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Three years ago, on Thanksgiving morning, I gathered all the ingredients—lettuce, salami, prosciutto, aged provolone cheese, roasted red peppers, black olives, stuffed green olives and marinated mushrooms, eggplant and artichokes—for the coveted antipasto salad.

The salad is actually rather simple to make, and yet my family glorifies it as an art form. We eat it only on holidays, and, in recent years, it has become my job to assemble the dish, as family members congregate—and commentate—around the kitchen counter. (I’ll be making one for Christmas.) Layering the meats, cheeses and vinegary vegetables in the right way is key, and my older brother is usually quick to point out if I do things in the wrong order—or to slap wandering hands attempting to pluck olives.

On this particular Thanksgiving though, it was my boyfriend Ryan who was the first to question the artist’s methods. “I think you forgot something,” he said. I shot him a look, or so I’m told, as if to say, how would you know? (He partook in the antipasto tradition with my family at previous Thanksgivings, but wasn’t a fan. According to him, the eggplant is too slippery, and the mushrooms are, well, mushrooms.)

He ducked into the laundry room and, when he returned, planted a ring box on the countertop in front of me. Now, most people would think this an odd time for a marriage proposal. Luckily, I hadn’t yet dunked my hands into the jar of oily artichokes. But to me, it was perfect. The making and eating of antipasto at holidays is a family tradition, and he was becoming family.

As far as I know, the family tradition began with my Italian Grandma Bellino, teaching her daughter, my Aunt Bella, how to arrange the platter. Aunt Bella, in turn, taught my mother, who then taught me. But I’m sure I come from a longer line of antipasto makers. Meaning “before the meal,” antipasto has long been the first course of formal Italian feasts.

The dish, as chef and Mediterranean cooking expert Joyce Goldstein notes in her 2006 book Antipasti, has and continues to go by a number of names. In early Roman times, it was called antecoena (before the cena or “meal”) and gustatio or gustum (from the verb gustare, meaning “to enjoy”). But today, Italians might call it stuzzichini (from stuzzicare, “to pick”) or assaggi, meaning “little tastes.” Perhaps my favorite term, used in Puglia, the heel of Italy’s boot, is apristomaco. Translation: stomach opener. Any Italian can appreciate that.

Apparently, to arrange the meats, cheeses and vegetables over a bed of lettuce, as we do, is an Italian-American interpretation (celebrity chefs Giada De Laurentis and Rachel Ray have their own recipes, even more heavy on the greens). The more authentic approach is to serve a spread of sliced meats, cheeses, seafood and grilled or marinated vegetables as appetizers at room temperature (more like these renderings by the Barefoot Contessa Ina Garten and Martha Stewart). A popular trend now is to turn antipasti (plural of antipasto) into a meal, as people do with Spanish tapas—something I can certainly endorse.

Mangia!

The action of Truman Capote’s 1956 short story “A Christmas Memory” is set into motion when a nameless sixty-something woman looks out her kitchen window and exclaims, “Oh my, it’s fruitcake weather.” Thus, she and her dearest friend, her 7-year-old, live-in cousin Buddy, begin amassing supplies for a seasonal four-day baking spree—which involves everything from snitching fallen nuts from a neighbor’s pecan grove to procuring a quart of bootleg whiskey. However, on learning how his spirits are going to be used, the bootlegger flippantly remarks, “That’s no way to waste good whiskey.”

In spite of the goodwill and Christmas cheer fruitcakes are intended to embody, they are the running joke of the modern holiday season. Late-night comedian Johnny Carson got his digs in with lines like: “There is only one fruitcake in the entire world and people keep passing it around.” In English slang the word has come to mean someone who is eccentric or flat-out insane, while in Manitou Springs, Colorado there is an annual fruitcake toss where unwanted loaves are bid adieu by medieval means—namely, catapults. There seems to be a cultural expectation that we collectively loathe this token baked good.

But can fruitcake really be as bad as all that? That’s hard to believe given its staying power, culturally speaking. The ancient Romans made a mishmash of barley, pomegranate seeds, nuts and raisins as a sort of energy bar; however the modern fruitcake can be traced back to the Middle Ages as dried fruits became more widely available and fruited breads entered Western European cuisine. But variations on the fruitcake started springing up: Italy’s dense, sweet-and-spicy panforte (literally, “strong bread”) dates back to 13th century Sienna; Germany’s stollen, a tapered loaf coated with melted butter and powdered sugar that’s more bread-like in consistency, has been a Dresden delicacy since the 1400s and has its own annual festival; and then there’s black cake in the Caribbean Islands, a boozy descendant of Britain’s plum pudding where the fruit is soaked in rum for months, or even as long as a year. The tradition of making fruitcakes for special occasions such as weddings and holidays gained in popularity in the 18th and 19th centuries and due to the cost of the materials, it was a grand indulgence. But, as with many traditions, how this confection came to be exclusively associated with Christmas season is a mystery.

