Thomas Pynchon’s Recipe for the Crocodile, a Traditional Anarchist Cocktail

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“I’ll be in the bar,” said Reef. Yzles-Bains was in fact one of the few places on the continent of Europe where a sober Anarchist could find a decent Crocodile—equal amounts of rum, absinthe, and the grape spirits known as trois-six—a traditional Anarchist favorite, which Loïc the bartender, a veteran of the Paris Commune, claimed to have been present at the invention of.

A cocktail recipe from Thomas Pynchon’s novel Against the Day. (More on trois-six here; good luck finding real absinthe).

Bonus recipe: Kit Traverse’s drink invention:

“‘Love in the Shadows of Pera,’ ” Kit said. “It’s just Creme de Menthe and beer.”

Anita Loos’ Recipe for Kitten’s Tongue

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Anita Loos’ recipe for kitten’s tongue:

Take 2 eggs and not quite a cup of sugar. Whip them just a little, then add not quite a cupful of melted butter and a cup of flour. Stir the mixture, spread it on a tin in small quantities, bake them. Roll in nuts and sugar.

From Famous Recipes of Famous Women (ed. Florence Stratton, 1925).

Poul Anderson’s Cocktail All My Own Invention

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Poul Anderson’s cocktail “All My Own Invention” is collected in collected in Cooking Out of This World (ed. Anne McCaffrey, 1973).

All My Own Invention

2 oz. dark rum, 2 oz. dry vermouth, 1 oz. fresh lemon juice, stirred over ice. Sneaky.

Walker Percy’s Cud’n Walker’s Uncle Will’s Favorite Mint Julep Receipt

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As a postscript to his 1957 essay “Bourbon,” Walker Percy offers his favorite recipe for the drink:

Reader, just in case you don’t want to knock it back straight and would rather monkey around with perfectly good Bourbon, here’s my favorite recipe, “Cud’n Walker’s Uncle Will’s Favorite Mint Julep Receipt.”

You need excellent Bourbon whiskey; rye or Scotch will not do. Put half an inch of sugar in the bottom of the glass and merely dampen it with water. Next, very quickly—and here is the trick in the procedure—crush your ice, actually powder it, preferably in a towel with a wooden mallet, so quickly that it remains dry, and, slipping two sprigs of fresh mint against the inside of the glass, cram the ice in right to the brim, packing it with your hand. Finally, fill the glass, which apparently has no room left for anything else, with Bourbon, the older the better, and grate a bit of nutmeg on the top. The glass will frost immediately. Then settle back in your chair for half an hour of cumulative bliss.

Uncle Will shows up a few times in Signposts in a Strange Land, a collection of essays that includes “Bourbon” along with 1965’s “Uncle Will,” which offers this nugget:

Early each afternoon he made himself a pitcher of vodka martinis—no one had ever heard of such a drink in Mississippi in the 1930s—and set up shop in the pantry, listened and talked to any and all comers.

Also from “Bourbon”:

Bourbon does for me what the piece of cake did for Proust.

1926: As a child watching my father in Birmingham, in the exurbs, living next to number-6 fairway of the New Country Club, him disdaining both the bathtub gin and white lightning of the time, aging his own Bourbon in a charcoal keg, on his hands and knees in the basement sucking on a siphon, a matter of gravity requiring cheek pressed against cement floor, the siphon getting going, the decanter ready, the first hot spurt into his mouth not spat out.

1933: My uncle’s sun parlor in the Mississippi Delta and toddies on a Sunday afternoon, the prolonged and meditative tinkle of silver spoon against crystal to dissolve the sugar; talk, tinkle, talk; the talk mostly political: “Roosevelt is doing a good job; no, the son of a bitch is betraying his class.”

1934: Drinking at a Delta dance, the boys in bi-swing jackets and tab collars, tough-talking and profane and also scared of the girls and therefore safe in the men’s room. Somebody passes around bootleg Bourbon in a Coke bottle. It’s awful. Tears start from eyes, faces turn red. “Hot damn, that’s good!”

