It wasn’t long, though, before I started buying something here and there and trying it out. I had been through one bout of vegetarianism in the early ’70s thanks to my sister, who first brought whole wheat bread into our house, then granola and, still later yet, yogurt. But those early experiences were more along the line of diets than lifestyles, and did not last long. In the early ’80s, shopping at Whole Foods, however, I started to see the benefits and joys of using fresh whole foods in my cooking, and have slowly evolved over the years into the snobby gourmet foodie I am today, along with countless other Americans.

But I never really thought about how we got here, until I read David Kamp’s The United States of Arugula: How We Became a Gourmet Nation, coming out this month from Broadway Books. Kamp, a writer and editor for Vanity Fair and GQ and self-professed foodie, details the development of the gourmet movement in the United States and how the rise of fresh, organic, healthy, and exotic food movements have changed how we view the food we eat.

In a light, conversational tone, Kamp tells the story of how the big three - James Beard, Craig Claibourne, and Julia Child - each became instruments of major change in the American culinary world, Beard with his passionate commitment to the idea of an American cuisine as expressed in his best selling cookbooks, Claiborne, who raised food journalism to an entirely new level, and Child, who showed us that the intimidating art of French cooking could be learned by anyone. He then continues with the story of those who prospered in the wake of Beard, Claiborne and Child. Often in their own words and the words of those who know them, we get the story of Alice Waters and Jeremiah Tower of Berkeley’s Chez Panisse and the growth of the fresh and local movement that sparked the emergence of Community Service Agriculture (CSA) farms and farmers’ markets across the country, Wolfgang Puck in L.A. and the rise of the celebrity chef, Dean & Deluca, Zabar, E.A.T. and The Silver Palate in New York, who raised our perceptions of Italian food from pizza and macaroni to extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and parmigiano reggiano, and introduced us to the concept of artisanal and specialty foods.

While reading this book, I was struck with moments of humorous recognition of some of the food fads of the last couple of decades to which I have succumbed - fondue, quiche, sun-dried tomatoes, free-range chickens and Portobello mushrooms to name a few. But I was also pleased to recognize that mostly, what I have learned has helped me broaden my culinary horizons to embrace the broadest range of foods and cuisines available to me, and to bring them into my life and my kitchen. And thanks largely to the work of the chefs, critics and purveyors Kamp writes about, my reach is virtually unlimited.

The story of how we became a gourmet nation is a fascinating one, and David Kamp tells it with humor, insight, knowledge, and obvious love. While some people, often myself included, bemoan the fact that Americans are eating more processed foods and making poorer eating choices every year, Kamp argues that, on the contrary, today there are more choices than ever before thanks to the influence of the big three and their successors. He definitely has a point.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. If you have any interest in food or cooking, you will too.

The United States of Arugula: How We Became a Gourmet Nation, by David Kamp (Broadway Books, 2006).

If you answered yes to either of those questions, you may just be ready to start a tasting club. That’s just what author Dina Cheney suggests in her new book, Tasting Club: Gathering Together to Share and Savor Your Favorite Tastes.

While I have exaggerated the tone of the introduction to her book, I was a little put off by the hint of condescension in Ms. Cheney’s opening words. But I have forgiven them for two reasons: 1) She is just trying to sell her concept, and 2) It’s a darned good concept.

With so many exotic types and foreign brands of foods available to us these days, it was inevitable that our tastes would expand and our palates become more sophisticated. What better way to take advantage of this new abundance of choice than to bring together several samples of a particular food and compare and contrast them? And if your friends are as opinionated and discriminating as mine are, it can certainly make for a lively evening.

In Tasting Club, Dina Cheney provides everything you need to hold tastings for wine, chocolate, cheese, honey, tea, extra virgin olive oil, cured meats, balsamic vinegar, apples, and beer. If you hold one tasting a month, you almost have a year’s worth of tastings right there. And the way she presents her suggestions, it would be easy to come up with an unlimited range of foods for future tastings.

Each section is thorough. She begins by giving an in-depth background for each food, describing how it is made and providing a run-down of different types, and telling you how to locate and select your choices. Each section offers a sample menu, with recipes, for possible accompaniments, and provides a Tasting Grid (unique to each tasting) to show what to look for in the tasting, and a glossary of terms related to the item.

So even if you do have the time and knowledge to cook and are not running out of ideas for dinner parties, a tasting club can be a lovely way to spend an evening.

Rating: 8 out of 10

Pros: Dina Cheney provides everything you need to host a successful tasting for a range of foods.

Cons: The tone is a little condescending, especially in the introduction.

Tasting Club: Gathering Together to Share and Savor Your Favorite Tastes, by Dina Cheney (DK Publishing, 2006).

There has been an explosion in the use of spices in the United States these days, not least of which is in my own kitchen, thanks in large part to our growing awareness of and interest in the cuisines of other countries. We have been the beneficiaries as groups of immigrants have settled into our cities and opened restaurants that offer their native dishes. TV cooking shows have also increased our exposure to ingredients outside our regional comfort zone and awakened our desires to try more exotic herbs and spices.

When I first ventured out into the land of exotic spices, I was looking for some kind of guide to help me on my journey. I found Jill Norman’s Herbs & Spices: The Cook’s Reference to be the most handy. This comprehensive reference is the first fully illustrated guide to herbs and spices. And the illustrations are stunningly gorgeous.

Jill Norman is considered to be the heir to Elizabeth David, whose books on food and cooking are classic. According to her bio on Penguin’s website:

Jill’s expertise in herbs and spices has reached such a wide audience that she is frequently asked to identify spices, sent in small amounts to her by people all over the world. Other people who have bought herbs marked, vaguely, “culinary” in garden centres ring up to ask what to do with them. Recently, Encyclopedia Britannica asked Jill to be their expert to update all of their entries on herbs and spices.

One of the most attractive aspects of this book is the way the spices are arranged. Instead of an encyclopedic, alphabetical listing, over 120 herbs and spices are categorized by aroma and taste. This makes it much easier to substitute one spice for another with some assurance that the end result will be similar, or at least complementary, to the original recipe. The book has divided herbs and spices into two separate sections, but in the introduction Norman explains that different cultures classify them differently depending on whether they are fresh or dried. She decided to use the European usage, where herbs are herbs and spices are spices whether fresh or dried.

There is a wonderful section of recipes and techniques at the back. What I found the most valuable are the pages of herb and spice mixtures, sauces and condiments. It’s the most thorough collection I’ve seen, and by all accounts due to Norman’s reputation, the recipes are authentic.

Herb’s & Spices is a must have for any serious chef or food lover.

Rating: 9.5 out of 10

Pros: Beautiful illustrations; concise, in-depth information; comprehensive; excellent recipe section including over 100 recipes for spice mixtures and sauces. And at $30.00 U.S., it’s an incredible bargain.

Cons: Ok, if I have to - there is little information on the cultural history of the spices and herbs.

Herbs & Spices: The Cook’s Reference, by Jill Norman (DK Publishing, 2002)

Muhammara, like many middle eastern recipes, is claimed by just about every country, so it’s hard to determine exactly where it originated. It’s spicy with a subtle sweet backbite and is delicious with pita, toast, or spread on roasted eggplant and rolled, as presented in Spice. I chose not to serve it with the roasted eggplant (see above re: too hot to use the oven), and instead bought a round of sturdy wheat bread at my local farmers’ market. I braved the broiler for ten minutes to make crostini.

I didn’t have Aleppo or Urfa chilies on hand, so I substituted the two I did have–Guajillo and Pasilla. While I think the taste works just fine, neither of those chilies is spicy enough. I plan to make this again, and I will definitely find the proper chilies.

I also didn’t have pomegranate molasses, so I bought some 100% pomegranate juice and cooked 1 cup on a high simmer for about half an hour, reducing it to around 1/3 of a cup.

The most time-consuming part of this recipe was roasting the red peppers. The book provides instructions for both oven roasting and charring over an open gas flame, which would be helpful to someone who has not roasted peppers before.

Once the peppers were roasted, peeled and seeded, it was easy to combine the rest of the ingredients and blend them. If this recipe is any indication, the rest of the recipes in the book should be easy to follow, and as delicious.

My only critique is that it thickened up a bit too much in the refrigerator. I would cut the amount of bread crumbs (or omit them entirely), or add some water.

