Potlikker

how to survive capture by a pirate queen

Eli Brown is clever. He writes sentences that throw readers into the action:

Mr. Percy finally realizing his obligation to protect his guests, made a valiant attempt to retrieve an heirloom sword from the mantel, but the massive Mr.Apples brought down his fist and ruined Mr. Percy's face as a child ruins a pie.

Cinnamon and Gunpowder is a book in which piracy meets cookery. As you can imagine it appeals to a wide readership. Our protagonist is Owen Wedgewood, a widowed chef. He's busy at work putting on the dog in a strange kitchen at the behest of his employer Lord Ramsey represents the Pendleton Trading Company which monopolizes the opium, tea, and slave trade in China, India, and Africa. And it's 1819, so these countries have other names, but that is what we understand them as now. 

As Wedgewood, a cook of some renown, serves this meal, Mad Hannah Mabbot, a set of Asian twins, and her aforementioned Mr. Apples, whose "hands could hide skillets" burst into the home and dispatch Ramsey to the afterlife. After tasting the duck Wedgewood prepared, Mabbot kidnaps the cook, locks him into a damp chamber on her ship the Flying Rose and promises to let him live if he cooks for her once a week. 

Naturally Wedgewood plots his escape each day as he learns the ropes--the ins and outs--of shipboard life as the ship searches for the Fox (another pirate), outruns various naval vessels, deals with a saboteur, and visits a fortuneteller.

The pirate's life is new to him and Brown's descriptions of life aboard a four-masted barque were realistic enough to me. The gruel served by the acting cook is swill, naturally. The cook is syphilitic and his open sores... Brown leaves much to the imagination as to kitchen hygiene, but does not when it comes to the lack of foodstuffs aboard ship that Wedgewood must make a meal from to suit our pirate queen.

Rule one: Feed Her Well

When it comes to problem-solving Wedgewood (and Brown) are amazing in the kitchen. And this is where one should take notes (the "how to survive capture by a pirate queen" part): He straps a tin box to his body so that he can keep a bread warm and rising. Otherwise it might get tossed out. Ocasaionlly he has access to fresh fish for their entree. He trades their excess goods with Japanese fishing boats, thus incorporating miso and soy into his repertoire. 

Rule two: Converse with Her

Mabbot requires him to dine with her at each meal he prepares. Eventually his problem-solving skills and sharp tongue are recognized, although he is not a skilled fighter when the ship skirmishes with those set to plunder their resources. He makes up for those deficiencies by teaching a young deaf--mute boy to read and grows more content shipboard as their relationship deepens and as his prowess with creating inventive meals for Mabbot increases each week. 

Rule three: Solve Her Problems (train her pirates well)

Historically the book delves into issues of the nineteenth century such as the slave trade, human trafficking, child prostitution, poverty and class issues, colonialism, and issues of race and gender and several of the characters take positions on those issues. While this is a fascinating book marrying a captivity-narrative with food and piracy, I love how Brown brings together these important social issues that are rarely considered in our works of fiction when it comes to piracy and booty.

Another aspect to the book is how it meditates on the fluidity of identity. What is the difference between a pirate and a privateer? A penstroke or a royal acknolwedgement, it seems. In our connected social media world, knowledge is instant, but in the nineteenth century the Pendleton Trading Company carrier pigeons might take days or weeks to transport the news to the proper authorities. 

Anyway, Cinnamon and Gunpowder is a delicious book for summer beach reading, especially given its nautical theme, fish dishes, and pineapple & ginger beer drinks. But it's an excellent read no matter what the season or your reason. If you enjoy swashbuckling, or gender bending, or cooking, or history, then undoubtedly this is the book for you. Plus, Brown's writing is par excellence, his characters are complex; I fell in love with them and am pining for another adventure. 

 

back in the day bakery

Back in May, when we drove to Florida, I so wanted to stop in Savannah so I might visit Back in the Day Bakery and sample their signature baked goods. That was not to be. On our trip south, we missed them because we drove through Georgia to late, after they closed and on driving north the bakery was closed that day. So, another time, for sure, we'll stop in Savannah. 

I received gallies for the Back in the Day Bakery Cookbook : Cakes, Pies, Cookies, Bars, and Breads from the Best Little Bakery in the South sometime ago, but haven't had a chance to cook from it until last week. I have a serious backlog of recipes that I want to make, and not enough egg money on hand to make them all. 

Almost every time Elsa and I visit Earth Fare she grabs one of the mini shopping carts because she enjoys grocery shopping, picking out produce, and navigating the aisles. It's mostly a harrowing experience for me. I correct her "Mind the endcaps!" "Don't bump that person!" "Slow down!" and all sorts of other cautions escape my mouth. She asks for bananas and apples and strawberries, and carrots and all sorts of veggies, even if she doesn't eat them herself, she knows I like them. Invariably we have bananas on hand. We bring them home, and then she won't necessarily eat them. So I'm always seeking recipes using bananas and had flagged the Brown Sugar Banana Bread recipe early on. 

My banana bread baking experiences have been spotty in the past. Thus I approach banana bread recipes with trepidation. I perked up when I read the ingredients list and saw mace and sour cream listed. Mace is unusual. I have it on hand, for the rare recipe that calls for it. And, if you don't know what it is, it's the bright red lacey outer covering of nutmeg. But it appears orangish when its dried and in a glass container. Naturally, the sour cream keeps the bread super moist. And another peculiar thing, was that the recipe called for toasted pecans. Most banana bread recipes I've made in the past have you throw them in untoasted. 

