I happened to be in the little Breton town of Quiberon last week. The town itself is a pleasant enough resort perched at the extreme end of a peninsula that juts into the Atlantic. The local specialities are caramels, crisp cookies made with butter and sea salt (think shortbread) and, most especiall, sardines. Several sardine factories offer their wares in stylish shops (yes even canned sardines have style in France). Above and beyond the cookie boutiques there are more pastry shops per acre than I've ever seen. And of rather high quality I might add. What caught my eye, though, was a patisserie that had decided to take the local fishy specialties in a totally different direction, mainly using sardines, mackerel, tuna and the like as fillings for macarons.
Weird? Yes. Good? I'm a little ambivalent there, though I should add that I only tried the sardine one which tasted, well, like a paste of sardines inside of a macaron. Very sweet and savory all at once. It would probably be intriguing in the right context. I'm not sure walking down the street was exactly it. Yves & Diane Deniard, 22 rue de Port Maria, Quiberon, France, +33 (0)2 97 50 19 87.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
One question that food historians just can’t resolve is just how much Arabic influence there is on medieval European food. Some have argued that medieval cuisine is little better than a distant echo of the glories of Baghdad and Cordova while others insist that the smattering of Middle-Eastern recipes in European cookbooks represents nothing more a few exotic dishes added to an otherwise indigenous repertoire. The more I read about Arabic cooking in 10th and 11th centuries, the more I am inclined to go with the first view. Of course Arabic cooking itself didn’t appear out of a vacuum. You could probably argue that it was a synthesis of Persian and Byzantine styles with a dash of Indian, Turkic and Bedouin influence.
I thought a lot about this when I was doing research for may last book, Sweet Invention: A History of Dessert, since it was unquestionably the Arabs who introduced sugar cultivation to the Europeans. Along the way, they gave us such things as custard, cannoli and marzipan (and possibly puff pastry and sponge cake). What I didn’t think they gave us was sugar sculpture, which became all the rage in the Renaissance, a fad that continued well into 18th century not only in Christendom but the Ottoman Empire too. I didn’t even believe it when I read about it in Sidney Mintz’s brilliant Sweetness and Power, figuring his information was second hand. Who ever heard of Islamic sculpture? Well a lot I knew.
|Photo: Metropolitan Museum of Art, Sculpture: Ivan Day|
Admittedly, the evidence for medieval Arab sugar sculpture is pretty skimpy. The cookbooks don’t give any instructions for making the kind of sugar paste necessary to make it but there is one source that is pretty explicit, mainly Nāṣir-i Khusraw, a Persian visitor to Fatimid Egypt. "The last day of Ramadan 440 (1049),” he writes, “they said that fifty thousands maunds [about 150,000 pounds] of sugar were appropriated for this day for the sultan's feast. For decoration on the banquet table I saw a confection like an orange tree, every branch and leaf of which had been executed in sugar, and thousand of images and statuettes in sugar..." Now let’s say his numbers were a little off, even so there must have still been many, many sugar sculptures. I asked Ellen Kenney, a professor of Islamic art at Cairo’s American University whether this seemed plausible and she wasn’t fazed. She writes, “Nāṣir-i Khusraw is a reliable narrator… and statuary in the medieval Islamic context is not unheard of by any means. Especially in palaces, figural sculpture is known from descriptions and archaeological contexts, fashioned from more durable materials than sugar. For example, the Fatimid palace in Cairo reportedly contained sculptures of gold (I think portraits of the royal family) and I believe examples of figural statues in stucco were excavated at a Ghaznavid palace in modern Afghanistan.” She points to an (admittedly Persian) sculpture in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum. The Met website offers a brief outline of the Fatimid art (including figurative sculpture) that confirms Professor Kenney’s point.
Not that any of this proves a direct connection between renaissance Italian sugar sculpture (or spongade as it was known in Venice) and the medieval Arab variety but it does seem implausible that the Italians, who depended on the Arab world for all their early sugar imports, wouldn’t have picked up the idea of making sculpture out of the sweet stuff along the way. The additive typically added to the sugar to make it hold together was tragacanth gum and guess where that comes from? Yup, the Middle East.
