Decades before the rise of artisanal olive oil, the worship of Sub-Zero refrigerators, and the collapse of the economy,

the 1940s writer M.F.K. Fisher grappled with lean times by celebrating the pleasures of simple food and engaging conversation. Inspired by that message,

a new generation of bon vivants are finding her to be an ideal table companion for an uncertain age.

By Katherine Sharpe

ComfortFoodM

readymade.com 69

where a dozen twenty- and thirty-somethings chop, rinse, stir, and pour. Someone is perched on a chair, the better to reach down into a steel pot the size of an oil drum. Ten-pound meatloaves glisten with ketchup coatings. The scent of lemon zest wafts through the air, which crackles with laughter and activity. We’re in the spacious, plywood-floored loft that Laura Braslow shares with her roommates in Brooklyn’s Bushwick neighborhood. It’s early afternoon, and preparations are well under way for “Umami: People + Food,” an occasional dinner party for 75 guests that strikes a note somewhere between a fancy supper club and a chaotic community social. The woman whose spirit hovers over these proceedings is M.F.K. Fisher, an American food writer who’s best remembered for her luscious prose and her conviction that the pleasures of eating are deeply important—not just to gourmets, but to everyone. Though she published more than 20 books before her death in 1992, and was praised by some of the leading lights of her day as one of America’s finest literary voices (“I do not know of anyone in the United States today who writes better prose,” raved W.H. Auden), she remains more of a cult figure than a household name. The hosts of “Umami” think it’s time for that to change. Tonight’s dinner is an homage to Fisher’s fourth book, 1942’s How to Cook a Wolf, which advised home cooks on how to manage during the height of wartime rationing. It’s a practical manual, offering guidance on everything from how to conserve cooking fuel by

dense-packing an oven, to ingenious substitutions for butter in cakes (bacon fat will do, if the spices are vibrant enough), to how to turn 50 cents’ worth of grain and vegetables into a nutritious “sludge” that will last for a week. But, like all of Fisher’s work, How to Cook a Wolf is also about the bigger picture: Fisher believed that eating with intention and dignity was key to the art of living well—and that it could be mastered even with the wolf of scarcity sniffing at the door. And while butter may not be out of most Americans’ price range just yet, it’s not a stretch to imagine the wolf on the prowl, now that the phrase “worst economic crisis since the Great Depression” has lost its shock value. For Gavin Kroeber, who cohosts “Umami” with Braslow, Chloë Bass, and Carter Edwards, it seemed like an apt time to rediscover the wisdom of M.F.K. Fisher. How to Cook a Wolf is about eating in hard times, while Fisher’s emphasis on conviviality spoke to the group’s values: “Umami” is as much about food’s power to bring people together as it is about gastronomy. “Fisher’s writing is not just about coping with scarcity,” Kroeber explains. “It’s about achieving congenial poetry in times of scarcity. And that’s what we always try to do.” At 5 p.m., the loft will open its doors to a stream of guests, who’ve each paid $15 for three courses of Fisher-inspired American cooking, plus four paired cocktails. Braslow and Bass keep costs down by shopping at a wholesale restaurant-supply grocer, and the event usually breaks even. Tickets are made available online several weeks before the event, which is announced by e-mail. Tonight’s Fisher-themed supper sold out in 12 hours.

M.F.K. Fisher was born Mary Frances Kennedy in the college town of Albion, Michigan in 1908. She came of age in California, where she attended boarding school and then the University of California at Berkeley—experiences she chronicles in her autobiography, The Gastronomical Me. She married Alfred

