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25 FEBRUARY, 2014

Dinner with Mr. Darcy: Recipes from Jane Austen’s Novels and Letters

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Mr. Bingley’s white soup, Lady Middleton’s apricot marmalade, Margaret Dods’s pigeon pie, and more literary treats from Georgian England.

As a hopeless lover of imaginative cookbooks, especially ones with a literary or art bend — from homages like The Alice in Wonderland Cookbook and Modern Art Desserts to conceptual masterpieces like The Futurist Cookbook to actual recipes by Alexandre Dumas, Andy Warhol, Liberace, George Orwell, and Alice B. Toklas, and especially The Artists & Writers’ Cookbook — I was delighted to come across Dinner with Mr. Darcy (public library) — a collection of recipes inspired by the novels and letters of Jane Austen, conceived and compiled by Penguin Great Food series editor Pen Vogler.

From Mr. Bingley’s white soup in Pride and Prejudice to Aunt Norris’s lavish and prolific jellies in Mansfield Park to the everyday edibles Austen discussed in her letters to her sister Cassandra, the recipes capture both the spirit of the era and Austen’s singular sense and sensibility in creating an atmosphere through food.

One recipe comes from Martha Lloyd, Austen’s longtime friend and eventual sister-in-law, who lived with the Austen sisters for the final decade and a half of the author’s life. Lloyd kept a small “household book,” included in which were a number of recipes. One entry reads:

Pease [sic] Soup

Take two quarts of pease. Boil them to a pulp. Strain them. Put ½ lb of butter into a saucepan. Celery, half an onion, and stew them til tender. Then put two anchovies, powdered pepper, salt, mint and parsley (each a small handful) and spinach, and heat of each a small quantity. Half a spoonful of sugar. The soup be boiled as thick as you like it and the whole be ground together, boiled up and dished.

Vogler adapts the recipe into a contemporary version, featuring proper spelling and the use of a blender:

FRESH PEA SOUP

Pea soup was an Austen family favorite: Jane wrote that she was not ashamed to invite an unexpected guest to “our elegant entertainment” of “pease-soup, a spare rib and a pudding” (letter to Cassandra, December 1, 1798.) This was a perfect way of using up the older peas from the garden to produce a fresh, vividly colored soup.

2 celery sticks, finely chopped
1 onion, finely chopped
Scant ½ stick (50g) butter
Few springs of mint and parsley, chopped
3 anchovies or 6–8 anchovy fillets, chopped
Freshly ground white pepper
4 cups (500g) frozen or fresh peas
Generous 1 quart (1 liter) light vegetable or chicken stock
Pinch of sugar
4–5 good handfuls of spinach (you could use lettuce and/or chopped cucumber instead of the spinach)

  1. Gently cook the celery and the onion in butter until it is soft but not browned, then add the mint, parsley, and anchovy, grind in a little white pepper, and cook for a few minutes.
  2. Stir the peas into the mixture, add the stock and a good pinch of sugar, and simmer for 10 minutes.
  3. Add the spinach (or lettuce and/or cucumber) at the end of the cooking time, and cook for a few minutes more. Let it cool, then whizz with a blender. This gives a nice grainy texture, but push it through a sieve if you would like a smooth soup in the Georgian manner. Reheat gently to serve.

Another recipe surmises where Austen’s jam fancies may have come from and turns to The Experienced English Housekeeper, a popular 1769 book by Elizabeth Raffled. Vogler adapts Raffled’s recipe thusly:

APRICOT MARMALADE AND APRICOT “CAKES”

Lady Middleton successfully deploys “apricot marmalade” (which we would now call jam) to stop her daughter’s attention-seeking screams. The apricot cakes are made from thick purée, which is dried in the oven to make delicious, chewy sweets.

Makes 2 quarts (2 liters)

18 oz (500g) fresh apricots or dried apricots, reconstituted overnight in apple juice
1 ¼ cups (250g) preserving sugar for marmalade
1 ¾ cups (350g) preserving sugar for cakes

  1. Pit the fruit and boil it until tender — about 30 minutes. Then rub through a sieve or purée in a blender, stir in the sugar and bring back to a boil. Boil until the sugar has dissolved.
  2. To make apricot cakes, spoon the mixture into oiled muffin cups and smooth down. Leave in a very low oven, 175°F (80°C) to dry out for 5–6 hours, turning them over halfway.

Another recipe cooks up one of England’s most popular specialties from that era:

PIGEON PIE

It was the custom to put “nicely cleaned” pigeon feet in the crust to label the contents (although sensible Margaret Dods says “we confess we see little use and no beauty in the practice”). Georgian recipes for pigeon pie called for whole birds, but I’ve suggested stewing the birds first, so your guests don’t have to pick out the bones.