Note: If you decide not to use the eggplant, only use 1/4 cup olive oil, plus the 1 Tbsp for garnish.

1 whole eggplant, peeled
3/4 cup olive oil plus 1 Tbsp for garnish
2 large red bell peppers (about 1 lb. total), roasted and peeled
4 whole scallions, root ends trimmed and finely chopped (reserve 1 Tbsp for garnish)
1 tsp chopped garlic (about 1 large clove)
1/3 cup walnut halves, lightly toasted
1/3 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted, plus 1 Tbsp for garnish
1/2 cup finely ground toasted bread crumbs
1 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice (almost 1/2 lemon)
1 Tbsp pomegranate molasses
1 Tbsp Aleppo chilies plus 1/2 tsp for garnish
1 Tbsp Urfa chilies plus 1/2 tsp for garnish
1 tsp ground cumin
1 Tbsp yogurt
3/4 tsp salt plus more to taste

Preheat the oven to 350 deg. F.

Slice the eggplant lengthwise as thinly as you can (no thicker than 1/4 inch), into 8 slices. Discard the rounded ends or roast for another use.

Place the eggplant slices on a heavy baking sheet and brush them generously using 1/2 cup of the olive oil or more (give or take a couple of tablespoons, depending on the size of the eggplant) on both sides. The eggplant should absorb the oil and not look dry. Place the eggplant slices in the oven and roast them until soft, about 10 minutes. Set aside to cool.

Remove as many seeds from the red peppers as you can and place them in a small mixing bowl. Add the scallions, garlic, walnuts, pine nuts, bread crumbs, lemon juice, pomegranate molasses, Aleppo and Urfa chilies, cumin, yogurt, and the remaining 1/4 cup of olive oil. Stir to combine.

Using a food processor fitted with a metal blade, puree the ingredients until smooth. Season to taste with salt.

Lay each eggplant slice down and place a heaping tablespoon of the pepper mixture at one end of the eggplant.

Roll up the eggplant, making a little bundle or roulade. Cut the roulade in half, making bite size pieces. Serve at room temperature garnished with some toasted pine nuts or walnuts, chopped scallions, a drizzle of olive oil, and a squeeze of lemon. Sprinkle with more Aleppo and/or Urfa chilies if you like things spicier.

from Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean, by Ana Sortun (ReganBooks, 2006)

Lately, I’ve become obsessed with spices. It might be due to the monthly spice challenge Barbara Fisher started over at Tigers & Strawberries, or it might just be that I’ve become brave enough to venture into cuisines that are outside of my habitual comfort zone.

Whatever the reason, I can’t get enough of them, especially the warm, pungent flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean and India. So when I got my hands on a copy of Ana Sortun’s Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean, I couldn’t wait to jump in.

Trained in classic regional French cooking and wine at La Varenne in Paris, Sortun began her career working for Moncef Meddeb as the chef at Aigo Bistro in Concord, Massachusetts, where she began to understand how much the Arabic world influenced French cuisine. But it wasn’t until, as chef at Casablanca in Harvard Square, she was sent to Turkey by the owner and spent several weeks immersed in the foods and traditions of that country that she felt the possibilities of blending Western technique with the exotic spice blends of the Middle and Near East.

In 2001, Sortun opened the award-winning Oleana in Cambridge, Massachusetts, which is known for its unique Arabic-Mediterranean food. Her dishes illustrate how the artful use of spices and herbs serve to highlight the full rich flavors of Mediterranean cuisine. The next logical step was this cookbook, with which she hopes to show readers how to use her philosophy of spices to create wonderful dishes in their own homes.

Unlike other cookbooks, which are most often organized by meal order . . . or ingredients . . . this book is organized by spice and herb groupings or families. In chapter 1, for example, I’ve grouped cumin, coriander, and cardamom together because they complement one another and can be used in similar applications. This way, you can become familiar with the wonderful individual qualities of each spice as well as the ways you can combine them to enrich your dishes.
–from the introduction

Halfway through the first recipe–Carrot Puree and Egyptian Spice Mix with Nuts and Olive Oil–I was intrigued. By the time I got to Seared Salmon with Egyptian Garlic and Coriander Sauce a few pages later, I was drooling. And it just got better from there. Just the name of Spicy Fideos with Chickpeas, Vanilla, and Saffron tells you everything you need to know about this dish. Persian Fried Chicken uses the Persian method of marinating chicken in yogurt and saffron, then flours and fries it in a distinctly non-Persian tradition. Sweet Potato Bisteeya is a delicious-sounding vegetarian version of a classic Moroccan pie usually made with chicken or squab. Garlic and Almond Soup takes a classic Provencal dish and gives it a Spanish twist.

With each recipe, Sortun gives the traditional origin of the dish and describes how she has changed it. This helps the reader both understand the original structure of the dish and learn new possibilities for innovation. While several of the ingredients will be unfamiliar to some readers, information is given on how to acquire each one.

The only real problem I had with the book is with the illustrations. There is a 16-page insert of glossy color photos in the middle of the book that are absolutely stunning, but the rest of the photographs are sepia-toned, and I had a hard time in many cases figuring out exactly what they were supposed to be illustrating. They were pretty, and artistic, but not entirely helpful. But that’s a small quibble taken against the overall quality of the book.

Ana Sortun has followed her passion to the eastern shores of the Mediterranean, seeking out fragrances, flavors, and techniques with infectious enthusiasm, then recreating them in this delightful book. If Spice doesn’t make you want to get on the next boat to Istanbul, it will surely drive you into the kitchen to try your hand at these delectable combinations.
–Nancy Jenkins, Author of The Essential Mediterranean

I couldn’t have said it better myself. I can’t wait to get into the kitchen to try some of these wonderful recipes and techniques.

Rating: 9.5

Pros: A truly innovative collection that not only inspires one to rush into the kitchen and start cooking, but encourages one to think more creatively about other ways to combine spices in unique ways. Sortun provides interesting, helpful information about each spice, its history and common usage, and provides suggestions for different ways to use them.

Cons: The sepia-toned photos, while artistic, don’t illustrate techniques, which would have been helpful.

Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean, by Ana Sortun (HarperBooks, 2006)

Photo courtesy of www.simonsays.com

There’s an interview with Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore’s Dilemma, at Truthdig.com that caught my interest. In July of 2002, The New York Times Magazine published an article which reported that a growing number of respected nutritionists were beginning to conclude that carbohydrates, not fats, were the main cause of America’s obesity problems.

“Almost overnight,” the article says, “in Pollan’s estimation, bakeries went out of business, dinner rolls in New York restaurants went the way of the pterodactyl, and pasta became regarded as a toxin.”

Pollan is then quoted as saying: “These foods were wonderful staples of human life for thousands of years . . . and suddenly we’ve decided that they’re evil. Any culture that could change its diet on a dime like that is suffering from an eating disorder, as far as I can see.”

And that to me, sums up America’s diet and health strategies in a nutshell. We’re so eager to find a “quick fix” to our problems that we tend to jump from fad to fad, listen to anyone who says they’ve found the answer, label foods from “good” to “bad” overnight (and sometimes back to “good” again by the next day), and food manufacturers get rich pandering to our gullibility by producing “lite” “low-fat,” “low-carb,” or the newest incarnation–”whole grain”–products.

With so many people telling us so many things for so many reasons, it’s hard to know where to look to get accurate information that will help us make good decisions about how and what we should be eating. How do we wade through all of the information that’s out there?

One solution is a book written by the chairman of the Department of Nutrition at the Harvard School of Public Health, Walter C. Willett, M.D. It’s called Eat, Drink and Be Healthy, and it’s full of helpful information.

Based on two decades of research, Eat, Drink and Be Healthy takes each step of the USDA food pyramid, outlines what the current research has shown, and offers suggestions on how to decide what to eat, how often, and what to avoid. The book is informative and accessible; the information is clearly laid out and easy to understand.

I was lucky enough to find this book when I was first trying to change the way I was eating. It both confirmed the direction in which I was heading, and helped me understand why it was good that I was taking those particular steps, like changing to whole foods, eliminating trans fats, and eating more fruits and vegetables and less meat. I liked the straightforward way Willett addresses each subject, and the non-preachy way he suggests the best foods to eat. Foods aren’t labeled “good” or “bad”; Willett just lists their properties and makes recommendations about how often or sparingly certain foods should be used.