1935: Drinking at a football game in college. UNC versus Duke. One has a blind date. One is lucky. She is beautiful. Her clothes are the color of the fall leaves and her face turns up like a flower. But what to say to her, let alone what to do, and whether she is “nice” or “hot”—a distinction made in those days. But what to say? Take a drink, by now from a proper concave hip flask (a long way from the Delta Coke bottle) with a hinged top. Will she have a drink? No. But it’s all right. The taste of the Bourbon(Cream of Kentucky) and the smell of her fuse with the brilliant Carolina fall and the sounds of the crowd and the hit of the linemen in a single synesthesia.

1941: Drinking mint juleps, famed Southern Bourbon drink, though in the Deep South not really drunk much. In fact, they are drunk so seldom that when, say, on Derby Day somebody gives a julep party, people drink them like cocktails, forgetting that a good julep holds at least five ounces of Bourbon. Men fall facedown unconscious, women wander in the woods disconsolate and amnesiac, full of thoughts of Kahlil Gibran and the limber lost.

Would you believe the first mint julep I had I was sitting not on a columned porch but in the Boo Snooker bar of the New Yorker Hotel with a Bellevue nurse in 1941? The nurse, a nice upstate girl, head floor nurse, brisk, swift, good-looking; Bellevue nurses, the best in the world and this one the best of Bellevue, at least the best-looking. The julep, an atrocity, a heavy syrupy Bourbon and water in a small glass clotted with ice. But good!

Biblioklept’s Oven Rice

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I’ve been sharing literary recipes on Biblioklept, mostly around Thanksgiving and Christmas, since I first started the blog back in 2009. The first entry was Zora Neale Hurston’s mulatto rice.

I’ve enjoyed taking note of recipes (or approximations of recipes) in the books I’ve read and sharing them here, as well as recipes authored by authors (printed originally in cookbooks or elsewhere). I’ve rehashed the recipes each Thanksgiving (here’s last year’s entry), but this Thanksgiving I thought I’d search for new stuff—hence the flurry of recipes on the blog the past few days. In the same spirit, I figured I’d share a simple staple in our household: a recipe for oven rice.

Really, this isn’t so much a recipe as it is a technique. My aunt taught me how to cook rice in the oven over twenty years ago and I haven’t looked back. I’ve employed this technique to cook all kinds of rice: long grain and short grain; jasmine, brown, wild, basmati, sushi and so on. It even works for middlins (but not grits). I’ve cooked this rice in smaller and larger batches, used different stocks, added vegetables, used a variety of oils and fats; I’ve cooked the rice in at least five different ovens. It always turns out perfect.

Here is what you need:

An enameled cast iron Dutch oven.

An oven and a cook top.

A cup of rice.

Two cups of stock or water. I almost always use stock that I make on Sundays.

Oil or fat; I usually use olive oil or schmalz if I have it.

Salt.

Here is how you make the rice:

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

Preheat your stock or water if it is cold. The liquid need not be aboil or anything, but it can’t hit the pan cold.

Coat the bottom of the Dutch oven with oil, turn the cook top eye to high, throw in your rice and add salt (more salt than you think you need).

Stir the rice until it’s coated with oil and salt and cook it until it’s nearly translucent—but you’re not making a pilaf here, please.

Add your liquid (really, the liquid should be a stock, which is easy to make from any bones or scraps you have about).

Bring the rice to not quite boiling and make sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom of your pan. But don’t overagitate it. If need be, remove the pan from the eye in the event you’ve misjudged how long it takes your oven to heat to 350°F. You’re not cooking the rice on the stove top; you simply want the liquid to be close to the same temperature as the oven.

Cover the rice and put it in the oven, setting a thirty minute timer or simply attending to the time yourself.

Now is the perfect time to read a short story and drink a glass of white wine, as you’ve already prepped a suitable match for this lovely oven rice, yes? Butter beans and chorizo with the onions you caramelized on Monday? Roasted garlic and peppers? Field peas cooked with a leftover smoked chicken thigh? Even a quick spinach wilt with a few tomato slices or an egg on top will do.

But you’ve taken care of that; read your story, drink your wine.

Remove the rice from the oven after thirty minutes. It will stay nice and hot in the enameled cast iron dish for an hour or more. If you’ve neglected to prepare butter beans or field peas or spinach—or even a can of sardines and hot sauce from your pantry—you can eat this rice with butter and salt and lots of pepper. And maybe you’ll have enough peace to read another story while you eat.