Serves 6–8 as part of a picnic spread

4 rashers of streaky bacon, chopped
Slice of lean ham, chopped
4 pigeons with their livers tucked inside (the livers are hard to come by, but worth hunting out)
Flour, seasoned with salt and pepper
9 oz (250g) steak, diced (original cooks would have used rump steak, but you could use something cheaper like topside, diced across the grain of the meat)
Butter
Olive oil
Finely chopped parsley
2 white onions, roughly chopped
A bouquet garni of any of the following, tied together: thyme, parsley, marjoram, winter savory, a bay leaf
Beurre manie made with about 2 tsp butter and 2 tsp flour
1 lb (500g) rough puff pastry, chilled
Optional additions: 1 onion, peeled and quartered; 2 carrots, roughly chopped; 1 celery stick, roughly chopped

  1. Brown the bacon and then the ham in a frying pan, then add the onions, if using, and cook until they are translucent. Transfer the mixture to a large saucepan
  2. Flour the pigeons well and brown them all over in butter and olive oil in a frying pan, transferring them to the same large saucepan. Flour and brown the steak in the same way
  3. Put the pigeons in a saucepan, and push the steak, bacon, and onions down all around them (choose a saucepan in which they will be quite tightly packed). Although the original recipe doesn’t include them, you may want to add the carrots and celery stick to improve the stock.

    Add approximately 1 ¼ cups (300ml) water, or enough to just cover the contents. Cover the pan, and simmer slowly until the meat comes off the pigeon bones — at least an hour.

    Do not allow the pan to come to a boil or the beef will toughen. Remove from the heat.

  4. When it is cool enough to handle, remove the steak and pigeons with a slotted spoon, and carefully pull the pigeon meat off the bones, keeping it as chunky as possible, and put it, with the livers from the cavity, with the steak. You should have a good thick sauce; if it is too thin, stir in the beurre manie a little at a time.

    Wait for it to cook the flour, and thicken before adding any more, until you have the right consistency.

  5. Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Roll out two-thirds of the pastry and line a pie dish about 3 inches/8cm deep, keeping a good ¼ inch (5mm) of pastry above the lip of the dish to allow for shrinkage
  6. Prick the bottom of the pastry and bake blind for 12 minutes. Add the meat mixture and pour in enough gravy to come to within an inch of the top.

    Roll out the remaining pastry to cover the top, crimping the edges together. Make a vent in the center, and use the trimmings to decorate.

    You may like to use the point of the knife to make small slash marks in the shape of pigeon footprints — a nod to the “nicely cleaned feet” of the original recipe. Bake for 25–30 minutes until the pastry is lightly golden, and cooked through

  7. To serve, this is a juicier pie than we are used to for picnics, so you will need plates, and knives and forks, in the Georgian manner

Dinner with Mr. Darcy contains many more edible delights inspired by the beloved author’s life and literature. Complement it with some recipes inspired by Lewis Carroll.

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21 JANUARY, 2014

The Futurist Cookbook: 11 Rules for a Perfect Meal and an Anti-Pasta Manifesto circa 1932

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Optimism at the table, or why the dark void of the soul can’t be stuffed with spaghetti.

Given my voracious appetite for unusual cookbooks — especially ones at the intersection of food and the arts, including little-known gems from the likes of Andy Warhol, Liberace, Lewis Carroll, and Alice B. Toklas — I was delighted to discover The Futurist Cookbook (public library; AbeBooks) by Italian poet and editor Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, originally published in 1932 and reprinted in 1989, translated into English by Suzanne Brill.

At the time of its release, the cookbook became somewhat of a sensation, thanks to Marinetti’s shrewdness as a publicist. But while major newspapers like the Chicago Tribune proclaimed it a bold manifesto to revitalize culture by revolutionizing how people ate, what the media missed at first was that the cookbook was arguably the greatest artistic prank of the twentieth century — it wasn’t a populist effort to upgrade mass cuisine but, rather, a highbrow quest to raise the nation’s, perhaps the world’s, collective artistic consciousness.

Filippo Tommaso Marinetti

In the introduction to the 1989 edition, British journalist, historian and travel writer Lesley Chamberlain calls it “a provocative work of art disguised as easy-to-read cookbook” and writes:

The Futurist Cookbook was a serious joke, revolutionary in the first instance because it overturned with ribald laughter everything “food” and “cookbooks” held sacred: the family table, great “recipes,” established notions of goodness and taste.

Marinetti fighting a duel with the journalist Carlo Chiminelli in Rome, April 30, 1924. He was wounded.

What made Futurist “cooking” so revolutionary was that it drew on food as a raw material for art and cultural commentary reflecting the Futurist idea that human experience is empowered and liberated by the presence of art in everyday life, that osmosis of arte-vita. Marinetti himself framed the premise of the cookbook in his introduction to the original 1932 edition:

The Futurist culinary revolution … has the lofty, noble and universally expedient aim of changing radically the eating habits of our race, strengthening it, dynamizing it and spiritualizing it with brand-new food combinations in which experiment, intelligence and imagination will economically take the place of quantity, banality, repetition and expense.

This Futurist cooking of ours, tuned to high speeds like the motor of a hydroplane, will seem to some trembling traditionalists both mad and dangerous: but its ultimate aim is to create a harmony between man’s palate and his life today and tomorrow.

[…]

It is not by chance this work is published during a world economic crisis, which has clearly inspired a dangerous depressing panic, though its future direction remains unclear. We propose as an antidote to this panic a Futurist way of cooking, that is: optimism at the table.

