Product Description

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #863269 in Books
• Published on: 1996-11-15
• Original language: English
• Binding: Hardcover
• 528 pages

Amazon.com
There are a number of books that explore New England, Louisiana, and Texas, but none of them delve so delectably into green-pea pie, Boston brown bread, dirty rice, and crawfish etoufee. John Thorne has the touch for seeking out a region's essence in its culinary expressions, which is to say he cares about places and the good grub they're known for. It's a pleasure to read the rich history of his favorite dishes and to salivate over Thorne's thorough research.

From Publishers Weekly
With an appetite for accuracy to match his appreciation of food at its purest (an issue of form as well as content), John Thorne (Outlaw Cook) tracks down the origins of dishes that have captured his heart and imagination along with his palate. He is aided here by his wife, who with him edits the quarterly newsletter Simple Cooking, in which the majority of these essays were originally published. The Thornes travel mainly in three regional food-ways: New England's pioneer and Atlantic coast cooking, with a focus on Maine, where they have lived since the mid-1980s (in a section titled "Here"); Louisiana's Cajun tradition (in the section "There"); and Texas's cowboy heritage of chili, barbecue and cornbread (in "Everywhere," which includes brief looks at hamburgers, white bread and other all-American inventions). Besides recipes (e.g., Green Pea Pie and a variety of chowders in "Here"), the authors deliver thoughtful, informed and opinionated disquisitions on their subject, whether that is jambalaya, chili (16 recipes chart its development, the first from an 1880 cookbook) or a global history of dishes composed of recipes based on rice and beans. If these essays were recipes, they'd yield a rich and utterly unbalanced table of dishes likely to start readers thinking seriously about their own gustatory identities. The bibliography is better than dessert.
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Library Journal
Sweeping from the coast of Maine to New Orleans, this book blends food history and lore with personal reflections on the role certain dishes have played both in a geographical region and in one cook's life. Thorne, the author of Outlaw Cook (LJ 11/15/92) and publisher of a newsletter on food, delves into topics as varied as the origin of cornbread in American culture and the nuances of Cajun and Creole cooking. Recipes from blueberry pudding to crab rolls spice up the text, and the author also includes some of his favorite mail-order sources for specialty ingredients such as cornmeal. Some readers may recognize portions of Serious Pig, which have appeared, in slightly different form, as magazine articles. Rather than being just a collection of recipes, this is a book that not only informs and entertains readers but leaves them hungry as well. Highly recommended, especially where the author's other books are popular or where there is patron demand for fine writing about food.?John Charles, Scottsdale P.L., Ariz.
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Customer Reviews

serious and sensual
Thorne is simply one of the most delightful food writers going, and he turns his atention to basic and often inexpensive foods without being coy or pretentious about it. He is the best antidote available to the current line-up of mega-chefs trying to out-tantrum each other. This is the real thing. It will improve your cooking because it will improve the way you think about food.

An Important Standard for Serious Culinary Writing.
Both currently available books, `Serious Pig' and `Pot on the Fire', by John Thorne and wife Matt Lewis Thorne, are composed of essays cut from the same culinary journalistic cloth, the authors' food letter `Simple Cooking'. These essays as bodies of work do not quite fit any established form of culinary writing. It is certainly not `The Best Recipe' genre followed by the magazine `Cooks Illustrated' and some writers, although there is some element of this point of view. It is not culinary history, since it is so distinctly done from the authors' point of view. There are some essays that taste like memoir or nostalgia, but these serve more as chapters used to set the scene for text dealing with the food. It is certainly not food science a la Shirley Corriher or Alton Brown, although Alton Brown does credit Thorne as one of his biggest influences. In a nutshell, the Thornes simply provide interesting writing about food.

I love intellectual connections, so I was delighted to discover that one of the wellsprings from which John Thorne draws his inspiration is the writing of Richard Olney. This ties up a string of influence from Elizabeth David to Olney to Thorne to Alton Brown, one of the most influential popular voices in culinary journalism. Olney is one of the most intellectual writers on culinary matters writing in English and available in the United States. And, it is clear not only in Thorne's `Simple Food' motto but also in his intellectual point of view that he owes much to Olney.