Again, there is no way to make a connection but one of the best known reports of sugar sculpture in the Ottoman Empire comes from the seventeenth- century Turkish travel writer Evliyâ Çelebi who describes a sweet makers’ parade that concluded with the sugar artists of Galata, who sold fruit preserves and candied fruit that, which, for the procession, they mounted and carried on cypresses and fruit trees made entirely of sugar. I had assumed that these confectioners were of Western European origin since the Galata neighborhood tended to be populated by Venetians and other Italians. But who is to say that the tradition hadn’t been kept up in the Middle East? Nāṣir-i Khusraw’description of a sugar tree is awfully suggestive of an Egyptian connection. I haven’t come across any mentions of sugar trees in the Italian context. It is, of course perfectly possible that the tradition developed in one place (Egypt?) was refined in another (Venice?) and adapted in yet a third (Istanbul?). Suffice it to say that this sort of inquiry tends to bring up more questions than it answers.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Health obsessions come and go. You will recall the successive demonization of fat, cholesterol, trans-fats and the great anti-carb crusade. The last of these caused perfectly rational people to convince themselves that a diet of bacon cheeseburgers was perfectly OK as long as you abjured the bun. I suspect 2011 will be recalled as the year when demon sugar caught the fancy of the nutritional exorcists. And don’t think this is an isolated American phenomenon, I just read a long article about how sugar is leading us to damnation in the Czech Republic’s foremost financial paper, Hospodarske Noviny (here’s the link if you happen to read Czech). Nonetheless, the American health-advice industry still leads the world: just read Gary Taubes “Is Sugar Toxic?” New York Times article from last April. That piece was largely devoted to examining claims made by Robert Lustig, a specialist on pediatric hormone disorders and childhood obesity at UCSF. Lustig makes no bones about it: sugar is poison and it is evil. By the end of the article Taubes appears largely convinced. “Sugar scares me too,” he writes and worries about giving it to his sons.
Lustig’s argument is not that too much sugar is bad but rather that any amount of refined sugar is bad. It’s like saying that because rhubarb contains oxalic acid (which can cause health problems) strawberry rhubarb pies should be banned. Americans have a tendency, though, to label food “good” or “bad.” If you eat the good stuff you will be svelte and fabulous and never die and if you eat the bad you will go straight to hell wearing XXXL sweats from Walmart. Subtlety does not make careers or sell newspapers.
So why can’t we just be sensible about all of this? I think it has a lot to do with the fundamentally puritan nature of our culture. At the root of this is the idea that pleasure is sinful. Abstaining from pleasure (especially such sensual pleasures as sex and food) will ensure you a place in heaven while self-indulgence will send you straight to hell. Sometimes the vocabulary makes this self-evident. Sugar is “demonized.” It is “evil.” Sometimes it’s more subtle than that. There is a widely held belief that it is up to you to determine how long you live. The more discipline you have, the better you are able to control your natural urges, the closer you can get to life everlasting. The good (those who haven’t succumbed to their instincts) get to play golf in the Elysian fields well into their nineties, while the bad (who lived on Coke and KFC) are punished with an early, painful end. This is the secular answer to heaven and hell but there is the same moralizing quality. When citing various studies on the effects of diet, journalists often write that eating or not eating ingredient X lowered the study participants’ death rate. Of course what they mean is the death rate from a particular disease but that’s not the way it reads. To the best of my knowledge, our death rate remains 100% no matter what we do or eat.
We are hard-wired to like sugar much as we are designed to enjoy sex. Pleasure has an evolutionary basis. In nature, foods that are sweet are invariably not poisonous whereas bitterness signals danger. In many cultures children’s first taste of real food is something sweet and kids naturally gravitate to sweet foods. Does that mean that they should be indulged with a diet of Cocoa Pebbles and soda? Of course not, but neither should they be told that those things are “bad.” They need to learn that pleasure has its time and place; otherwise they will only associate it with being drunk in the back seat of a borrowed car—and regret it the next day. There is a twisted logic at work here: if pleasure is sinful you can only get pleasure from sinful activities and thus the greater the transgression the greater the pleasure. You will notice that the term “sinfully rich” does not occur in Catholic Europe, but to us “sinful” is just a synonym for “pleasurable.”
Sugar has long been a natural target for those who wish to save our souls. Well before the current sugar-bashing fad, sugar was associated with the miseries of the slave trade and, while it is undoubtedly true that European sugar consumption habits in the 17th and 18th centuries were the primary cause of the transatlantic slave trade and its associated horrors, it does not follow that sucrose is somehow malevolent. Was the sugar produced by peasant farmers in India during this time more virtuous? Or the beet sugar produced after 1800 morally superior? Certainly 19th century abolitionists thought so (there was a movement to boycott slave-grown sugar in the early 1800s). Some made this explicit, describing consuming slave-grown sugar as partaking “of other men’s sins” and the need to refrain from the pleasures of the tea table to safeguard their own virtue. (See Lectures on Slavery, 160).
More recently (in the 1970s) sugar was linked with hyperactivity in children though the consensus among researchers is that no such link exists.
Undoubtedly the current sugar witch hunt will come and go leaving people ever more conflicted and confused about what is on their plate and ever guiltier about each and every pleasure. But in the meantime I have every intention of enjoying my next donut or that slice of tarte au citron and feeling virtuous pleasure with every bite.