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is was surprised and delighted to see jacques pepin making hasty pudding -- or as he pronounced it ahh-sti* pudding -- the other night. he put apricot jam, cognac and almonds in it. i'm no hasty pudding fan, but put enough jam and cognac on anything and i'll eat it.

*i love the unaspirated french h. i also love the aspirated italian o -- as in you will eat the horange, yes?


Zut Alors! Jaques Pepin and ahstee pudding? The whole point of the poem is the contrast between the honest simple American values embodied by the pudding and fancy frenchness. What a difference 212 years makes.


One of my fave breakfasts, outside of the Pancake House, is creamy polenta with warm maple syrup, but all these years I never knew this is essentially Hasty Pudding. Huh.


And here I always thought cornmeal was beneath the French and only for livestock.

In all honesty, did anyone ever think polenta was that hard to make? And I'm not talking about the instant stuff.


i'm with you efb. what's hard about polenta? i guess it's the stirring that flummoxes bittman.

yes, coddie that's why i thought it was funny. i always thought you had to take off your make up, put on those buckle shoes and accuse everyone who has sex of being a witch in order to enjoy hasty pudding. i'm more inclined to leave out the parm and funghi now. what next baccala with a bolster on my butt? who knew italians and pilgrims had so much in common? maybe there's a pope in concord.


Yeah, the alleged difficulty of polenta is in the stirring.

You would have been terrified had you watched me try to make polenta the first time, ca. age 20, never having tasted it before. I used the old Joy recipe, which involved baking, in a dutch oven, for 45 minutes or something.


i like it fresh, hot and quivering, but i also like it the next day cold and solidified, sliced, fried in a little olive oil & butter, topped with a mixture of sauted wild mushrooms to which a touch of heavy cream and dry sherry have been added. maybe a little marscapone would be good in there. (like a tablespoon.) and some kind of cheese. parm yeah. but surely there is some more invententive cheese that can be done.

MORELS! MORELS! MORELS! what i have done for morels. i blush just thinking about it.


After getting my first taste of a yummy member of the fungi kingdom last night (in a dessert no less), I imagine that the candy cap mushroom would work well in many cornmeal dishes, either savory or sweet, given its maple-y flavor.


excuse me while i recherche . . .

i spent many a happy hour at harvest while i was serving time. i was alone, all alone,(the husband guarding the new york properties), and i was the only one i knew who had the wherewithal (or maybe just the gustatory yearning) to eat there. i overdid it probably.

my cohorts were happy enough with fajitas from the border cafe and a swing by bertuccis, but being from new york and older than they to boot, i needed to eat something.

i'd settle into a long slow night of martinis, bordeaux and some quite good food and ultimately oblivion (or at the very least distraction). of course that was moments before the english invaded.

boy it would it would be hilarious to eat with maxie and cod and the cinnie bon bon there -- if all that deja vu doesn't give me a panic attack.


Ah, yes the Harvest. Lunches at the Harvest in the 70s were a very special treat about once a year. What I recall from those days, when Border Cafe was still the Oxford Ale House, and Bertucci's still Bailey's, were the things at about my eye level: in those days they had banquettes upholstered in pucci-like fabric, and sugar packets (of interest to my single-digit aged self) festooned with a design reminiscent of Peter Max. My folks would go there for dinner, and I recall stories of whole pigs being roasted in the alley. In retrospect, it must have been an early East coast Panisse influenced joint. One could do a fabulous history of Cambridge in the 60s and 70s in that building--Design Research was upstairs, not to mention Camb 7 architects. Now, Crate and Barrel, a pale reflection of the orig Harvest, and a City Sports. Tempora, Mores!

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