The Book Cove

Provence, 1970 Evolution is a funny thing. Most times it creeps along at a snail’s pace, but every once in a while you can jab a finger at the calendar and say, “Aha! It started there.” Such it is with the evolution of American cuisine. It’s hard to believe, but it wasn’t that long ago when food was bound by strict regional borders. People in Los Angeles wouldn’t recognize jambalaya if it stood up and shouted “True dat!”   Bagels outside of New York City were represented by Lenders. They make a very fine doorstop, but cardboard has more flavor. Ahi? Burritos? Jalapeño? Quinoa? Masala? Funny kind of words…They’re food, you say? And where exactly would I get the ingredients? Certainly, not nearby. Taste and refinement in food preparation were represented by French cuisine. Quel domage, but the American palate was certainly not up to par. Even the most celebrated food writers had an unabashed love affair with France. M. K. F. Fisher, Julia Child, and James Beard sung its praises...