Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

Cold Cucumber Soup

When it's incredibly hot outside, like it has been this month, standing by a hot stove is not something anyone wants to do. Grilling outside is another option, but when it's too hot to even do that, what do you do? Why not make a no-cook recipe, like a chilled soup? The cooling qualities of a cold soup are perfect on days where you need a refreshing respite from the sweltering heat. And there's no better way to achieve that than with a cold soup.

The tradition of cold, raw soups comes by way of Spain and their famous gazpachos. Originally, the recipe was made with just bread, garlic, and oil (bread and oil were the thickeners and garlic helped cool the body by way of sweating.) After the New World explorations, tomatoes were added to the recipe, creating what we know of today as the classic gazpacho. Many other nations have cold soups too, just think of borscht. In Hungary cucumber soup is very popular during summer. The pairing of cucumbers and yogurt is one that can be found in Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, and Indian cuisines. This recipe takes inspiration from all of these.

Louisa May Alcott’s Apple Slump

alt When my friend Sara from Culinerapy visited Concord, Mass. last year, she made a reader’s pilgrimage to Orchard House, the historic home of Louisa May Alcott. Since Sara and I (and half the women we know) share an abiding love for Alcott’s 1868 novel Little Women, she sent me a thoughtful souvenir: the author’s recipe for Apple Slump. It’s a homey, deliberately simple dessert, comfort cousin to fruit buckles, bettys, cobblers, grunts and pandowdys. Still, reading the calligraphy-script recipe, I could see where I might tweak it. And I thought, who am I to edit Louisa May Alcott?

Not editing, really. Finessing. Alcott may have mastered prose at the desk, but in the kitchen she was likely closer to Jo March, for whom the “bread burned black” and the “cream turned sour.” Making Apple Slump would be like cooking with Ms. Alcott’s domestically-challenged ghost, and while I cored and sliced I considered my years reading and rereading the March girls, picturing Amy’s limes, Meg’s vain high heels and lonely Jo in the attic with apples, writing and cursing scarlet fever, the villain that stole Beth. I regretted that my little tweaks – dash of vanilla, an extra apple – could not make Laurie come to his senses and dump Amy. Pecans would add crunch but they would never make Jo marry Laurie, nor bring Beth back. They’re a matter of personal taste, like my feelings about Meg wedding that dull John Brooke, and while they won’t change the story they can at least enhance Ms. Alcott’s kitchen legacy, and certainly perk up the Slump.

Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare