1,000 Foods To Eat Before You Die: A Food Lover's Life List (150 page)

The traditional campfire treat.

What exactly is a marshmallow? Really very little besides sugar and egg whites. But simplicity does not obviate the possibility of gastronomic triumph—in this case, that of a chewy, milk-white confection so airy it feels as though one is eating
a small, sweet, and gentle cloud.

Beguiling even plain, marshmallows reach their apotheosis roasted over an open fire. Ideally they are speared onto young, green branches (dryer branches will burn) and held over a campfire (or, in a pinch, over a burner on a kitchen range), until brown and bubbling with hot, caramelizing sugar. That sizzling glaze creates the tantalizing contrast between the crisp, gently burnished outside and its creamy, molten center. If you sandwich them with a square of chocolate between graham crackers, you get the treat known to American children everywhere as the s’more. It’s been a favorite since 1927, when the recipe was printed in the official Girl Scout Handbook, its magic lying in the way the marshmallow becomes a heat source that melts the chocolate to gooey, oozy perfection.

The candy’s original confectioners took inspiration by way of the marshmallow plant (
Althaea officinalis
). Native to Europe and Asia, this member of the hollyhock family grows in salt marshes, its roots extruding a gummy substance that has been eaten in various forms since ancient times. By the mid-nineteenth century, French confectioners were whipping marshmallow sap with sugar and egg whites to achieve a mushy froth that set to a gentle firmness; then, much like our molecular chefs of today, the early confectioners began to experiment, eventually learning to create marshmallows without relying on the plant itself. To make their marshmallow-less marshmallow, they heated sugar to a syrup and then to the “hard ball stage”—when it reaches at least 121°C (250°F) on a candy thermometer and becomes quite sticky, yet firm enough to hold a shape. Combined with either gelatin or gum arabic, the mixture was whisked into beaten egg whites, dusted with additional sugar, and left to set, and then cut into cubes or rounds. Another one of Mother Nature’s triumphs.

Further information and recipes:
foodnetwork.com
(search homemade marshmallows);
marthastewart.com
(search homemade marshmallow recipe);
allrecipes.com
(search s’mores).
Tip:
Homemade marshmallows are usually softer and more delicate than commercial versions.

There are many good coffee ice creams scooped up around the world, but for the lushest socko experience, none can vie with the Turkish coffee ice cream at the cool, sweet California temptation that is McConnell’s. An alluring, deep black-brown with a refreshing jolt of aroma, the creamy base gets a nicely gritty texture and an extra-rich essence from the fine grounds of Turkish-style, dark-roasted coffee stirred through it, just as such grounds remain in cups of the traditional hot brew (see
listing
). Exactly the right amount of sugar balances the burnished, caffeine-zapped bitterness,
rendering this a most addictive and stimulating frozen treat.

If you can get past the addiction, once you’ve had McConnell’s Turkish coffee ice cream a few times, you might try three of its other delectable flavors: Brazilian coffee, tamer and silkier than the Turkish; island coconut, with flaky chips of sweet white coconut meat; and sherry-scented egg nog, tasting like Christmas all year round.

All of the ice creams offered in McConnell’s sparkling, inviting shops are all-natural, based on hormone-free sweet cream, with egg yolks as the only stabilizers; their 15-percent overrun (the percentage of air beaten into the cream) is low enough to assure a luxuriously thick ice cream. Historically, many Americans have preferred a high overrun, resulting in a light and airy ice cream they can eat more of by volume—the way ice cream is sold in the States. Selling by weight—the practice in Europe—gives a more accurate measure of actual content.

Where:
In Santa Barbara and Ventura, CA
, at three locations, McConnell’s Fine Ice Creams,
mcconnells.com
. Also available in prepacked pints at California supermarkets: Ralphs, Vons, Albertsons, Bristol Farms, Gelson’s, and Whole Foods.

There are more than 2,000 varieties of mud-loving, bottom-dwelling catfish in the world, living in inland and coastal waters on every continent except Antarctica. In Indonesia, they are grilled and sold from street carts. In India, they are considered a special food to be eaten during monsoons. In Hungary, they are cooked in paprika sauce and served with tiny dumplings and homemade cheese curds. But in the American South, the words
fish fry
mean one thing and one thing only: catfish, and indeed, here the catfish is almost always fried.

Catfish farming has been big business in the South ever since the late 1970s, when farmers in the Mississippi Delta, facing a recession, traded in their soybean and cotton fields and instead dug ponds on their properties. And, as it turned out, catfish were the rare instance in which a farmed product tastes better than its wild cousin. The farmed fish is known for its sweetness, which the farmers attribute to the fact that the scavenging fish are continually exposed to controlled resources like clean water and pure food (corn and soy pellets, naturally). Wild catfish, on the other hand, swim in often muddy waters, feeding at the bottom, and so can have a characteristically earthy flavor.

The single best place to eat Southern-fried catfish is at a rollicking joint called Middendorf’s in Akers, Louisiana, about 40 miles north of New Orleans. Open since 1934, and only recently under new management—the original owners, who operated the place for three generations, sold in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina—the place is a kind of compound, with an enormous dining room and waterside decks from which patrons can spy egrets and cranes in the marshes of Lake Maurepas.

This is bayou country, but its considerable charms are still trumped by the fish. You can get it fried in the usual way (called “thick” at Middendorf’s), or opt for the house specialty of
“thinfish,” in which an already thin catfish fillet is sliced horizontally into delicately thin halves, much like scallopines. Dredged in fine cornmeal batter (known as fish fry), sprinkled liberally with black pepper, and then deep-fried in hot fat, the result is an utterly crisp affair. Some excellent, tiny, onion-flavored hushpuppies on the side round out the experience.

The city of New Orleans has its share of good eating, but for a down-home experience of the thinnest, crunchiest fish fry around, Middendorf’s is worth the trip.

Where:
75 Manchac Way, Akers, LA, tel 985-386-6666,
middendorfsrestaurant.com
.
Further information and recipes:
Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen
by Paul Prudhomme (1984);
Eula Mae’s Cajun Kitchen
by Eula Mae Dore and Marcelle Bienvenu;
epicurious.com
(search southern fried catfish; beer-battered catfish on vinegar slaw);
uscatfish.com
(click Recipes).
Special events:
World Catfish Festival, Belzoni, MS, April,
belzonims.com/catfishfest.htm
; “World’s Biggest Fish Fry,” Paris, TN, April,
worldsbiggestfishfry.com
.

In truth, they number fewer than a thousand, but nevertheless, the pile-up of twenty or so silken, golden-edged crêpes reaches true perfection at the café and patisserie Lady M, on Manhattan’s Upper East Side (as well as several other locations). The artistry with which this dessert is made obviously appeals to the art gallery crowd in this tony neighborhood. Layered with a lusciously airy crème St-Honoré—vanilla custard pastry cream aerated with whipped cream—they make for a cool and towering enticement.

In France, the delicate treat is dubbed
gâteau de crêpes
and is traditionally enjoyed on February 2, for the holiday of La Chandeleur, or Candlemas. Superstition has it that if the cook flips a test crêpe successfully without it falling to the floor, hitting the ceiling, tearing, or developing a crease, he or she will have a very good year. At the least, a very good day is guaranteed to those who sample this lush dessert.

After the test run, the crêpes (made much like those for blintzes, see
listing
, or palatschinken, see
listing
) are turned out of the pan gilded on both sides. Kept moist as they cool, they are then spread with the pastry cream and stacked into layers. The top crêpe gets a lacy glaze of golden-brown caramelized sugar, and the cake is chilled to firmness, later to be sliced downward in towering wedges that reveal the thin, scrumptious layers of crêpe and filling.