Filippo Tommaso Marinetti

Indeed, Marinetti saw food as the ultimate promise of optimism — a gateway to sensual freedom, imbued with the carefree lightness of a children’s party and the intellectual enthusiasm of a literary salon. He believed that “men think, dream and act according to what they eat and drink.” But nowhere did his culinary and cultural dogmatism shine more blazingly than in his contempt for pastasciutta, better-known simply as pasta — the traditional Italian staple beloved the world over. He preceded the modern low-carb craze by more than seven decades, outroaring even its most zealous contemporary adherents with the fanaticism of his convictions. Pasta, he asserted, made people heavy in both body and spirit, turned them sour and pessimistic, and robbed them of the creative impulse. The riddance from pasta wasn’t merely a matter of individual salvation — Marinetti even made it a matter of patriotism, arguing that the abolition of pasta would liberate Italy from the despotism of expensive foreign grain and instead boost the domestic rice industry.

He resolves in the cookbook:

Futurist cooking will be free of the old obsessions with volume and weight and will have as one of its principles the abolition of pastasciutta. Pastasciutta, however agreeable to the palate, is a passéist food because it makes people heavy, brutish, deludes them into thinking it is nutritious, makes them skeptical, slow, pessimistic.

[…]

[Pasta] is completely hostile to the vivacious spirit and passionate, generous, intuitive soul of the Neapolitans. If these people have been heroic fighters, inspired artists, awe-inspiring orators, shrewd lawyers, tenacious farmers it was in spite of their voluminous daily plate of pasta. When they eat it they develop that typical ironic and sentimental skepticism which can often cut short their enthusiasm.

Any pastascuittist who honestly examines his conscience at the moment he ingurgitates his biquotidian pyramid of pasta will find within the gloomy satisfaction of stopping up a black hole. This voracious hole is an incurable sadness of his. He may delude himself, but nothing can fill it. Only a Futurist meal can lift his spirits.

He then outlines the eleven requirements for the ideal Futurist meal:

One perfect meal requires:

  1. Originality and harmony in the table setting (crystal, china, décor) extending to the flavors and colors of the foods.
  2. Absolute originality in the food.
  3. The invention of appetizing food sculptures, whose original harmony of form and color feeds the eyes and excites the imagination before it tempts the lips.
  4. The abolition of the knife and fork for eating food sculptures, which can give prelabial tactile pleasure.
  5. The use of the art of perfumes to enhance tasting.

    Every dish must be preceded by a perfume which will be driven from the table with the help of electric fans.

  6. The use of music limited to the intervals between courses so as not to distract the sensitivity of the tongue and palate but to help annul the last taste enjoyed by re-establishing gustatory virginity.
  7. The abolition of speech-making and politics at the table.
  8. The use in prescribed doses of poetry and music as surprise ingredients to accentuate the flavors of a given dish with their sensual intensity.
  9. The rapid presentation, between courses, under the eyes and nostrils of the guests, of some dishes they will eat and other they will not, to increase their curiosity, surprise and imagination.
  10. The creation of simultaneous and changing canapés which contain ten, twenty flavors to be tasted in a few seconds. In Futurist cooking these canapés have by analogy the same amplifying function that images have in literature. A given taste of something can sum up an entire area of life, the history of an amorous passion or an entire voyage to the Far East.
  11. A battery of scientific instruments in the kitchen: ozonizers to give liquids and foods the perfume of ozone, ultra-violet ray lamps (since many foods when irradiated with ultra-violet rays acquire active properties, become more assimilable, preventing rickets in young children,etc.), electrolyzers to decompose juices and extracts, etc. in such a way as to obtain from a known product a new product with new properties, colloidal mills to pulverize flours, dried fruits, drugs, etc.; atmospheric and vacuum stills, centrifugal autoclaves, dialyzers. The use of these appliances will have to be scientific, avoiding the typical error of cooking foods under steam pressure, which provokes the destruction of active substances (vitamins, etc.) because of the high temperatures. Chemical indicators will take into account the acidity and alkalinity of these sauces and serve to correct possible errors: too little salt, too much vinegar, too much pepper or too much sugar.

Marinetti proceeds to offer several dozen colorfully titled, highly performative Futurist recipes compliant with these criteria. Her are a few favorites:

IMMORTAL TROUT

Stuff some trout with chopped nuts and fry them in olive oil. Then wrap the trout in very thin slices of calves’ liver.

HUNTING IN HEAVEN

Slowly cook a hare in sparkling wine mixed with cocoa powder until the liquid is absorbed. Then immerse it for a minute in plenty of lemon juice. Serve it in a copious green sauce based on spinach and juniper, and decorate with those silver hundred and thousands which recall huntsmen’s shot.

DATES IN MOONLIGHT

30–40 very mature and sugary dates, 500 grams Roman ricotta. Stone the dates and mash them well (all the better if you can pass them through a sieve). Mix the pulp thus obtained with the ricotta until you have a smooth poltiglia [mush]. Refrigerate for a few hours and serve chilled.

AEROFOOD

The diner is served from the right with a plate containing some black olives, fennel hearts and kumquats. From the left he is served with a rectangle made of sandpaper, silk and velvet. The foods must be carried directly to the mouth with the right hand while the left hand lightly and repeatedly strokes the tactile rectangle. In the meantime the waiters spray the napes of the diners’ necks with a conprofumo [perfume] of carnations while from the kitchen comes contemporaneously a violent conrumore [music] of an aeroplane motor and some dismusica [music] by Bach.

The Futurist Cookbook is a kooky treat in its entirety. Complement it with The Artists’ & Writers Cookbook, then spice it up a notch with Mimi Sheraton’s The Seducer’s Cookbook.