Fisher in 1929, and the young couple moved to Dijon, France, where Alfred pursued graduate studies in literature and Mary Frances undertook her own enthusiastic study of the French way of eating and living. Her marriage to Alfred Fisher didn’t last, but her appreciation of French cuisine did. People who knew her in California remember her as a vivid personality, an adventuress, and a regal presence in her own kitchen, presiding in red lipstick and a bright kimono. She delighted in serving her guests unconventional combinations of food to startle them out of their preconceptions, and she was unconventional in her own life, too: married three times, widowed once, and divorced twice. She dated Groucho Marx during a screenwriting stint in Hollywood. Her third husband, Donald Friede, remembers her breakfasting on a leftover leg of duck with a glass of wine, a toasted muffin, and a pile of hot buttered zucchini. That may not sound outlandish by today’s standards, but we forget how parochial American food was during the middle decades of the 20th century. “There were no restaurants of any interest, and there were no food magazines of any interest,” says Andrew Smith, editor of The Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink. Fisher found the average American diet to be a dull, bloated routine of three meals a day, each involving a lockstep succession of overcooked meats, mushy vegetables, and cloying puddings that made a lot of work for housewives. Fine dining meant the overrich Gilded Age cuisine served at a few grand hotels. Worse, polite Americans were trained not to talk about food, let alone find the adventure in it. That seemed like a shame to Fisher, who’d always been moved by food, and who in France finally found a society that took a delight in eating that matched her own. Like many an American foodie who followed after her, Fisher experienced the Continent as a revelation, and she returned to America eager to share its message. In her books, Fisher’s joy in food is infectious, and her lessons about it both simple and profound. She counsels readers to think carefully about their food choices, considering their own appetites rather than taking anyone else’s word about what’s proper to eat. And she asks us to enjoy the sensuality of a meal, whether we’re dining at Le Cordon Bleu or just peering into the refrigerator wondering what to make for dinner.

When preparing her own dinners for guests, she showed a special fondness for the basic dish, unremarkable in itself, that was perfectly suited to the moment. Some of her most arresting prose describes such simple gems. In How to Cook a Wolf, she recommends a dessert:

Or you can roast some walnuts in their shells, and eat them while they are still pretty hot, with fresh cold apples and a glass of port if possible, for one of the desserts most conducive in this world to good conversation.

Good talk and good company are themes that come up again and again. Andrew Smith recalls meeting Fisher’s daughter, Kennedy, and asking her what kinds of fare M.F.K. prepared when entertaining. Kennedy told him it was almost never elaborate. “That surprised me,” Smith said. “But it shouldn’t have. The goal was to have conversation, and not to spend her time in the kitchen trying to prepare food.” Instead of three predictable, complicated meals each day, Fisher suggests, what about an omelet with green salad and a light beer for dinner? Or a hearty soup with toast? Oatmeal with nuts and raisins for breakfast? She admires variety, advocates procuring food from local sources when possible, and touts the virtues of seasonal ingredients—ideas that sound startlingly contemporary. “It is very much an old-school, slow-food philosophy,” says Kate Evanishyn of Slow Food USA. Likewise, Chez Panisse founder Alice Waters is a longtime admirer. Fisher began writing before there was a “food world” in America, but she presaged the country’s current fascination with gastronomy. Her work helped start the food revolution that familiarized Main Street Americans with fine ingredients like baby field greens and high-cocoa-content dark chocolate, helped restaurant culture to thrive, and brought words like “artisanal” and “infused” into our vocabulary.

In the 1940s, Fisher would have had a hard time imagining the mind-boggling variety of cuisines available today. There’s much to celebrate in that, but it’s equally true that the contemporary food world is prone to its own excesses. Today’s slow-food and organic movements often smack of elitism. Food can be another flavor of materialism: Six-burner Viking ranges, wine refrigerators, and $100 balsamic vinegars have become status symbols of the well-appointed kitchen. At its worst, today’s gourmand culture is just another excuse to go shopping. But while the American food scene has been growing increasingly baroque—salt tastings, anyone?—there’s been a Fisher revival under way among a new crop of cooks who want to get back to basics.

Fisher's meals were seldo� elaborate. The goal was to enjoy conversation, not to spend hours in the kitchen.