There’s a section of suggested recipes and menus at the end of the book, which includes a piece on how to read labels and what to look for at the grocery store.

In a world where information is thrown at us from several different directions at once, it’s a relief to find a source of information where the only bias is provided by research.

Eat, Drink and Be Healthy, by Walter C. Willett, M.D. (Fireside, 2002; updated 2005)

In The Perfectionist: Life and Death in Haute Cuisine, Rudolph Chelminski attempts to answer that question. Having met Loiseau early on in his career and followed his rise in the French culinary world, Chelminski was perfectly situated to tell Loiseau’s story.

Born to a traveling salesman and the daughter of a butcher, at seventeen Bernard Loiseau became apprenticed with Pierre and Jean Troisgros at Les Freres Troisgros. From there he went to Paris, where he came under the wing of Claude Verger, a robot coupe (predecessor to the food processor) salesman who saw a niche for cooking that was simpler, lighter, and less abundant than the traditional, heavier fare of traditional French cuisine. At Verger’s restaurant La Barriere de Clichy, Loiseau quickly made a name for himself as an innovate interpretor of Verger’s style. Dishes at La Barriere were prepared a la minute and served without the heavy butter and cream sauces of traditional French fare, but rather with just the small amounts of oil used to cook the dishes.

In 1975, Verger bought La Cote D’or, a three-star establishment under Alexandre Dumaine which had lost its stars in the decade since Dumaine’s death. He sent Loiseau there to run it for him and then, after Loiseau had brought it back up to two stars, let him buy it for himself. During this period Loiseau continued to perfect “le style Loiseau,” finally earning his third star in early 1991.

An outgoing, explosive personality, Loiseau was a master at working the press and the critics. He never missed a promotional opportunity and was constantly manipulating possibilities for publicity in his quest to be the best.

In addition to the usual stresses associated with the struggle to maintain perfection, there were other factors at play in Loiseau’s story. According to Chelminski, changing trends in French cuisine was one of them. Throughout the nineties, people were looking for something new and innovative, and any chef who stuck with tradition risked being labeled Ringard–corny, rinky-dink, passé. And because of the meteoric rise to fame that caused him to bypass the usual years of working every station of a restaurant,

. . . he had large holes in his technical knowhow. He was a good inventor because he was an idea man, but for sheer creativity he was not in the league of Chapel or the three magic Gs; Guerard, Girardet, and Gagnaire. To develop his style he had relied on an extraordinarily sure and sensitive palate–he was an exceptional taster of both food and wines–but his innovations were mostly refinements of what was already there, taking what others did and going a step or two further: perfecting.

And in those days of fusion and outside influences, Loiseau was seen as a traditionalist. In addition, in the aftermath of 9/11 and the vendetta that erupted between America and France, American tourism had become virtually nonexistent in France, and foreigners represented nearly half of the hotel’s clientele. And because economies were stumbling throughout Europe there weren’t many European tourists, either.

But there was one factor that overshadows all the others. Bernard Loiseau was bipolar, a condition that carries its own self-destructive potential. When he was high, he was unstoppable, and it’s part of what made him such a savvy media hound. But his lows, while rare, were extremely profound and debilitating.

And therein lies the crux of the problem I had with The Perfectionist. It’s an incredibly well-researched book, with an especially interesting history of the Michelin guide, from its origins in 1900 as a promotional stunt to becoming one of–if not the–most respected and prestigious institutions in the world of travel. Chelminski also provides an in-depth history of haute cuisine in France, and the rise of nouvelle cuisine in the latter half of the twentieth century.

While Chelminski clearly knows his stuff, and knew the players in this drama, it comes across as a dry recitation of facts. He seems to be trying to tell too many stories at once. And while he spends a great deal of time talking about the stress and pressure the chefs are under to maintain their ratings, and tells of chefs who have died young (ostensibly because of the stress and overwork), the only conclusion I was left to draw when all was said and done is that Bernard Loiseau lost his life to an undiagnosed, untreated bipolar disorder. Which is certainly tragic in its own right, but not the message I think the author was trying to convey.