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20 NOVEMBER, 2013

Wild Raspberries: Young Andy Warhol’s Little-Known Vintage Cookbook

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The story of a labor-of-love masterpiece that lay dormant for nearly half a century.

In the spring of 1959, legendary interior decorator and bohemian hostess Suzie Frankfurt came across the work of a young artist at one of the occasional art exhibits held at Manhattan’s Serendipity ice cream parlor. She was unfamiliar with him but was immediately taken with his whimsical watercolors of flowers and butterflies. The artist, it turned out, was Andy Warhol, who was working as an art director at Doubleday at the time and illustrating his little-known children’s books shortly before he invented himself as Andy Warhol.

Intrigued, Frankfurt got herself an appointment to be introduced to young Warhol and went to meet him in the fourth-floor walkup he shared with his mother, Julia Warhola. She recounts that fateful encounter:

I shall never forget that meeting. Andy greeted me as if we had known each other for years. He was especially fascinated by the fact I grew up in Malibu and had lived next door to [the actress] Myrna Loy. He also loved the fact I collected antique jewelry. I felt we had become new best friends in an instant. We made a lunch date for the following day, and that was how it started.

They became fast friends — a wavelength alignment only solidified when, one day, Warhol went to Frankfurt’s apartment for dinner and brought her a gold vermeil rose from Tiffany; she promptly filled a Coke bottle with water and put the rose in it — an act that especially delighted Warhol. By the fall, they had decided to collaborate on a series of handmade books that mocked the fashionable, mass-produced French cuisine cookbooks popular in the 1950s. Frankfurt wrote some recipes, Warhol illustrated them with his Dr. Martin’s paints, and his mother did the calligraphy. Wanting all the books to be hand-colored, they hired four boys who lived upstairs to come down every afternoon and do the coloring. So painstaking was the process that they were only able to produce 34 full-color books, which they took downtown for the rabbis to do the hand-binding. The result was nothing short of mesmerizing. But to the duo’s disappointment, the dream that New York’s booksellers would flood them with orders never materialized — instead, they left a few of their labor-of-love masterpieces for consignment at Doubleday and Rizzoli, and gave the rest away as Christmas presents to friends.

And so Wild Raspberries (public library), titled after the movie Wild Strawberries, lay dormant for more than forty years, until Frankfurt’s son, Jaime, discovered the cultural treasure in his mother’s papers and published it in 1997.

What’s perhaps most noteworthy about the cookbook, however, is that it became a laboratory in which Warhol perfected the process he would later instill in the heart of the Factory: He drew the pictures, a team of assistants colored them in, Frankfurt wrote the recipes, and Warhol’s mother transcribed them — an almost industrial production model in which Warhol conducted an orchestra of collaborators. Jaime Frankfurt writes of the process in the foreword:

Like a great chef, he would create the art, and then direct an assembly line of assistants to put it together.

As for the recipes, they cater more to the artistic than the culinary — more to expressionism than to realism. One instructs that you call Trader Vic’s, order a 40-pound suckling pig, then “have Hanley take the Carey Cadillac to the side entrance and receive the pig.” Frankfurt’s son captures their singular allure:

Clearly, [the recipes] won’t help with your cooking, but they are indicative of all of Andy’s work: they are immediate. … Wild Raspberries, like everything Warhol did, is about finished product, not about process.

For more unusual vintage cookbooks at the intersection of art and cuisine, complement Wild Raspberries with The Artists’ and Writers’ Cookbook, an illustrated edition of the Alice B. Tolkas Cookbook, the Alice in Wonderland Cookbook, the James Beard’s Fireside Cook Book illustrated by the Provensens, the Liberace cookbook, and Mimi Sheraton’s impossibly delightful Seducer’s Cookbook.

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07 OCTOBER, 2013

Liberace’s Little-Known Cookbook

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“Food and music are the two best things in life.”

By the 1970s, legendary American pianist and vocalist Wladzio Valentino Liberace, better known simply as Liberace, was the world’s highest-paid entertainer. Known for his lavish outfits and flamboyant fashion, he publicly denied being gay in his lifetime — and even sued those who alleged that he was — yet he emerged as an icon of the gay community. Elton John himself has said that Liberace was the first gay person he saw on television, becoming his instant hero. Interestingly, some cultural historians have argued that Liberace also inspired the high-rolling, bling-encrusted imagery of hip-hop culture — a mecca of verbally explicit homophobia — with at least one book framing him as a pioneer of hip-hop’s luxe lifestyle.

An aficionado of finery in all its forms, Liberace had an especial passion for gastronomy — a lesser-known aspect of the icon’s life, obscured by his musical fame and role in gay culture, and yet very much a vital undercurrent in both, and a fine addition to the secrets obsessions of great creators. Besides the seven pianos in his Hollywood mansion — including a diamond-studded white upright one, a gold-leaf grand with two keyboards, and a magic Baldwin concert grand with a see-through glass top, which traveled on tour with him — Liberace also had seven dining rooms in the house, a symmetry bespeaking the two parallel loves of his life: music and food. Indeed, as a lover of unusual vintage cookbooks, I was utterly delighted to find a rare record of the latter in the 1970 out-of-print gem Liberace Cooks! Recipes from His Seven Dining Rooms (public library; Abe Books) by the renowned food critic and arts patron Carol Truax, who befriended Mr. Showmanship in the late 1960s and took him up on the invitation to visit his Hollywood home so he could record for posterity his flair for cooking — which she did, beautifully.