“ Where ar� the scallions?” calls a voice from the kitchen,

then and now (opposite page, from right) M.F.K. Fisher prepares a simple lunch in her Sonoma, CA kitchen; a member of the Umami supper club readies a tray of Fisher-inspired “open-faced government cheese toasts” to garnish tomato soup. feast your eyes (right) First editions of Fisher’s A Cordiall Water: A Garland of Odd and Old Receipts to Assuage the Ills of Man and Beast, published in 1961, and Here Let Us Feast: A Book of Banquets, (1946). Her piquant prose prompted John Updike to annoint her a “poet of the appetites.”

<

>

70 readymade.com readymade.com 71

prev

iou

s sp

read

an

d t

his

pag

e: (f

rom

lef

t) t

ara

do

nn

e; p

aul

fusc

o/m

agn

um

ph

oto

s

“M.F.K. Fisher is important today, and probably more so than ever before, as our culture continues to fetishize food in ways that lower the bar and make the experience of eating more flash then flesh. She avoided all that pomposity and yet still appealed to a large audience. I relate her writing style to the food we’re trying to do at Blue Hill. Sophisticated in thought, but simply stated. That’s the recipe for delicious prose (and a tasty meal).”

dan barber executive chef, Blue Hill (New York City)

When Angela Stowell and her husband, chef Ethan Stowell, decided to open a restaurant in Seattle, they wanted a name that would convey unfussy sensuality. How to Cook a Wolf, in the Queen Anne neighborhood, is an intimate space decorated with unadorned copper, pine walls, and cork tables. Prices are modest, and the food is Italian with a Pacific Northwest accent. One of the restaurant’s signature appetizers is a bowl of chickpeas with golden raisins, parsley, and a drizzle of vinaigrette. “It doesn’t get much more simple than that,” says Angela. The Stowells keep a few copies of Fisher’s book on hand for curious patrons; they’re happy to help spread her message of understated grace. Another disciple, Brooklyn-based blogger Grace Meng, finds Fisher a welcome antidote to the money-fueled machismo of contemporary New York food culture. Meng read How to Cook a Wolf in the spring of 2007, and Fisher’s preference for ambience over opulence resonated with her. “I love the way food brings people together more than the food itself,” Meng explains. Inspired by Fisher, Meng now holds a casual soup night once a month for friends. “Five-course sit-down dinner parties are great,” she says, “but I realized that I could have more people over for the same amount of money without going crazy making amuse-bouches.” Fisher’s work is resonant not because we will soon need to whip up a batch of nutritious “sludge,” but because we’re coming to the end of our own Gilded Age. Downshifting from the last two go-go decades will mean developing ideas about how to live well in the future—a future that may well include substantial belt-tightening.

Some regard the idea with panic; others, with a cautious sense of optimism about the opportunity it affords to rethink our values. For the latter group, Fisher has become something of a prophet. She approaches everyday challenges with joy and creativity—it’s hard to imagine Alice Waters providing tips on how to improve canned consommé, or observing, “There are countless economical ways to prepare canned fish, and most of them take so little time that they are especially sensible for you if you work in a factory or an office.” Fisher is an ideally appealing sage for the moment. A few weeks ago I pulled How to Cook a Wolf down from my shelf. People nationwide were resolving to do more cooking at home, and I was one of them. Some of the recipes in the book sounded revolting—most people read Fisher for her prose, her asides, and her attitude, not her grub—but there were a few I wanted to make. “Eggs in Hell” drew me in with its title and retro feel: It’s eggs cooked slowly in a rich tomato sauce, served on toast. So, one evening, I poured myself a glass of red wine. I minced onions and poured olive oil. I added a few red-pepper flakes to the recipe, because that sounded good to me (“M.F.K. would have approved!” I thought). I added tomatoes, cooked the sauce, and carefully broke eggs into it, spooning the sauce over them and slowly watching them whiten. I ate dinner slowly, too. I paired my entrée with sourdough toast and a green salad. There was nothing fancy about the dish, and my grocery tab came to about $3, but I felt fortified and happy. It was the perfect meal for a year when many people will rediscover the pleasures of feeding themselves. Along the way, they may also rediscover how civilized it can be to have friends over instead of going out, and that brand X, served with love and in good company, can be just as satisfying as brand Y. Eggs in Hell, by the way, are delicious.