Another mystery is the point at which the fruitcake fell from grace. Perhaps one nail was driven into the coffin in the early 20th century when mass-produced mail-order fruitcakes became available, creating the regrettably classic image of a dry, leaden cake encrusted with garish candied fruits and pecans. But since some of the companies producing these things have been in business for decades, this isn’t an entirely satisfactory answer. They must be doing something right, right?

Personally, I’m a fan of the homemade stuff. This time of year I enjoy remembering people through food, and I crack out the family recipes that distinguished the Christmas season. Among them is Great Grandma Reamer’s fruitcake, and although I never knew her personally, I know this one dish of hers and every year her guarded, liquor-kissed blend of dried fruits and miniature marshmallows is thrown together in my kitchen. And this holiday season I made my first attempt at making panforte, mainly because every year the Italian side of my family always remarks on how hard it is to find that particular fruitcake in the stores. We’ll see if mine passes muster come Christmas morning.

You may have to employ the scientific method of trial and error before you find a fruitcake recipe that pleases your palette, but I dare you to give it a try. With all the international and regional variations out there to try—and even a recipe championed by Good Eats chef Alton Brown—you may end up creating a positive fruitcake tradition of your own. And for those of you looking for the recipe that’s only vaguely described in “A Christmas Memory,” check out Fruitcake by Truman Capote’s aunt Marie Rudisill. She is perhaps best known for her guest appearances on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno under her stage name “The Fruitcake Lady.”

For this round of Inviting Writing, we asked you to tell us about “first tastes”—interesting initial encounters with a particular food or drink. Today’s selected writer, Judy Martin of Cupertino, California, tells us about her first taste of hot peppers. Judy works for a medical device company and blogs about food at Tastemonials.

In the charitable season of the spirit, we’ve extended the submission deadline a few days! Send your stories to FoodandThink@gmail.com by Wednesday morning, Dec. 22.

The Heat Goes On
By Judy Martin

When I moved to California in 1984, I had limited experience with ethnic cuisine. My Chinese food repertoire included fried rice, egg rolls and Chung King chow mein from a can. The new town where I moved had a main street that was like the United Nations of dining, so it wasn’t long before I began to explore the unknown foods there.

Chinese food seemed approachable, and there was a restaurant where my husband and his coworkers ate lunch frequently that he thought I would enjoy. It was owned by a friendly couple who spoke very limited English. We began to dine there at least weekly and work our way through the menu. Before long, I was ready to tackle the items marked with their HOT symbol.

But as with ethnic food, I also didn’t have much experience with spicy. (I was raised mostly on canned and frozen food.) One night I ordered Hunan beef. It was a beautiful dish, featuring a rich caramelized sauce sprinkled with little red pepper flakes. I took a bite that included some of the beef, rice, and what I thought looked like a mushroom. Right about then, the chef/owner came to our table and saw me eat the first bite.

“NO EAT PEPPER!!!” he said waving his hands wildly. “FLAVOR ONLY!!!”

Well, it was too late. I had bitten into the hottest pepper I’d ever encountered and my mouth exploded. I had never experienced such a sensation. Sweat began to stream from every pore. I grabbed my glass of water. “NO WATER, NO WATER!!! RICE AND SALT!!” he urgently advised and demonstrated cramming my mouth full of rice.

I survived my first hot-pepper encounter thanks to that restaurant proprietor, and rather than being daunted, I was intrigued. I returned many more times to enjoy his cooking. Hunan beef became one of my favorites, the spicier, the better. I began to explore the flavors of peppers and developed a love for heat. Give me habaneros or Brazilian malaguetas any time; I’ll cook you a spicy dish that will make you sweat!

My son was five or six years old at the time of the pepper experience, and for a long time refused to eat Chinese food. The owner and his wife would come out and try to entice him with little treats, usually with no success. Once, after they had made a routine friendly visit to our table, our son asked us their names. I was embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know.

“But it’s on the window,” my son said. I didn’t understand what he meant. So he took us outside and pointed to the front window of the restaurant, which read: “Mandarin and Szechuan Cuisine.”

After that, we always referred to them as Mr. and Mrs. Cuisine. The restaurant eventually closed and they moved away, but we still remember them and their food fondly.

As Christmas draws closer, have you finished your shopping yet? If not, try turning to your local bookstore to find something for nearly everyone on your list:

The Aspiring Home Cook

Radically Simple: Brilliant Flavors with Breathtaking Ease, by Rozanne Gold. All the recipes in this lovely cookbook are described in 140 words or less, and many have only 5 ingredients, making even sophisticated-sounding dishes like “sauteed chicken with roasted grapes and grape demi-glace” quite approachable.