The first thing which changed my reading Thorne from simple pleasure to respect was his essay on the Italian Panzanella salad, which he describes in great detail and with great attention to what Italians really mean when they make this salad, a combination of tomato, stale bread, red onion, mozzarella, cucumber, basil, and salt and pepper. The subtle intellectual honesty that caught my attention was when Thorne created an adaptation using fresh bread and remained true to the original nomenclature by calling his invention Panzanetta salad. Contrast this to Alton Brown's borrowing the same Panzanella term and applying it to a twist on the BLT sandwich by adding bacon and forgetting the onion and garlic. Not Panzanella at all, I think. Not much to most people, but to a person schooled in the principle that language was something to be respected, I was impressed.

The second thing that caught my attention was the tale of how Thorne fell into the vocation of cooking and culinary journalism. Like so many things, and like myself, it was by accident and necessity. In Thorne's case, it was because he was a dropout with little money who needed to feed himself with as few dollars as possible. If this was the prime mover in his career path, a strong influence seems to be his Maine roots. More than one essay has the feel of Maine's Stephen King writing about food. Popular subjects are his old residences, Maine crops such as potatoes and blueberries, and Maine cuisine featuring the lobster and other seafood, and Maine restaurants. One of my favorite series of essays deals with the origin of chowder. I will never again respect a chowder recipe that does not include some potato or biscuit as a thickening agent. Maine does not monopolize the story. A long series of essays covers Cajun and Creole culinary topics from New Orleans. This is where he proposes the theory that a great cuisine such as the Cajun or Italian cuisine is based on emulating a memory of greatness. I think there is a germ of truth here, but I believe Paula Wolfert offers a much fuller picture in her Morocco book.

The third and most enduring attraction of Thorne's writing is that it is simply entertaining stuff. A writer could provide the recipes on these pages with no explanation or commentary and they would be good recipes, but the writing would be like the food with the salt and pepper left out. Similarly, the history / memoir / commentary would not be nearly as interesting without the instructions for preparing the dishes on which the essays expound. The very best example of a perfect mix of culinary technique with storytelling is the essay on `Perfect Rice'. It all starts with John Thorne's claiming that he makes a pretty good pot of rice, followed by a derisive response from Madame Thorne, who had studied the issue at some length before Sir John touched on the subject early in their joint lives. Thorne proceeds to relate the story of their mutual investigations into making perfect rice. In the process, we learn much about the world's rice varieties and why rices behave like it does. After seeing how much care one can devote to such a simple subject, I mentally demote people like Sara Moulton for posing as a teacher of culinary matters when they confesses to not being able to properly cook a pot of rice.

Both volumes are available in midpriced trade paperback editions with no pictures. It is a sure test of the fact that pictures are not necessary in works on cooking in that I never miss them. A really important addition to books of this type is a list of recipes in addition to the index and table of contents. Both volumes have this important tool. The most telling endorsement of these books is that I am sure I will read them again, cover to cover, and enjoy every minute of it.

A rare treat for foodie readers.

Tall tales and mouth-watering recipes
Part memoir, part travelogue, and part cookbook, this compellingly readable book offers insight into the people, places, ingredients, traditions, and taste of classic American cooking.

Serious Pig is broken into three main parts. In "Here," Thorne explores his Maine roots, telling stories of his grandparents' childhoods and sharing recipes for lobster stew, baked beans, and the like. In "There," Thorne covers Louisiana's cajun and creole traditions. And "Everywhere" is devoted to American classics: barbecue, pancakes, hamburgers, coffee, chili, and other food typically found in diners.

The recipes are sprinkled in among all the yarns and reminiscences. This makes Serious Pig somewhat less useful as a cookbook (though there is a separate index of recipes if you really need to track one down), but it doesn't really diminish the value of the book. What you get here is a heartfelt appreciation of American cuisine and cooking, and introduction to the folklore of regional cuisine that's missing from other books. You can read Serious Pig like a novel, even if you never cook. But don't be surprised if your mouth starts watering, and you find yourself unable to finish any given chapter without a slab of pie and a cup of rich, black coffee.