“Since we must eat to live, we might as well do it with both grace and gusto,” Fisher wrote in an afterword to How to Cook a Wolf. By 9 p.m. at “Umami,” we’ve accomplished both. Aluminum catering dishes of ravaged bread puddings spill their gooey contents out into the room, and 75 bodies sigh happily. Kroeber announces that there are takeout containers available to cart leftovers home. Taking a seat between an artist and a programmer who are talking animatedly, I find myself thinking about Fisher. Guests savor last sips of bourboned hot chocolate while someone stacks used Fiesta plates in neat towers by the sink. The windows are fogged with warmth. New friends sit with old ones, patting bellies, and the wolf is banished for another day.

Eggs in HellFrom How to Cook a Wolf, by M.F.K. Fishermakes 4 servings

4 tablespoons olive oil 1 clove garlic 1 onion 2 cups tomato sauce 1 teaspoon minced mixed

herbs (basil, thyme) 1 teaspoon minced parsley 8 eggs slices of french bread,

thin, toasted

1. Heat oil in a saucepan that has a tight cover. Split garlic lengthwise, run a toothpick through each half, and brown slowly in oil. Add the onion, minced, and cook until golden. Then add the tomato sauce and the seasonings and herbs. Cook about 15 minutes, stirring often, and then take out the garlic.2. Into this sauce break the eggs. Spoon the sauce over them, cover closely, and cook very slowly until eggs are done, or about 15 minutes. (If the skillet is a heavy one, you can turn off the heat and cook in fifteen minutes with what is stored in the metal.)3. When done, put the eggs carefully on the slices of dry toast, and cover with sauce. (Grated Parmesan cheese is good on this, if you can get any.)

what five famous foodies have to say about m.f.k.

“Ms. magazine sent me to do a profile of her—this was in 1980, or the late ’70s—they asked me, ‘Do you know who M.F.K. Fisher is?,’ and I was like, ‘Doesn’t everyone?!’ She is hugely important today because she’s one of the few people who understood that food was more than recipes—a women’s issue. She knew that food is politics, and anthropology, and an important part of the national soul.”

ruth reichl editor-in-chief, Gourmet

“I've been a fan of Fisher’s work since I was in college. Over the years, I’ve gone back and reread her work, and it’s never disappointing. Fisher made people understand that the way food plays into our lives is interesting and telling. This may seem obvious now, but it certainly wasn’t then. She made it clear that good food writing isn’t really about the food—its about great storytelling.”

amanda hesser former food columnist the New York Times Magazine

“I never thought of her as having a thoughtful philosophy about food so much as [being] a living example of how to think about and savor whatever life puts on your plate.”

john thorne Author of Mouth Wide Open and Serious Pig

“I read The Gastronomical Me when I was in college. It all felt so romantic, so heartbreakingly lovely, and so inspiring. In tough times like these, it is immensely soothing to read about simple pleasures—a perfectly cooked fish, a good glass of wine—and she is the queen of that department. Her writing offers both an escape to another time and place, and a reminder that my life right now, if I choose to be mindful about it, can be very, very good.”

molly wizenberg blogger, orangette.com

victory kitchen (left) Published during World War II, Fisher’s breakthrough book How to Cook a Wolf, is a collection of essays on enjoying the humble pleasures of living and dining during times of dearth. the happy hostess (opposite page) Fisher loved to entertain, and never let preparing a meal cut into the enjoyment of present company.

<

>

72 readymade.com readymade.com 73

f

f

pau

l fu

sco

/mag

nu

m p

ho

tos