Liberace and his mother and brother George in the informal dining room (Photograph: Bob Plunkett)

Liberace’s love affair with food started early, in large part as escapism from the grim realities of the Depression while he was growing up. When he was four, his parents would have musical evenings and they’d egg him on to get into the act. At seven, he got his first real music teacher and began working hard at the piano. By the time he was a sixteen-year-old high school student, he had his own act called the Mixers — and, curiously enough, in it was the seed of his passion for cooking. He recalls:

We’d mix the music, make a medley as it were, and get the crowd mixing — but as I think of it now, I think food has something to do with it. … [Food and music] are the two best things in life.

He eventually began teaching a cooking class — but not to girls: to the football team. He bribed them into signing up by saying the Mixers wouldn’t play at their dances unless they took the class:

They signed. Nobody thought they’d learn a thing, and their fathers didn’t want to come to the father-son banquet, they thought they’d be poisoned; but they came, and they got a pleasant surprise. Next year, thirty-six boys wanted to take the class.

And so his mastery of cuisine was born. At the same time, Liberace was busy getting ready to make his debut with the Chicago Symphony, which launched his career, but his culinary passion remained ablaze. When he eventually became a worldwide music celebrity and earned his way to a Hollywood mansion, he had it built with seven dining rooms, extending his famous extravagance to the physical architecture of his culinary experience for different occasions — besides the regular dining room, he also had one each for buffets, cookouts, midnight suppers, banquets, watching TV, and DIY dining in the kitchen. He only ate in the standard dining room when he was merely hungry — the rest he used when he was in the mood or entertaining for the respective occasion.

Liberace and Carol Truax in the kitchen (Photograph: Bob Plunkett)

In Liberace Cooks, of which I was fortunate and dogged enough to track down a surviving signed copy, Truax takes us on a tour of all seven, offering some of Liberace’s signature recipes for each occasion. We begin at the regular dining room, which “seats eight at the most” and is designed for indoor-outdoor eating. There, Liberace serves such treats as:

PIEROGI (serves 6)

1 egg
3½ cups flour
½ teaspoon sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
¼ to ½ cup milk
¼ to ½ cup water
1 pound cottage cheese
2 tablespoons sour cream
1 egg yolk
1 tablespoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
¼ cup plumped seedless raisins (optional)
3 tablespoons melted butter

Mix the egg with 3 cups flour and the ½ teaspoon sugar and 1/8 teaspoon salt. Add a mixture of milk and water to make a smooth thin dough. Roll out as thin as possible, using a little of the remaining flour. Cut into 2½-inch squares. Smooth the cottage cheese with sour cream. Add the egg yolk, remaining sugar and salt, and fold into triangles or into an envelope shape. Pinch the edges together. Drop into boiling salted water for 5 minutes. Serve with melted butter. You may sauté these in the butter if you wish, turning once. Cook 2 minutes on each side.

BRAISED OXTAILS (serves 8)

4 oxtails cut into 1½- to 2-inch pieces
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
Flour
1 large onion, chopped fine
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 cans beef broth
2 to 3 bay leaves
½ teaspoon oregano
Sprigs parsley
½ cup red wine
1 small can tomato purée
8 carrots cut into 1½-inch pieces
12 small white onions

Don’t use the thin ends of the tail, save them for soup. Season the oxtails with salt and pepper and dust with flour. Sauté the onion for 2 minutes in oil. Add the oxtails and brown thoroughly, turning to brown evenly. Add the broth, bay leaves, oregano, and parsley, and simmer, covered, for an hour. Add the wine and tomato purée and water equal in amount to the purée. Simmer for half an hour. Add carrots and onions and cook until vegetables are tender.

BRAINS IN BLACK BUTTER (serves 8)
2½ pounds calves’ brains (4 pairs)
Salt
Flour
¼ cup butter
Lemon juice or vinegar

Put the brains in a quart of cold water with 2 tablespoons salt for at least half an hour. Cook gently in salted water or broth for 15 minutes and plunge into ice water. Remove membrane — it’s easier to do now than before you boil them. Dredge the brains slightly with flour. Heat the butter until dark brown. Add a few drops of lemon juice or vinegar and sauté the brains until they are light brown. Sprinkle with about ½ teaspoon salt and pour the foamy butter over.

Dishes not requiring ample amounts of butter, heavy cream or bacon are surprisingly sparse in Liberace’s recipe repertoire (he even puts bacon and butter in his guacamole), but the seafood section — which is prefaced by a note I, a daily fish eater, find charmingly dated: “Fish is no longer just for Fridays. Liberace likes to dine on fish any day.” — is where a few such beacons of non-buttery hope appear:

STUFFED SEA BASS (serves 6)

1 4-pound sea bass
2 teaspoons salt
½ cup chopped celery
½ cup chopped onion
1 glove garlic, crushed (optional)
¼ cup olive oil
2 cups seasoned bread crumbs
½ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon thyme
¼ cup grated Romano cheese
Lemon wedges

Slit the fish down the center and take out the bone or, better still, have the fish market do so. Sprinkle inside with 1 teaspoon salt. Sauté the celery, onion, and garlic in 2 tablespoons olive oil for 5 minutes. Blend with the bread crumbs, remaining salt, and pepper and thyme. Stir in the cheese. Stuff the fish and sew or skewer edges. Brush with remaining oil and bake in a 350º oven for 20 to 30 minutes. Serve with lemon wedges.