How To Repair Food, by Tanya Zeryck, John Bear and Marina Bear. The third edition of a perennially helpful classic that offers tips on everything from makeshift ingredient substitutions to stale marshmallows.

Williams-Sonoma: The Art of Preserving, by Rick Field with Rebecca Courchesne. An essential reference guide for anyone interested in making and cooking with their own canned and pickled produce.

The Original King Arthur Flour Cookbook: 200th Anniversary Commemorative Edition, by Brinna B. Sands. A sturdy, ring-bound classic devoted to all things flour-based, from pancakes to pie, and of course, bread.

The Cosmopolitan Foodie

My Calabria: Rustic Family Cooking from Italy’s Undiscovered South, by Rosetta Costantino with Janet Fletcher. The first cookbook to focus on Calabria, the region at the tip of Italy’s “boot,” its recipes celebrate ingredients like olives, anchovies, hot peppers… and pasta made on knitting needles.

Salted: A Manifesto on the World’s Most Essential Mineral, With Recipes, by Mark Bitterman. A fascinating tribute to the history and nuances of the many types of “artisan salt” in the world, written by a self-described “selmelier.” Includes a field guide to dozens of specific salts found in the Mongolian steppes, the deserts of Timbuktu and more.

Around my French Table: More than 300 Recipes from My Home to Yours, by Dorie Greenspan. The warm, conversational tone of Greenspan’s writing, combined with gorgeous photographs and tips about serving and storing, welcomes readers into the exciting world of French home cooking.

The Sweetheart

Ready for Dessert: My Best Recipes, by David Lebovitz. From classics like creme brulee to unique concepts like Guinness-gingerbread cupcakes, the Paris-based pastry chef’s heavenly-sounding recipes are anchored in his funny, down-to-earth style. (“If you don’t have a pepper mill, shame on you. Go get one.”)

The Perfect Finish: Special Desserts for Every Occasion, by Bill Yosses and Melissa Clark. A collection of 80 sure-to-impress recipes from the White House pastry chef, helpfully organized by occasion (birthdays, brunches, bring-to-a-party desserts, etc.).

The Carnivore

Good Meat: The Complete Guide to Cooking and Sourcing Sustainable Meat, by Deborah Krasner. A satisfyingly thick tome, broken down into chapters on beef, lamb, pork, rabbit, poultry and eggs. Includes recipes for every part of the animals, and explains the terminology and practices involved in meat production and processing.

Planet Barbecue: An Electrifying Journey Around the World’s Barbecue Trail, by Steven Raichlen. More than 300 grill-centric recipes from 60 countries, ranging from South African braai to Korean pork belly.

The Meat Lover’s Meatless Cookbook: Vegetarian Recipes Carnivores Will Devour, by Kim O’Donnel. As O’Donnel explains, the inspiration for this marvelous book was helping her mother come up with heart-healthy meals that would pass muster with the meat-loving man in her life, “Mister Sausage.” O’Donnel isn’t condemning carnivores, she’s simply asking them to take a day off: “Meatless Mondays.”

The Vegetarian

The Very Best of Recipes for Health, by Martha Rose Shulman. A collection of simple, healthy, largely vegetarian recipes from Shulman’s popular New York Times column, including nutritional analyses. Mediterranean chickpea salad, creamy cabbage soup, “rainbow tofu” and much more.

The Butcher and the Vegetarian: One Woman’s Romp Through a World of Men, Meat and Moral Crisis, by Tara Austen Weaver. This food writer’s memoir is both entertaining and thought-provoking, as she grapples with the relationship between her vegetarian upbringing and some serious health issues, and gets a crash course in the world of meat production and consumption.

The Nostalgic

The Essential New York Times Cookbook: Classic Recipes for a New Century, by Amanda Hesser. A hefty treasure chest, bursting with gems of culinary history culled from the newspaper’s archives by one of its best food writers.

As Always, Julia: The Letters of Julia Child and Avis DeVoto, edited by Joan Reardon. Fans of Julia Child will devour this collection of her personal correspondence with her friend and literary mentor Avis in the 1950s. Although the letters discuss much more than food, they offer a window into the process of recipe and testing and development for Child’s famous Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Memories of a Farm Kitchen, by Bob and Rob Artley. A charming and utterly unique memoir about growing up on a 200-acre farm in Iowa in the 1920s and 1930s, this homespun book recalls bygone days of icebox refrigerators, cellar larders, and ham hanging from the rafters.