I was particularly disappointed in the descriptions of the different dishes and techniques Chelminski gives. They were presented in a very matter of fact way, with language that seemed more technical than inspired. When I’m reading a book about food, especially haute cuisine, regardless of how tragic the underlying story, I expect to be transported by the food. After all, that’s the main force that drives these chefs to achieve that elusive perfection; that’s what the three stars are all about, for the chefs as well as for us. There’s not a single dish that has come back to haunt me since I read the book.

This was not just some local notable . . . This was Bernard Loiseau the chef, arguably the most famous in France . . . a man whose name recognition score among the French general population–nine out of ten–was of presidential proportions. He was a cult figure of worldwide reputation, one of the gods of the trade, a man in the prime of life at the top of his profession, one of only twenty-five in the country then holding the coveted honor of a three-star rating in the Guide Michelin, the sole and true arbiter of the restaurant business.

The Perfectionist is worth reading as a historical document, but in the end Chelminski fails to engage the reader in the drama of the story he is trying to tell. The people never really come to life under his heavy pen, which is a particular shame considering the electrifying personality of his subject.

If that happens to you this year, never fear. Elizabeth Schneider’s Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini can show you just what to do. The essential reference contains 500 recipes and 275 photographs of lesser-known varieties of common vegetables, and vegetables you may not have heard of before now.

Winner of the 2004 IACP Award for Food Reference/Technical Category, Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini is the definitive resource for anything you want to know about all but the most common vegetables. One complaint I’ve heard voiced against the book is that it excludes more common vegetables like tomatoes, bell peppers, cabbage, corn, lettuce and spinach. Schneider’s reasoning for leaving those out is that there is already an abundance of information out there, and she wanted to focus on the lesser known vegetables.

Each encyclopedic entry includes a photograph, a list of all the common names by which the vegetable is known, a history of the vegetable, information on availability and how to select, store and prepare, and recipes that highlight the essence of each vegetable. As a bonus, each section concludes with innovative suggestions and methods presented by professional chefs.

And Schneider is no food snob, either. For several of the vegetables, she gives instructions on how to prepare in the microwave, which is how I’ve been cooking my asparagus for years, but was hesitant to admit in public.

At over 700 pages, this $65.00 book is truly the authoritative word on all things vegetable. It is an invaluable reference, and a must-have for any serious cook’s collection.

Rating: 9

Pros: This book tells you everything you would ever want to know about the vegetables represented within its pages.

Cons: As mentioned above, common vegetables have been left out. It would have been nice to have Schneider’s particular treatment of those vegetables as well as the more exotic ones.

Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini: 500 Recipes & 275 Photographs, by Elizabeth Schneider (William Morrow, 2001)

Which is why I’m always careful when I try a new lentil recipe. I have to really look at the ingredients to see if I can determine how well they will go together, and how the lentils will taste once they have absorbed all of the flavors.

The recipe for Faki (Greek Lentil Soup) that I found in Aliza Green’s Beans: More than 200 Delicious, Wholesome Recipes from Around the World looked promising. It looked simple, with few ingredients that are usually readily at hand–the kind of recipe that depends on good quality ingredients.

I especially liked the write-up to the recipe. Green explains the origins of each dish in Beans, with some interesting little pieces of information about some of the ingredients. Here is what she had to say about Faki:

This delicious lentil soup . . . is a popular dish during the Lenten season, when meat is not eaten. Soups similar to this have long been part of the Greek diet. Imported Greek oregano, sold dried on the branch, is highly resinous, with a powerful aroma obtained by plants that have struggled to grow in rocky soil under the rays of a blazing sun. Like wine grapes, the more they struggle, the more flavor they develop.

I could just picture those scrappy little branches of oregano struggling to survive just so they could be plucked out of that rocky soil and sent to America to end up in my soup pot! Actually, I used the oregano I already had in my kitchen, but I’m tempted to go down to Greek Town here in Chicago and see if I can find some of the imported Greek variety.

The recipe was easy to follow, and with very little prep time I had my soup simmering happily on the stove. The simple ingredients provided a heavenly aroma that wafted out of the kitchen in slight waves, light and promising.