 

 

 

Hunter S. Thompson’s Open Face Cigarette Special Hot and Cold Sandwich with Artichoke Appetizer

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I’m pretty sure there should be some hyphens in the title of Hunter S. Thompson’s recipe for “open face cigarette special hot and cold sandwich with artichoke appetizer.”  From The Great American Writers’ Cookbook (ed. Dean Faulkner Wells, 1981).

OPEN FACE CIGARETTE SPECIAL HOT AND COLD SANDWICH WITH ARTICHOKE APPETIZER

Ingredients

1 Artichoke

1 stalk of celery

1 onion

1 tomato

one quarter lb. butter

1 container cottage cheese

1 can Ortega whole green chilis

1 lemon

mayonnaise

vinegar

4 strips of bacon

1 slice dill rye bread

La Victoria green taco sauce

Directions

Fill a large pot three quarters full with water and add celery and half of the onion. Bring to a boil.

Add artichoke, cover and boil for 45 minutes. While you are waiting for the artichoke to cook you can prepare the sauce for it and the sandwich.

Sauce:

Mix 3 heaping tablespoons of mayonnaise with one table spoon of Dijon mustard. Add a splash of vinegar and a squeeze of lemon.

Cigarette Special

Cook bacon and put aside.

Butter the slice of rye bread generously and toast until the bread is light brown and the butter is sizzling.

Spread cottage cheese exactly one quarter inch thick on the toast.

Cut Ortega whole green chilis into 4 one quarter inch strips and place lengthwise on top of cottage cheese.

Add bacon to sandwich.

Cut 3 or 4 thin slices of tomato and place on top of bacon.

Cut 2 or 3 very thin slices of onion and put those on top of the tomatoes.

Then spread another one quarter inch thick layer of cottage cheese.

Salt and pepper and garnish with La Victoria green taco sauce.

Then cover the open face sandwich with Reynolds Wrap, leaving the bottom of the toast uncovered. Timing is crucial at this point. The artichoke should be well-boiled and ready to eat and all sandwich ingredients prepared for the final mix before the bread is toasted for the first time.

The sandwich must be lashed together and toasted (twice) in less than 5 minutes, or the toast will get limp and soggy.

When you have finished eating your artichoke appetizer and are ready to eat the Cigarette Special, place the sandwich back into the toaster oven and toast for about one minute. Remove Reynolds Wrap and you will now have a hot buttered toast cold cottage cheese cigarette special.

The procedure by steps:

Drink good whiskey while boiling artichoke and frying bacon.

Prepare sandwich ingredients.

Eat artichoke leaves

Mix sandwich and toast.

Eat artichoke heart, with good beer.

Eat sandwich.

Drink coffee and good whiskey, with sharp chocolate.

Zelda Fitzgerald’s Bacon n’ Eggs

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Zelda Fitzgerald’s “recipe” for breakfast:

See if there is any bacon, and if there is ask the cook which pan to fry it in. Then ask if there are any eggs, and if so try and persuade the cook to poach two of them. It is better not to attempt toast, as it burns very easily. Also in the case of bacon do not turn the fire too high, or you will have to get out of the house for a week. Serve preferably on china plates, though gold or wood will do if handy.

From Famous Recipes of Famous Women (ed. Florence Stratton, 1925)

John Brunner’s Squid with Pine Nuts

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John Brunner’s recipe for squid with pine nuts:

1 1b. baby squid

1 large onion

1 oz. pine nuts (pinon nuts)

2 oz. butter

1 clove garlic

salt and pepper

2 sherry-glasses dry sherry

water

Chop the onion and garlic fine, brown in the butter. Clean squid, cut into rings, add to pan and add nuts. Season lightly. Stir over low heat until everything is coated with the butter. Add the sherry. Simmer for 2-3 minutes. Add water to barely cover. Simmer until squid is tender-approximately 20 minutes, but this depends on the age of the squid: the older, the longer. Serve hot. Keep the breadsticks coming.

Try and finish off the white wine at the same time the last bit of squid disappears. (It will. I’ve seen people who were convinced they didn’t like the stuff come back for seconds of this dish, then ask optimistically for thirds-too late.)