SQUID CASSEROLE (serves 6)

3 pounds squid
4 shallots, minced, or ¼ cup chopped onion
¼ cup chopped parsley
¼ cup minced celery
Chopped celery leaves
1 glove garlic, crushed
¼ cup olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
¼ teaspoon thyme or oregano
2 tablespoons tomato paste or ¼ cup red wine

Clean the squid by removing the head and the transparent spine. Wash out the body thoroughly and rub off the outside thin skin. Save the ink if you can. Cut up the tentacles and cut the body into ½-inch rings. Sauté the shallots or onion, parsley, celery and leaves, and the garlic in olive oil for several minutes. Add salt, pepper, thyme or oregano, and tomato paste or red wine. Put the squid and any ink into this and simmer until tender. If the squid is very young, 10 minutes is enough, but it can take over an hour. Serve with rice.

Despite his penchant for ostentatious dining, Liberace had a handful of quick recipes up his diamond-studded sleeve:

QUICK APPLE PIE (serves 8)

8 apples, peeled, cored, and cut up
¾ cup sugar
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch salt
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 recipe for Piecrust
Cornflakes
2 tablespoons butter
Powdered sugar

Simmer the apples with sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, salt, and lemon juice for 20 minutes. Line a pie pan with half the pastry. Sprinkle with a layer of cornflakes. Pour in the apple mixture and dot with the butter. Cover the top slashed crust, pinch the edges with wet fingers. Bake in a 450º oven for 10 minutes, then reduce to 350º, and bake for 25 minutes until the crust is brown and apples tender. Sprinkle with powdered sugar while still very hot. Serve hot or cold.

Next, we move to Liberace’s DIY kitchen meals, inextricably tied to his internal clock — a fine addition to the odd daily routines of luminaries. Truax writes:

Most of us call it lunch. Liberace calls it breakfast. His working hours are late, from 8 P.M. to midnight, and usually even later because his audiences have a way of refusing to go home. Following a night like that, of course he sleeps until after noon. Then he gets up, ready for a good breakfast, and sits down to it at lunch time. There is no law about where he eats it, but on certain days, “when the help is off,” he may take over the kitchen.

Anybody would be proud to take over that kitchen. There is no more beautiful room in the house. Spacious, many-windowed, it is tiled in gleaming blue and papered in white with figures of the same Delft blue. One of the wide counters reaches into the butler’s pantry. An oval table centers the room, and a white side table is ready to offer hot coffee and eatables.

On those occasions when Liberace takes over his own kitchen, he likes to make for himself what he calls his “fifteen-minute breakfast” — a scrumptious artery-clogger, of which Mr. Showmanship admonishes, “Eat it right away … don’t let it sit around and get hard.”

LIBERACE SPECIAL 15-MINUTE EGGS (serves 1)

1 tablespoon butter
2 eggs
¼ cup half-and-half or light cream
¼ teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
2 teaspoons grated Parmesan cheese

Warm a baking dish about 2 ½ to 3 inches across. Put in a little butter. Then break in the eggs. Pour over the half-and-half or cream, which should almost cover the eggs. Dot with remaining butter, sprinkle with salt, pepper, and cheese. Bake in a preheated 375º oven for 7 or 8 minutes until the whites are set.

Truax affirms Liberace’s marriage of quick cuisine and masterful preparation:

The kitchen is the place for short orders. Anyone who respects an omelet wants it made on the spot especially for him, and put before him straight from the pan, to be eaten at once. If this isn’t a short order, what is? Each individual omelet is a production, and who stages a production better than the entertainer who is known all over the world as “Mr. Showmanship”?

Liberace had a special soft spot for soups — once, when he nearly died, the nuns who took care of him at the hospital tried everything to get him to eat, with no luck, until one of them finally made him “a magical soup” that set him on the road to recovery. Years later, healthy and wealthy, Liberace resurrected the simple, life-saving brew as a staple of his own kitchen:

CONVENT SOUP (serves 4)

1 quart strong chicken broth
2 eggs
3 tablespoons flour

Heat the broth. Beat the eggs. Add the flour gradually. You want the mixture soft enough to dribble into the soup. Dribble it slowly while the soup is simmering. Let it continue to simmer for a couple of minutes. Season to taste.

Liberace at his buffet table (Photograph: Bob Plunkett)

Next, we move on to another of Liberace’s dining rooms — his beautiful buffet by the yard on the ground floor of home, the space designated for performances and performance parties, where his beloved pianos reside. His buffet table extends yard by yard to fit countless dishes that accommodate his guests’ varied appetites. Truax writes:

Whether the entertainment is music or movie, it is sure to be followed by a beautiful buffet. Liberace is never happier than when he is offering good things to his friends.

Here are a few treats from Liberace’s buffet:

SHRIMP CHEF’S SALAD (serves 6 to 8)

1 quart mixed greens, cut up
1 pound cooked medium-size shrimp
2 tablespoons minced parsley
2 tablespoons capers
4 tomatoes, peeled and quartered
½ cup Lemon French Dressing

Put the greens in a bowl. If the shrimp are large, slice them length-wise. Put the shrimp on the lettuce, sprinkle with parsley and capers. Place the tomato wedges around the edge and pour the dressing over.

