many are cookbook authors. But it is the presence of Alan Davidson, an eccentric former British diplomat with a waggish writing style (he calls the muffin "a pretext for eating melted butter") that gives the work its spirit. He wrote 80 percent of the entries and because of him, the Companion, much more so than the Cambridge World History, is a book you're likely to curl up with (even if it does weigh 6 pounds), browse through and smile over every now and then. The Companion, after all, has an entry on cheesecake; the Cambridge World History does not. Moreover, lacking entries on obesity, genetically modified foods and coronary artery disease (topics all treated in the Cambridge history), you are unlikely while reading the Companion to be reminded that sometimes what we eat is bad for us. A clear theme emerging from the Cambridge study, on the other hand, is that advances in food production generate, in its words, "unhappy health consequences."

Still both of these works, though containing no recipes, will prove rewarding reading for anyone who finds food a consuming passion. In them you can discover, among other things, that the hump is the tastiest part of a camel, that there is a sweet version of haggis (clootie dumpling), that the Aztecs used something very much like modern day salsa to season their sacrificial victims before eating them, that the French really didn't invent the restaurant, that penguin eggs are best in omelets rather than boiled or fried, that the national dish of Estonia is kiluvol, and that the subject of water is far more complex than you might have ever imagined. Ironically, these disquisitions on food are so absorbing that you might be tempted to keep on reading, order out for pizza, and not cook at all!

Cambridge Crme Brulee

Though the name is French, this luxurious dessert was actually invented at Trinity College, Cambridge, in the 17th century and is sometimes called Trinity cream. If you'd like to make a particularly decadent version and are not put off by the prospect of bypass surgery, try using English double cream (available at Europa's in downtown Cape). This recipe is adapted from the "Joy of Cooking."

Ingredients:

2 cups heavy cream

3 eggs

1/2 cup sugar

3/4 teaspoon vanilla

Directions:

Blend eggs and sugar. Heat cream almost to a simmer and add gradually to egg mixture. Strain, add vanilla, and pour into six ramekins and bake in a water bath at 250 degrees until just set, an hour to an hour and a half. Cool, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 8 hours. Just before serving sprinkle tops with powdered sugar and broil until caramelized.

Oxford Sausages

Traditionally, Oxford sausages include pork, veal, and beef suet and are seasoned with sage, nutmeg, and pepper while Cambridge sausages usually include cayenne. If you stuff this sausage mixture into casings, be sure to prick them before cooking lest they explode like a firecracker. Indeed, in England sausages are called bangers, the British term for firecracker, for this very reason. This recipe is adapted from the Kitchen Link, an Internet site.

Ingredients:

1/2 pound lean ground pork

1/2 pound lean ground veal

6 ounces ground pork fat

3 slices white bread, crumbled

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

1/8 teaspoon mace

1/8 teaspoon dried thyme

1/8 teaspoon dried marjoram

1 tablespoon dried sage

1 teaspoon finely grated lemon peel

1 egg

Directions:

Knead together meat, fat, and bread. Combine spices and lemon peel and stir into egg. Knead egg mixture into meat mixture. Shape mixture into patties or stuff into casings. Makes 2 pounds.

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