Understandably, tourist travel these days must be restricted. But in my quarantined solitude I have discovered I can still travel -- in my mind. I was supposed to take a Mediterranean cruise this year, but even though it was cancelled, I made the trip anyway -- with my favorite cookbooks to guide me.
My point of departure was to be Barcelona. People go there to see the architecture of Antoni Gaudi, his famed modernistic cathedral, La Sagrada Familia, in particular. But I go for the food. And there's no better introduction to it than the Williams-Sonoma Foods of the World series. Its volume about the city will make you long to return to Barcelona if you've been there before or, if you haven't, make you yearn to go. Replete with over 150 spectacular photos, my favorite is the one of the magnificent mosaic exterior of the Escriba bakery, home of the best hot chocolate in the city, and arguably the world. It would be hard to overstate the sophistication of Catalan cuisine, yet meals typically begin with the deceptively simple iconic dish Tomato-Rubbed Bread, one bite of which will transport you to what Hans Christian Andersen called the Paris of Spain.
Grill or broil bread on both sides until golden. Rub each slice of toasted bread on one side with garlic. Cut tomatoes in half and rub cut sides on top of toast until only skins remain. Discard skins. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt.
My last stop was to be Rome. There's no better guide for a vicarious visit than Parla and Gill's "Tasting Rome," a veritable love letter to the city. Filled with enchanting pictures of every part of Rome, from upscale districts to graffiti-adorned neighborhoods, it offers glimpses of bakeries, gelato shops, clamorous markets, and restaurants. I recognized the Fatamorgana gelateria just a block from where we stayed for a month one time. I went there every day. When in Rome, after all. This is a book that eschews photos of Roman monuments like the Colosseum for shots of a tray of affogati or pizza bianca like you get at the Campo de' Fiori. Its recipe for classic Cacio de Pepe will make you feel like you should be wearing a toga.
Cook pasta until al dente. Combine 1-1/2 cups cheese, pepper, and small ladle of pasta cooking water, mixing vigorously to form a paste. Drain pasta, and add to paste tossing energetically. Adjust sauce consistency with additional cooking water. Sprinkle each serving with remaining cheese.
Between Barcelona and Rome I was scheduled to stop in Provence, "the golden corner of France." My guide was the late Richard Olney's book, "Provence: The Beautiful Cookbook." It lives up to its name. The most lavish of food guides, it's more than 250 folio-sized pages, nary a one without a glorious color photo, complete with centerfolds as sensual as anything published by Hugh Heffner. This is the land of pot-au-feu, pissaladiere, and petit pois, where despite its simplicity, as Olney observes, "cooking is an artist's affair." Stylish photos of the region's specialties are showcased in dramatic settings, like a beach along the Bouches-du-Rhone coast, or a Roman bridge, or a backroad of the Vaucluse. They'll not only make you want to visit there, they'll make you want to move there, especially for the elegant clafoutis.
Spread cherries in bottom of greased 10-inch round baking dish. Blend eggs and ½ cup sugar. Add remaining ingredients except butter, blending well. Pour over cherries. Cut 1 tablespoon butter into shavings and scatter over top. Sprinkle with remaining 2 tablespoons sugar. Bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes until top is golden. Dust with powdered sugar.
Even though I couldn't actually make the trip, my vicarious culinary journey was almost as good. And I didn't have to show my passport, check a bag, or spend hours on a cramped plane.
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