GAZPACHO (serves 8)

2 gloves garlic, crushed
2 tablespoons olive oil
8 large ripe tomatoes, peeled, or 1 1-pound, 14-ounce can
Few drops Tabasco sauce
1 tablespoon vinegar
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon sugar
1 small cucumber, peeled and cut up
1 medium onion, cut up
3 tablespoons bread crumbs
2 cups chicken broth or water
Ice cubes
2 cups hot croutons
Minced scallions (garnish)
Grated hard-cooked egg yolks (garnish)
Chopped pitted green or ripe olives (garnish)
Chopped green pepper (garnish)

Buzz the garlic, olive oil, tomatoes, Tabasco sauce, vinegar, salt, pepper, sugar, cucumber, onion, and crumbs in a blender with the broth. You may need to divide the ingredients; the blender shouldn’t be more than three-quarters full. Chill. Serve in soup bowls with an ice cube in each, or from a tureen with a number of ice cubes. Pass the croutons piping hot and have any or all of the minced vegetables available in bowls as garnish.

And the mandatory culinary souvenir of the era, with Liberace’s own twist:

BEEF STROGANOFF (serves 8)

3½ pounds lean boneless sirloin
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoons pepper
2 medium onions, chopped fine
1 glove garlic, crushed
¼ cup butter
1 pound mushrooms, sliced
4 teaspoons paprika
2 cups beef broth or consommé
1 pint sour cream
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce or ¼ cup sherry

Have the beef cut into pencil-like strips about 2 inches long. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and dredge with 3 tablespoons flour. Sauté the onions and garlic in butter for 3 minutes. Add the mushrooms and beef and sauté for 3 minutes, not more. Remove meat and set aside. Add remaining flour and the paprika to the pan. Stir in the broth and cook and stir until smooth and thickened. Reduce heat to low. Add the sour cream and Worcestershire sauce or sherry. When warm, return the beef to the pot and reheat. Do NOT boil and do not overcook. Good with noodles.

Liberace was very close with his mother, who once won the blue ribbon at the Milwaukee State Fair for her potato soup, so Truax was compelled to include it in the cookbook:

MOM’S BLUE RIBBON POTATO SOUP (serves 6)

3 large potatoes, peeled and diced
2 quarts water
Salt
¼ pound thin noodles
¼ pound thick sliced bacon, diced
1 large onion, chopped
¼ teaspoon white pepper

Cook the potatoes in 2 quarts salted water. Cook the noodles according to package instructions. Combine the noodles with the potatoes and their liquid. Meanwhile, sauté the bacon with onions. Stir into the soup. Add the pepper and adjust seasoning to taste. Serve piping hot.

Liberace, in fact, was a fan of all-American staples. (As Truax puts it, “Liberace may have traveled all over, but he remains as American as hamburger. He has a way with ground beef, and it is adapted to that after-theater buffet.”) And so we get his signature hamburger recipe:

LIBERACE SPECIAL HAMBURGERS (serves 12)

6 tablespoons minced onion
2 teaspoons butter
4 pounds ground sirloin
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
½ teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon leaf thyme
1½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
6 round hamburger buns

SUGGESTED CONDIMENTS: Relish, mustard, ketchup, fried onions, horse-radish in sour cream, sliced tomatoes, lettuce, mayonnaise, sliced raw onions.

Sauté the onion in butter until light brown. Mix with the remaining ingredients except buns. Split the buns and put a ½- to ¾-inch patty on the split side of the buns. Put the meat all the way to the edge. Store in a refrigerator to firm the beef until ready to cook. Broil 6 inches away from the heat for 6 to 8 minutes.

Liberace in the TV-watching dining room (Photograph: Bob Plunkett)

Next comes Liberace’s TV dining room, which doesn’t in the slightest compromise on elegance on account of its pop culture purpose; rather, it adapts the dining format to the experience — everything is set on the table at once, so that no servants come and go to disrupt the viewing and nobody needs to move to serve themselves. One-dish meals are particularly suited to the occasion:

TURKEY OR CHICKEN DIVAN (serves 6)

2 pounds asparagus or 1 bunch broccoli
Slices cooked breast of turkey or chicken
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons flour
1½ cups half-and-half or milk
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
½ cup grated parmesan cheese

Cook the asparagus or broccoli in salted water until tender. Drain and put it into a large shallow baking dish or ovenproof platter. Cover this completely with the sliced turkey or chicken. While the vegetable is cooking, make the sauce. Melt the butter, stir in the flour — Wondra flour makes it less likely to lump. Slowly add the half-and-half while stirring. Add the salt and pepper and cook and stir until smooth and thickened. Add half the grated cheese and stir until it melts. Pour over the turkey, top with the remaining cheese, and put under the broiler until it is bubbly and lightly browned on top. Serve at once directly from the dish it was cooked in.

Next, we move on to Liberace’s outdoor dining loggia. There, too, Mr. Showmanship takes no prisoners. Truax writes:

When Liberace cooks out, he means business. He doesn’t wear his diamonds or his ruffles, nor does he have a candelabra on the outdoor grill. He wears a chef’s apron, like anybody else’s — but with a difference — and brandishes a three-foot iron fork. Five huge barbecue implements hang in a row on the loggia wall underneath the decorative frieze of piano keys, and handy to the double-size grill.

