If you have not experienced John Thorne's writing, hie thee to a cookbook display and pick up Mouth Wide Open. John Thorne and his wife, Matt, have been writing about food since at least the '80s, and their first book, Simple Cooking, was filled with wit, reminiscence, food history and a sensibility that is timeless. This latest offering, their sixth, is no different--savory recipes mixed with rich prose.In his chapter on breakfast, he says this meal is usually a conservative one--"who wants to get all chefly first thing in the morning? On the other hand, impulse is harder to restrain when you're just up and you know that nobody's looking." That impulse was at work when he decided to save the ends of a baguette about to be tossed, fill them with a bit of butter and eggs and create baked Bread-cup Eggs. "It is especially pleasant to rescue something headed for the garbage and work a little bit of magic with it . . . even if the only person delighted with the trick is yourself."
In the chapter "Pasta with Anchovies," he starts, "The ruminative cook and your ordinary dog have at least this much in common--both have the most fun when let off the leash." He goes on to discuss a dish he has been messing about with for several months, Pasta Ammuddicata, spaghetti with anchovies. In the old days, ammuddicata--bread crumbs--elevated a simple dish into a treat. Nowadays, the anchovies are the special thing. So, off with the leash:
Brutal simplicity in cooking is a powerful force that can attract and repel in equal measure. For example, our Calabrian version is hardly as simple as pasta with anchovies gets. In The Fine Art of Italian Cooking, Giuliano Bugialli's formula is refined down to three ingredients [anchovies, olive oil and black pepper]. The hair-shirt severity of this has its own effect on the cook's imagination--more so, I suspect, than Bugialli intended. Take the common addition of garlic. Why, the ascetic might ask, gild the lily, when anchovies are the very epitome of pungency? The answer, of course, is that garlic expands pungency's flavor spectrum. In other words, the hair shirt calls out for the bed of nails. And that in turn provokes a desire for the lashing delivered by some fiery chile pepper, the astringent bite of parsley. "Anchovies?" replies our inner eremite right back to Brother Giuliano. "I'll give you anchovies . . ."
Thorne delights the reader with both food and words, and as he says, he doesn't follow recipes; he interacts with them. The cook who has this book will be able to enter into the conversation with delight.--Marilyn Dahl
Shelf Talker: Common sense and wit, along with an adventurous spirit, enliven this book of recipes and prose.