Then we get down to the really serious item on the agenda, a member of that family of classic peasant dishes which runs from Normandy to Yugoslavia and can probably be found in recognizable form in the New World, too. What they amount to, basically, is a means of making stored beans taste wonderful when that’s all you’ve got for a large family. Any number of changes can be rung on the fundamental principle.

Brunner’s recipe is collected in Cooking Out of This World (ed. Anne McCaffrey, 1973)

Denise Levertov’s Black Bean Soup

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Denis Levertov’s recipe for black bean soup:

I find it difficult to write a recipe because I am the type of cook who does not measure things, and my best dishes are made from random ingredients that happen to be on hand. Therefore soups and casseroles are my forte, but I don’t often remember exactly what I put into them—especially when it comes to seasonings, which I throw in recklessly until my taste is pleased. And my lamentable failures occur when I follow to the letter some recipe from any famous cookbook; I recall in particular a blanquette de veau that was bland enough to make one yawn, and a bouillabaisse over which I toiled conscientiously–and at considerable expense!–but which might as well have come out of a can.

Anyway, here is a recipe which readers will just have to amplify for themselves as far as quantities and proportions are concerned, I’m afraid:

Cook well-washed black beans until soft. Remove about ⅛ and blend. Add a good quantity of Italian peeled tomatoes and of tomato puree.”Add some finely chopped onions. (About equal to ½ of the cooked beans.) Add a good dash of sherry. Season with salt, pepper, tamari, (not too much) lots of good quality paprika, a bit of chili powder, basil, oregano, a cautious dash of Louisiana hot sauce. Make sure it’s all well stirred and serve piping hot sprinkled with crumbled feta cheese. Thin lemon slices are optional. Make sure the chili and hot sauce don’t dominate—and be generous with the paprika.

From The Great American Writers’ Cookbook (ed. Dean Faulkner Wells, 1981).

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’ Recipes for Coot Surprise, Jugged Rabbit, and Jellied Tongue

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The following recipes are from Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’ 1942 cookbook Cross Creek Cookery, which was published the same year as her seminal Florida memoir Cross Creek. If you ever find yourself in north central Florida, you might dine at The Yearling, where some of the dishes from Rawlings’ cookbook are still served.

Coot Surprise

Skin coots and rub with salt and lemon juice or vinegar. Let stand overnight. Wash, split in halves, and rub with salt and pepper. Dust with flour. Fry in medium deep hot fat in a covered pan until golden brown. Serve with wild rice and green vegetables or a green salad.


Jugged Rabbit

Cut rabbit in pieces. Place in deep pan and cover with red wine, to which is added one teaspoon whole cloves, one teaspoon all-spice, two bay leaves, one teaspoon whole peppercorns. Let stand in cool place for three days. Drain. Roll in salted and peppered four. Brown in one-quarter inch butter. Cover with hot water and simmer until tender. More hot water may be necessary. Remove rabbit. Stir in one tablespoon flour dissolved in four tablespoons cold water for every cup of gravy. Add one-half teaspoon salt, dash of pepper. Pour over rabbit. One rabbit serves four to six.

Jellied Tongue

1 small or medium-sized fresh beef tongue 1 stalk celery 

1 slice of onion

2 bay leaves

6 whole cloves

6 whole allspice

2 tablespoons vinegar

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup to 1 can beef consommé

1 tablespoon gelatine

3 to 5 hard-boiled eggs

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

Serves 6 generously

Boil tongue slowly in cold water to cover well, adding all the seasonings except Worcestershire. When tender, in two to two and one-half hours, turn out fire and let tongue cool in the broth. Peel tongue and cut out any small bones or coarse particles at the thick end. Cut in slices lengthwise and put through the meat grinder. Put the hard-boiled eggs through the meat grinder. Mix with the ground tongue. The number of eggs and the amount of consommé depend on the size of the tongue. Soak gelatine in two tablespoons of the cold consommé. Heat the rest of the consommé to boiling and pour over the gelatine, stirring until dissolved. Mix with the ground tongue and eggs. Add Worcestershire and more salt to taste. Turn into a mould. Set in ice box to harden. Serve on a platter of lettuce leaves or grape leaves, and pass a generous bowl of tart mayonnaise.