The Pop-Culture Geek

Cooking With the Movies: Meals on Reels, by Anthony F. Chiffolo and Rayner W. Hesse, Jr. With recipes based on the foods featured in 14 different films, from 1985′s Tampopo through 2007′s Waitress, this could be the basis for some seriously fun dinner parties.

Culinary Ephemera: An Illustrated History, by William Woys Weaver. I’ve already told you how much I enjoyed this collection of vintage advertisements, food packaging, menus and tidbits of trivia from culinary history.

Or how about one of these cookbooks by non-culinary celebrities, like Dolly Parton or Coolio?

The Drinks Connoisseur

Boozehound: On the Trail of the Rare, the Obscure, and the Overrated in Spirits, by Jason Wilson. From the first chapter, titled “The Ombibulous Me,” this alcohol-soaked memoir from The Washington Post‘s Spirits columnist turns the esoteric into the entertaining. Includes dozens of cocktail recipes.

Whiskey: A Global History, by Kevin Kosar. This intriguing, stocking-stuffer-sized volume from the Alcohol Reviews blogger chases the history of whiskey around the world and through the ages, explains the differences between various types and includes several classic whiskey cocktail recipes.

The Great Domaines of Burgundy: A Guide to the Finest Wine Producers of the Cote D’Or, by Remington Norman and Charles Taylor (3rd edition). Serious oenophiles and/or Francophiles will savor this detailed reference book, which elucidates the methods and personalities at the heart of Burgundy’s best wines.

Vino Argentino: An Insider’s Guide to the Wines and Wine Country of Argentina, by Laura Catena. As described in a previous post, this is an excellent primer on the Argentine wine industry and its beloved malbecs.

The Kid

See our recent list of food-related children’s books.

On Monday, President Obama signed the Healthy, Hunger-Free Kids Act into law, a $4.5 billion expansion of the existing federal school lunch program that has been feeding tots for decades. The new bill ensures that meals will have more whole grains, lean proteins, fruits and vegetables, and it includes plans to expand after-school meal programs to all states. There are also provisions for enforcing nutrition standards for all food and beverages sold on campus, meaning the soda and snack vending machines currently littering cafeterias may go by the wayside. This is huge news for the health and well being of our nation’s kids. Promoting healthy living and fighting childhood obesity have been key issues for First Lady Michelle Obama, and these new standards for school lunches should encourage children to make balanced eating decisions as they grow up. With that in mind, let’s take a look at a few other major moments in the history of food legislation.

The Meat Inspection Act and The Pure Food and Drug Act: Upton Sinclair’s 1906 tell-all novel The Jungle was an exposé of the horrifically unsanitary conditions of the American meat packing industry. Public outcry was so great that not one but two acts of food production legislation were passed that same year: the Meat Inspection Act, which required government inspection of animals processed for human consumption, and the Pure Food and Drug Act, which gave the federal government jurisdiction over food in interstate commerce and prohibited misbranded food and drugs. Sinclair, who wrote the book hoping it would urge labor reforms, later quipped, “I aimed at the public’s heart, and by accident I hit it in the stomach.”

National School Lunch Act: School lunch programs began springing up across the United States in the late 19th century; however, as student populations grew, the state and local governments that funded these programs found themselves financially unable to continue providing the service. Federal assistance was necessary, and during the Great Depression, the government stepped in, buying surplus food from hard-pressed farmers and redistributing those resources to schools, which offered needy children cheap but nutritious lunches. The National School Lunch Act, passed in 1946, provided for the continuation of federally funded lunch programs, with schools receiving aid as long as they served meals that met federal nutritional guidelines.

Those nutritional guidelines came under fire in 1981 when the USDA, after Congress slashed child nutrition funding by $1 billion, proposed to adjust the guidelines and redefine what constituted a serving of vegetables: the revised language reclassified condiments such as ketchup and pickle relish as vegetables. While the resulting public outcry prevented this directive from getting off the ground, the USDA changed tactics and soon after implemented the “offer vs. serve” policy in elementary schools as a money-saving measure. Schools still had to offer the five federally mandated components of a school lunch (meat/meat alternate, bread/grain, two servings of fruit/vegetables and milk), but students could refuse any two. (Offer vs. serve had been an option for middle and high schools since 1977.)

The Nutrition Labeling and Education Act: This 1990 law standardized the now-ubiquitous black-and-white Nutrition Facts label you see on most of your groceries. This piece of legislation required all food products under the FDA’s purview to bear a label with a clear and easy-to-read breakdown of that food’s nutritional value, including vitamin, mineral and fat content. The FDA later required that other components be listed, such as trans fat content, which has appeared on the labels since 2006.

This list is by no means comprehensive, so if you would like a more thorough look at milestones in the federal regulation of our foodstuffs, check out this timeline from the FDA.