Liberace cooking on his dining loggia (Photograph: Bob Plunkett)

There, in his coveted cook-nook, Liberace stands surrounded by a canopy to protect him from the elements. It stretches out into the long terrace, which faces the mandatory Hollywood-mansion swimming pool. Regularly spaced cypress trees frame the garden, which contains fountains, urns, and Liberace’s favorite sculpture — a statue of St. Francis. Marble steps lead to a second terrace, which has been known to seat 200 people for the occasional féte champêtre. Liberace’s kebabs were his most lauded specialty:

SHISH KEBAB (serves 8)

¼ cup red wine
2 tablespoons lemon or lime juice
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/8 teaspoon oregano
2 cloves garlic, crushed
3 pounds lean lamb, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 eggplant or 2 pounds zucchini
2 green peppers, seeded and parboiled
4 to 6 firm tomatoes, cut into quarters
16 to 24 boiled or canned white onions

Mix the wine, lemon or lime juice, oil, salt, pepper, oregano, and garlic. Put the lamb into this marinade for several hours, turning frequently. Cut the unpeeled eggplant or zucchini into 2-inch pieces. Cut the peppers into eights. Alternate lamb and vegetables on 8 long skewers. Put extras on smaller skewers for seconds! Broil 8 minutes, turning once and brushing with the marinade.

But Liberace’s pride and joy was the final addition to his mansion, his beloved Blue Room where, as Truax puts it, “everything that is not blue is glass” — two whole walls are solid glass, inviting the sky inside. An around-the-corner bar of quilted blue leather wraps around the L-shaped space, with matching luxurious chairs. In a testament to Liberace’s pioneering approach to public relations and the art of engineering one’s own myth, the room was built specifically for his special friends, “the gentlemen of the press.” “His press conferences,” Truax writes, “can thus be lubricated across the bar,” observing with a wink:

Newsmen are hungry men. The institution of “free lunch” at the counter is an honorable one, and just suits the gentlemen of the fourth estate. … If any “ink-stained wretch” lusts for peanuts, he finds a mechanical dispenser handy on the bar. But who wants peanuts when he can get savory hot canapés?

Liberace behind the bar in the Blue Room (Photograph: Bob Plunkett)

From the Blue Room, we get Liberace’s favorite cocktail foods, such as:

SINGAPORE AND MALAYSIAN SATAY (serves about 30 people)

3 pounds lean sirloin or filet of beef
¼ cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon minced onion
1 glove garlic, crushed
¼ cup peanut butter
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
2 tablespoons brown sugar
½ teaspoon paprika

Cut the meat into ½-inch cubes and put into a large bowl. Bring all of the other ingredients to a boil. Pour over the meat and marinate for at least three hours. Thread a few pieces of the meat on the bamboo or metal skewers about 4 inches long. Broil for 2 minutes, turn and broil 2 more minutes. Brush with the remaining sauce or pass and let each person dip his own.

GUACAMOLE (about 2½ cups)

3 large ripe avocados
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
¼ teaspoon cayenne
2 teaspoons grated onion
1 glove garlic, crushed
Dash Tabasco sauce
Crisp minced bacon (optional)

Peel and mash the avocados. Add lemon juice and sat immediately to prevent discoloration. Stir in the Worcestershire sauce, cayenne, onion, garlic, and Tabasco. Reseason to taste. For a change, sprinkle with a little crisp minced bacon.

Lastly, we get to the formal dining room. Liberace took his formal dinners with the utmost gravity, relinquishing his usual accouterments of bodily bling — suit of lights, diamond necktie, and his other famed sparkly outfits — in order to let the candles take over with their ceremonial glow over the intricate handmade lace tablecloth adorned with crystal drops around the edge. Liberace had strict menus for his formal dinners, seven of which Truax outlines in the book, before moving on to a special chapter on sauces. “It’s the sauces,” Liberace believed, “that divide the men from the boys, and separate the gourmets from the guzzlers.” His cherished repertoire of perfect, make-or-break sauces included:

TOMATO SAUCE (about 1 quart)

1 onion, chopped
1 glove garlic, minced
¼ cup olive oil
1 1-pound, 4-ounce can Italian tomatoes
1 6-ounce can tomato paste (optional)
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon basil

Sauté the onion and garlic in oil for 3 or 4 minutes. Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, salt, pepper, sugar, and basil. Simmer uncovered, for half an hour until the sauce thickens. Cover and cook 15 minutes more.

BARBECUE SAUCE (about 3 cups)

1 6-ounce can tomato paste
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 large onion, chopped fine
1 clove garlic, crushed
2 tablespoons lemon juice
¼ teaspoon pepper
¼ teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon celery salt
½ teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon sugar
1 cup water

Simmer all ingredients together for 5 minutes.

The final recipe in the cookbook is a well-paced play on the closing of a meal, the coffee-and-dessert course:

COFFEE FROSTING (about 1½ cups)

½ cup butter
2 cups confectioners’ sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
¼ cup triple-strength coffee or ¼ cup water with 3 tablespoons instant coffee

Mix all of the ingredients together.

Liberace Cooks!, should you be so lucky to track down a surviving copy, is a treat in its entirety. Complement it with Mimi Sheraton’s fantastic Seducer’s Cookbook, the whimsical Alice in Wonderland Cookbook, and the immeasurably entertaining Artists’ & Writers’ Cookbook.

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