Then it’s time for the eating, which itself provides a many-layered thrill. First comes the gentle nudging of fork tines down through the soft, yielding layers, then the sweet aroma of cream, sugar, and vanilla, and finally the slightly chilly, creamy, and gently soft contrast of crêpe and cream. A couple of ripe strawberries or raspberries might be in order as a garnish, as would a glass of Champagne or chilled Château d’Yquem, or even a thin porcelain cup of Ethiopia’s best Harar coffee. (A cappuccino, however, would be overkill.)

Dine-in, retail, and mail order:
, 41 East 78th St., New York, NY, tel 212-452-2222; The Plaza Food Hall, 1 West 59th St., New York, NY, tel
212-986-9260; Bryant Park Cake Boutique, 36 West 40th St., New York, NY, tel 212-452-2222; Los Angeles Cake Boutique, 8718 West 3rd St., Los Angeles, CA, tel 424-279-9495; Marina Square Shopping Mall, 6 Raffles Boulevard, Singapore, tel 65/6820-0830,
ladym.com
.

A chocolate-covered-marshmallow-and-graham-cracker sandwich seems like a treat any home kitchen dabbler might have come up with on a rainy day, but the classic cookie was actually the invention of the workers of the Chattanooga Baking Company of Chattanooga, Tennessee, founded in 1902.

In its early days, the company produced as many as 150 different types of soda crackers, animal crackers, cheese wafers, and other baked goods. But around 1917, a company salesman named Earl Mitchell noticed workers dipping graham crackers into melted marshmallow and letting them dry on the windowsill. His inspired tweak was to then dip the cookies in chocolate, and thus the MoonPie was born—tempting future generations with the contrast of crisp cracker, creamy marshmallow, and rich, enveloping chocolate. An alternative story has Mitchell coming up with the cookie by getting a Kentucky coal miner to describe his ideal snack, its shape and size (and ultimately, name) springing from the moment the miner looked up at the night sky and framed the full moon with his hands.

The response to the hybrid cookie-candy, a mess of sweetness akin to a hardened but still delicious s’more, was immediate, intense, and enduring. During the 1930s, MoonPies were a staple for hungry laborers, and by 1941, as World War II broke out, the Chattanooga Baking Company was sending hundreds of thousands of MoonPies to GIs stationed abroad, in what was both a generous move and a stroke of branding genius. When NASCAR was officially founded in 1947, the MoonPie was there, too—the pies were a classic snack that fans packed into their sack lunches on race day, and they would forever be associated with the Daytona 500, first raced in 1957. Nowadays, nearly a million MoonPies are produced every day.

New England has its own take on the cookie “pie”—the Whoopie Pie, generally thought to be a creation of the Amish as a way to use leftover cake batter. Its soft, cakelike cookies—usually chocolate—encase a frosting or marshmallow filling. Legend has it that Amish women put the treats in farmers’ lunch pails; when the farmers found them, they’d exclaim “whoopee!”

Retail and mail order:
In Chattanooga, Lynchburg, and Pigeon Forge, TN, and Charleston, SC
, Chattanooga Bakery, tel 423-877-0592,
moonpie.com
.
Mail order:
For whoopie pies, Wicked Whoopies, tel 877-447-2629,
wickedwhoopies.com
.
Further information and recipes:
For recipes using MoonPies,
moonpie.com
; for homemade,
allrecipes.com
(search southern moon pies; whoopie pies);
epicurious.com
(search chocolate-oatmeal moon pies; whoopie pies).

Italo–New Orleanian cuisine is the special gift of the Italian immigrants, mainly from Sicily, who developed a Southern American culinary repertoire all their own, and one of its most lavish examples is this delectable riff on the hero, po’boy, and submarine sandwich. Brought to true and epic magnificence at the Central Grocery, and to almost equal glory at the bar-tavern that is the old Napoleon House, both in the French Quarter, the muffaletta begins with a lightly golden, soft-crusted, round, Italian-style bread—really a giant roll, about ten inches in diameter.