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 This
season saw a particularly excellent crop of cookbooks come to
the forefront. But one that stood out for me was The London
Cookbook by Aleksandra Crapanzano. When my copy came in the
mail, I opened up the stately, deep blue cover, which revealed enticing
pages of spectacularly simple, fresh food, the kinds I like, that are
being cooked in London today. Spiced Carrots with Freekeh
and Labneh,
Taktouka (harissa-spiced Berber vegetable stew), Ras el Hanout and
Buttermilk Cake, and Burnt Orange Chocolate Sorbet, turn the image of
British cooking upside down. Like most cultures, chefs, cooks, and bakers
in London have adapted ingredients, flavors from other places and
cuisines, incorporating them into theirs. And they’ve done it well.
Still, there are Potted Shrimp, Roast Corn and Chorizo Chowder, Short
Ribs with Chickpeas and Swiss Chard, Treacle-cured Pork Belly, and Ginger
Spiced Steamed Puddings with Rum Syrup, in The London Cookbook,
that hew closer to home.
I know from
firsthand experience that London restaurants and bakeries have revised
what we think of British food, and Aleksandra’s book isn’t just a
collection of recipes, but one of those books that you’ll want to sit
down and read (like I did), for the colorful stories that take you into
London kitchens, behind the scenes of the food revolution there, with
photos that will make you bookmark many of the recipes as you go, as
I have.
I liked the
book so much that I asked Aleksandra if she would share a story and
recipe from the book. Aleksandra grew up in Europe, spending time in
Paris with her family. This Apple Calvados Cake stood out in the book as
something that encompasses a slice of Britain, with a taste
of Normandy. I hope you enjoy meeting Aleksandra through her story,
and this Apple Calvados Cake, which is resolutely English, but infused
with the flavor of France. –
David
A Whiff of
Calvados by Aleksandra Crapanzano
It was in
Paris that I learned to shop. Or should I say, I learned to respect the
art of shopping, as my allowance only went so far. I was only ten when we
moved to Paris, but, even then, I loved to peer into the shop windows.
The bottles of vintage Calvados and Armagnac in the window of Maison Ryst
Dupeyron on the rue du Bac held a special allure. If I put my
face to the glass, I could make out the wood-paneled walls, the warm glow
of the lamps, the wood desk with its leather ledger. One day, my parents
took me inside. It was glorious. A serious place. A place of history.
Bottles dating back a hundred or more years. The propriétaire offered my
parents a taste of Calvados,
as they were choosing a bottle. My father held his glass out to me to
sniff. The beautiful, haunting smell was fiery with only a whisper of
apple to temper the flame. It was heady. It was grown-up. I fell in love.
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