"Tender at the bone" Ruth Reichl

Dawno nie pisalam o zadnej ksiazce. Nie dlatego, ze nie czytam, ale dlatego, ze dlugo nie trafilam na nic ciekawego. Czy to kulinarnego, czy tez nie:) Zadowalalam sie, zwanymi przeze mnie, 'czytadlami autobusowymi', czyli lekkimi romansidlami, ktore nadaja sie w sam raz na droge do pracy, bo akcji nie trzeba sledzic detalicznie i mozna do nich wracac co kilka dni bez szkody dla zrozumienia akcji. Ale juz dawno, naprawde dawno zadna ksiazka nie zachwycila mnie tak, jak:

'Tender at the bone' polknelam w dwa dni. I nie moglam sie oderwac... I nie moglam jej odlozyc... I nie chcialam, zeby sie skonczyla... I zastanawialam sie, czy by przypadkiem nie 'przeoczyc' przystanku, zeby miec wiecej czasu na czytanie w spokoju, ale w okolicach polnocy, nie jest to najlepszy pomysl...

''This is a true story.

     Imagine a New York apartment at six in the morning. It is a modest apartment in Greenwich Village. Coffee is bubbling in an electric percolator. On the table is basket of rye bread, an entire cofee cake, a few cheeses, a platter of cold cuts. My mother has been making breakfast - a major meal in our house, ane where we sit down to fresh orange juice every morning, clink our glasses as if they held wine, and toast each other with ''Cheerio. Have a nice day''.

     Right now she is the only one awake, but she is getting impatient for the day to begin and she cranks WQXR up a little louder on the radio, hoping that the noise will rouse everyone else. But Dad and I are good sleepers, and when the sounds of martial music have no effect she barges into the bedroom and shakes my father awake.

     ''Darling'', she says, ''I need you. Get up and come into the kitchen.''

     My father, a sweet and accommodating person, shuffles sleepily down the hall. He is wearing loose pajamas, and the strand of hair he combs over his bald spot stands straight up. He leans against the sink, holding on to it a little, and obediently opens his mouth when my mother says, ''Try this.''

     Later, when he told the story, he attempted to convey the awfulness of what she had given him. The first time he said that it tasted like cat toes and rotted barley, but over the years the description got better. Two years later it had turned into pigs' snouts and mud and five years later he had refined the flavour into mixture of antique anchovies and moldy chocolate.

     Whatever it tasted like, he said ti was the worst thing he had ever had in his mouth, so terrible that it was impossible to swallow, so terrible that he leaned over and spit it into the sink and then grabbed the coffeepot, put the spout into his mouth, and tried to eradicate the flavour.

     My mother stood  there watching all this. When my father finally put the coffeepot down she smiled and said, ''Just as I thought. Spoiled!''

     And then she threw the mess into the garbage can and sat down to drink her orange juice.''

albo:

''I can make a meal out of anything'', Mom told her friends proudly. She liked to brag about 'Everything Stew', a dish she invented while she was concocting a casserole out of two-week-old turkey carcass. (The very fact that my mother confessed to cooking with two-week-old turkey says a lot about her.) She put the turkey and a half can of mushroom soup into the pot. Then she began rummaging around the refrigerator. She found some leftover broccoli and added that. A few carrots went in, and a half carton of sour cream. In a hurry, as usual, ahe added green beans and cranberry sauce. And then, somehow, half an apple pie slipped into the dish. Mom looked momentarily horrified. Then she shrugged and said, 'Who knows? Maybe it will be good.' And she began throwing everything in the refrigerator in along with it - leftover pate, some cheese ends, a few squishy tomatoes.''  

A to dopiero poczatek kulinarnych przygód... :):):)))))))))))))))))) Dalej jest opis przyjecia zareczynowego, dla starszego o 12 lat brata autorki, po ktorym to przyjeciu ciezko zatruta zostala cala rodzina przyszlej panny mlodej, oraz okolice, czyli zaproszeni goscie, w tym - lokalni dziennkarze. I przyjecia na setne urodziny cioci Birdie, ktora ciocia tak naprawde nie byla. A przyjecie zostalo uratowane przez sama Ruth, ktora zaserwowala dania z weselnego menu cioci: zupe z zielonych zolwi, smazone ostrygi i gotowanego na parze lososia.

Ksiazka dotyczy dziecinstwa, wczesnej mlodosci i poczatkow zainteresowania jedzeniem autorki. Tekst jest bardzo apetycznie poprzetykany  osobistymi przepisami pochdzacymi od rodziny i od osob, ktore Ruth spotkala na swojej drodze, jak: 'Aunt Birdies potato salad', 'Alice's apple dumplings with hard sauce', 'Coconut bread', 'Claritha's fried chicken', czy 'Mohammad's bisteeya'.  I ktorymi to przepisami, w miare postepow, i ja bardzo chetnie sie podziele. :):):)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))