Ishmael Reed’s Texas Gumbo

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Ishmael Reed’s Mike Rees’ Clearlake, Texas Gumbo:

Brown 1 chicken in oven. Chop: 2 onions, 2 bell peppers, 1 lb. okra. Place in large pot with enough water and 1/2 oil to cover all. Simmer for about an hour. Add baked chicken and a couple of quarts of water. Add salt and garlic to taste. Simmer for about 1/2 hour more. Serve over rice with French bread.

From The Great American Writers’ Cookbook (ed. Dean Faulkner Wells, 1981).

Ernest Hemingway’s Campfire Trout

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Ernest Hemingway’s recipe for campfire trout:

Outside of insects and bum sleeping the rock that wrecks most camping trips is cooking. The average tyro’s idea of cooking is to fry everything and fry it good and plenty. Now, a frying pan is a most necessary thing to any trip, but you also need the old stew kettle and the folding reflector baker.

A pan of fried trout can’t be bettered and they don’t cost any more than ever. But there is a good and bad way of frying them.

The beginner puts his trout and his bacon in and over a brightly burning fire; the bacon curls up and dries into a dry tasteless cinder and the trout is burned outside while it is still raw inside. He eats them and it is all right if he is only out for the day and going home to a good meal at night. But if he is going to face more trout and bacon the next morning and other equally well-cooked dishes for the remainder of two weeks he is on the pathway to nervous dyspepsia.

The proper way is to cook over coals. Have several cans of Crisco or Cotosuet or one of the vegetable shortenings along that are as good as lard and excellent for all kinds of shortening. Put the bacon in and when it is about half cooked lay the trout in the hot grease, dipping them in cornmeal first. Then put the bacon on top of the trout and it will baste them as it slowly cooks.

The coffee can be boiling at the same time and in a smaller skillet pancakes being made that are satisfying the other campers while they are waiting for the trout.

With the prepared pancake flours you take a cupful of pancake flour and add a cup of water. Mix the water and flour and as soon as the lumps are out it is ready for cooking. Have the skillet hot and keep it well greased. Drop the batter in and as soon as it is done on one side loosen it in the skillet and flip it over. Apple butter, syrup or cinnamon and sugar go well with the cakes.

While the crowd have taken the edge from their appetites with flapjacks the trout have been cooked and they and the bacon are ready to serve. The trout are crisp outside and firm and pink inside and the bacon is well done—but not too done. If there is anything better than that combination the writer has yet to taste it in a lifetime devoted largely and studiously to eating.

Hemingway’s article “Camping Out” first appeared in the Toronto Daily Star on 26 June 1920

William Faulkner’s Recipe for Curing Ham

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The following is from a 1942 letter from William Faulkner to his son-in-law William Fielden, instructing the young man on the author’s preferences for curing recently-slaughtered pork. From The Faulkner Journal Vol. 2, No. 1, Fall, 1986.

Curing Hams Shoulders Bacon

After the pieces are trimmed and thoroughly cooled, either by 24 hours of natural temperature or by artificial temperature NOT LOW ENOUGH TO FREEZE IT, that is, about 35 degrees F.

Lay the pieces flat, flesh side up, cover thoroughly with plain salt, about ¼ inch deep. Work saltpeter into the bone-joints and into the ends where the feet were removed, and into any other crevices or abrasions. Do this well and carefully, to prevent “blowing.” A slightly higher temperature will help the salt penetrate. Leave 24 hours.

After 24 hours, turn the pieces over SKIN SIDE UP, to drain. Sprinkle skin side with salt. I punch holes through the skin with an ice pick, to help draining. Leave 24 hours.

After 24 hours, turn the pieces flesh side up again, make a paste

½ plain salt

½ molasses, sugar, red and black pepper

just moist enough to spread over the pieces without flowing off. Leave 7 days.

After 7 days, make a paste

¼ plain salt

¾ molasses, sugar, red and black pepper

slightly more fluid than the first mixture, so that it will flow slowly over the pieces, penetrating the remains of last week’s treatment, dripping down the sides. Leave 7 days.

After 7 days, make a paste WITHOUT SALT

molasses, sugar, red and black pepper

fluid enough to cover the pieces without flowing off too much, cover the pieces and the residue of the two former treatments, leave seven days.

Hang the pieces and smoke with hickory or oak chips, keep it in smoky atmosphere for 2 to 7 days. The meat may be treated either before smoking or afterward with a preparation to prevent blow flies. Then wrap or enclose in cloth or paper bags and leave hanging until used.