And it was delicious. Light and fresh and lemony, the simple ingredients all came together for a symphony of flavors in the bowl. Green is right, each ingredient is absolutely essential to this dish.

I liked it so much that I made it for my brother and his family over the holidays when I went to visit. Everyone raved about it and went back for seconds, even my youngest nephew who rarely tries anything new.

I have made this with black lentils and regular lentils, and it was delicious both times.

Faki (Greek Lentil Soup)

Serves 6 to 8

1 lb. (2 c.) dried brown lentils
4 qts. chicken or vegetable broth
2 c. chopped onion
1 c. diced carrots
1 c sliced celery
1 Tbsp. chopped garlic
1/2 c. tomato sauce
1/2 c. olive oil
1 Tbsp. crumbled dried oregano
salt and pepper
1/4 c. fresh lemon juice (from 1-2 lemons) or red wine vinegar

Place lentils in large soup pot with broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for one hour or until tender.

Add onions, carrots, celery, garlic, tomato sauce, olive oil, oregano and salt and pepper to taste. Cook for 30 minutes longer, or until soup is slightly thickened.

Just before serving, stir in the lemon juice or vinegar.

I can still remember the day I tried them straight out of the can. They were pale and mealy and had none of that sweet BBQ flavor the doctored beans had. I think that is the birth of my obsession. How could something so drab and tasteless in the can be converted so quickly into one of my favorite foods?

As an adult, I never had much luck with beans, so I rarely cooked them. But whenever I came across a bean cookbook, I would spend hours going through it, trying to imagine what each dish would taste like, picturing myself soaking and cooking all of these lovely bean dishes, knowing I never would. Whatever deep hidden desire was driving my obsession wasn’t strong enough to actually get me into the kitchen, beyond an occasional foray into black bean chili and pinto beans with rice.

And after a while, all of the recipes started to look the same, using the same ingredients with the same beans. To be fair to all of those bean cookbook authors, it’s probably just because I had looked through so many of them without really using them that the differences between recipes was harder for me to discern. But it may be why I never really felt the urge to try many of the recipes: I felt like I’d already had them too many times. And after reading every introduction, I felt like I knew everything there was to know about beans.

When I got a copy of Aliza Green’s new cookbook Beans: More than 200 Delicious, Wholesome Recipes from Around the World, I thought I knew what to expect when I opened it up and started to read. But I was surprised. In my first flip through the recipes, I saw words like hazelnuts, scallops, and truffles flash by. I saw Paella, and Chicken Pot Pie. So I slowed down and started going through the book at a more leisurely pace.

The usual standards were there–Black Bean Soup, Three-bean Chili, Hummus, Pasta e Fagioli. But there was so much more. Frittata with Romano Beans, Prosciutto, and Fontina. Spinach and Beef Filet Tip Salad with Fermented Black Beans. Spiced Duck in Port Wine Sauce with Green Lentils and Savoy Cabbage.

This woman knows her beans. The introductory chapter packs a lot of information in a small amount of space. I thought I knew pretty much all there was to know about beans, but I found some interesting things I didn’t know.

A remarkable and as yet unexplained sign of their status in the ancient world is the fact that each of the four major legumes known to Rome lent its name to a prominent Roman family: Fabius comes from the faba bean, Lentulus from the lentil, Piso from the pea, and Cicero from the chickpea.

The next chapter in the book, “A Legume Primer,” offers detailed information about every bean in each legume family. In addition, each section lists the recipes for each bean for easy reference.

If you aren’t a bean fan, this book could change your views. These recipes are anything but dull. There are many beans cookbooks that promise to provide recipes for beans that are out of the ordinary and will change your opinion of the ordinary bean. This one delivers.

I made two of the soup recipes from this book, and I loved both of them. I look forward to exploring many more of the culinary delights Aliza Green has to offer in her wonderful contribution to the world of beans.

Rating: 9.5

Pros: Comprehensive, detailed information. A diverse range of recipes that offer new ways to prepare an old ingredient.

Cons: The only thing that would improve this cookbook would be to have more pictures.

Beans: More than 200 Delicious, Wholesome Recipes from Around the World, by Aliza Green (Running Press, 2004).