Donald Barthelme’s Fine Homemade Soups

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DONALD BARTHELME’S FINE HOMEMADE SOUPS

My fine homemade soups are interesting, economical, and tasty. To make them, one proceeds in the following way:

Fine Homemade Leek Soup

Take one package Knorr Leek Soupmix. Prepare as directed. Take two live leeks. Chop leeks into quarter-inch rounds. Throw into Soupmix.

Throw in ½ cup Tribuno Dry Vermouth. Throw in chopped parsley.

Throw in some amount of salt and a heavy bit of freshly-ground pepper.

Eat with good-quality French bread, dipped repeatedly in soup.

Fine Homemade Mushroom Soup

Take one package Knorr Mushroom Soupmix. Prepare as directed.

Take four large mushrooms. Slice. Throw into Soupmix. Throw in ⅛ cup Tribuno Dry Vermouth, parsley, salt, pepper. Stick bread as above into soup at intervals. Buttering bread enhances taste of the whole.

Fine Homemade Chicken Soup

Take Knorr Chicken Soupmix, prepare as directed, throw in leftover chicken, duck, or goose as available. Add enhancements as above.

Fine Homemade Oxtail Soup

Take Knorr Oxtail Soupmix, decant into same any leftover meat (sliced or diced) from the old refrigerator. Follow above strategies to the letter.

The result will make you happy. Knorr’s Oxtail is also good as a basic gravy-maker and constituent of a fine fake cassoulet about which we can talk at another time. Knorr is a very good Swiss outfit whose products can be found in both major and minor cities. The point here is not to be afraid of the potential soup but to approach it with the attitude that you know what’s best for it. And you do. The rawness of the vegetables refreshes the civilization of the Soupmixes. And there are opportunities for mercy-if your ox does not wish to part with his tail, for example, to dress up your fine Oxtail Soup, you can use commercial products from our great American supermarkets, which will be almost as good. These fine homemade recipes work! Use them with furious enthusiasm.

From The Great American Writers’ Cookbook (ed. Dean Faulkner Wells, 1981).

Ursula K. Le Guin’s Crab Nebula Recipe

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Ursula K. Le Guin’s recipe for “Crab Nebula”–

Make a cream sauce with tablespoon butter, 2 tablespoons flour, 1 cup milk. Add about 1½ cup grated Tillamook cheese (or more—or less … if you are unable to obtain Tillamook, you may use any inferior American Cheddar, but the difference will be noticeable unless you have a calloused palate).

Now add about ½ pound? 2 cups?—Well, add enough crab. (If you are unable to obtain Pacific crab, you may use those flabby little Atlantic ones, or even lobster; but if you are reduced to King Crab, forget it.)

Flavor with sherry to taste, salt, pepper, parsley.

Serve on rice, or wild rice if you are J. Paul Getty, or English muffins, or whatever.

Le Guin’s recipe is collected in Cooking Out of This World (ed. Anne McCaffrey, 1973)

John Cage’s Homemade Bread

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5 cups vegetable purée or gruel (see note)
5 cups stone-ground wholewheat flour
4 tablespoons fresh minced dill
1 teaspoon salt

1. Combine purée and flour in a large mixing bowl. Mix thoroughly. If the mixture is too liquid to knead add more flour. If too dry add more liquid.

2. Knead the mixture for 10 minutes. Turn into an 8½ -by–4½ -by–2½ breadpan.

3. Bake in a pre-heated 375 degree oven for 1 hour 15 minutes.

4. Turn out onto a rack and cool.

Note: Mr. Cage uses leftover cooked vegetables such as broccoli, kale, spinach, carrots, celery, celery root and squash, which he purées in a food processor with vegetable stock or water. The bread has the consistency of a dense German pumpernickel and goes well with smoked salmon.

John Cage’s homemade bread recipe was published as part of an 18 March 1981 New York Times feature.

Mass-market Monday | Samuel R. Delany’s Empire Star

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Empire Star, Samuel R. Delany. Bantam Books (1983). No cover artist credited. 132 pages.

Although he is not formally credited, the cover artist is Wayne Barlowe. I still haven’t read Delany’s 1966 novella, but I think I might read it this weekend.