Undoubtedly, the addition of mace, sourcream, and toasted pecans combined to make this banana bread the Most Fantastic banana bread recipe I've come across yet. I'm not a banan a bread fan at all. I make it and I might taste a bite. Then I expect others in my house to eat the rest, or foist it off on folks at work or I take it to my Dad who gets little homecooking anymore since my step-mother returned to the workplace several years ago. But I ate slice after slice of this banana bread. And my dogs ate it too. Of course, they'll eat almost anything.

Late in life I've come to appreciate sweet potatoes. They never appealed to me earlier I think because of how they were presented. My aunt made a candied sweet potato dish at Thanksgiving which was topped with marshmallows. Tempting as the marshmallows were, I was repelled by what was underneath: oily orange muck. It didn't appear appetizing at all. 

Suddenly, I've made sweet potato pie, and I love it. Same thing happened with pecan pie and me, also. Must be a personal food pattern. Or, it's just this fantastic recipe. I think it's mace. Must be the mace effect. Gotta love a cook who uses mace liberally in her recipes. And that's what I really appreciate about Cheryl Day, her mace in your face attitude toward cooking. 

Bring on the mace! What's in this pie, you ask? sweet potatoes, heavy cream, eggs, molasses (or sorghum---I didn't have sorghum on hand, but I really want some Muddy Pond Sorghum, I may have to make a special trip up there because no store nearby sells it.), light brown sugar, cardamon (my favorite, btw!), cloves, mace, ginger, and sea salt.

Time for a confession: I almost constructed this pie with an out-of-date Pillsbury piecrust. I didn't want to go to all the trouble of making a crust from scratch. It would take too much time. Yeah for readymade! The box had been sitting in my fridge for sometime. I won't tell you how long. I glanced at the use by date, and thought I'd try it anyway. Once out of the plastic packaging though I couldn't peel the dough apart, it was mushy. Ugh. 

I almost gave up on making this Sweet Potato Pie! Then I looked more carefully at the list of ingredients and saw that Shortcut Piecrust was listed. So amazing. Flour, butter, and sugar (white or brown sugar). This will be my go-to pie crust. Ian asked about the piecrust, even. He LOVED it. Super easy and a time-saver. No rolling, you don't have to be easy with it or anything. Just pat it into the pie dish.

The only thing I didn't do was make the Fresh Whipped Cream topping. Didn't have enough heavy whipped cream for the recipe. Surely, it would have been a heavenly addition. But the pie was thick and luscious and rich alone. Yeah, so it was a bit stringy, but that's because of the sweet potatoes fiberousness. Ian thought it was quite similar to pumpkin pie, so it's possible that you could pass this off as a pumpkin pie to your family and friends. 

With these three recipes to go on I conclude that the rest of the book is sure to please me, and anyone else with with a range of traditional Southern baked good like Blueberry Buckle, Pecan Sandras, and more. Nouveau baked goods such as Buttermilk Biscones, Guava-Sweet Cheese Turnovers, Creole Brownies, and a slew of savories including yummy Vegetable Potpie and a Pancetta-Fontina Bread Pudding dreamed up by Griffith Day.

The photography (125 color photos as indicated by the gallies) and styling looks amazing, from what I can see of the black and white galley images and so I cannot fully comment on the effect of the published book. I love food photographers and food stylists and follow their work. Reviewing their work and what it brings to each cookbook is as much a part of my review as the recipe. Many cookbook readers browse the pages and have visceral reactions to the photography and styling. Sometimes the right photograph compels a reader to her kitchen to replicate a recipe by her own hands. Obviously, that passion and emotion was lacking in my experience with the gallies. Squire Fox shot the photos for Back in the Day Bakery Cookbook. 

tricities baconfest

This year I've been a first-time attendee at long-time food festivals for two reasons: First, to get my almost-4-year-old daughter out of the house on nice days; and second, to support the local food festival scene.

When I heard a BaconFest was in the works I volunteered to help because I'm all for the success of new food festivals in my area. Within the volunteer form I listed my skills (writing, editorial, blogging, etc.). A day or two before the event I received an email that I was assigned to a Bacon Station, whatever that meant. And on that day, I showed up at Bristol Motor Speedway, where the event transpired.

Other volunteers didn't. So instead of "enjoying the festival" from 10am-2pm when my shift at the bacon station started (at 2pm, that is, if that earlier time span wasn't clear), I expedited and served bacon at a concession stand. It wasn't ordinary bacon. Some was jalapeno bacon. Some was maple bacon. Some was apple cide bacon, and some was... Oh, I forget. It's all a blurry bacon nightmare. And the shame is that all that bacon grease went to waste. Imagine the gravy it could have made. 

There is such a thing as too much bacon, after all, especially after standing on concrete floor in a hot kitchen, a kitchen whose working environment is hotter than the outside temperature. I grew dizzy from twisting like a ser-vi-tron from stainless steel serving table to concession window repetedly to keep up with the folks demanding bacon.

Serving the public is what I do in my day job, so that was a breeze. Yet, in my day job, I'm a font of knowledge. When these folks asked me questions, I hated being dumb, not knowing the answers. So that was an irritation:

Where is the water fountain?

Where can I buy this bacon? 

 

But, we all know that if librarians ran everything the world would be in a much different place, now wouldn't it?

I spent a fifteen minute break in my car with all my air conditioning vents pointed at my hair so that I wouldn't resemble someone still wearing an unfortunate 80s wet mousse look. 

There were food vendors present. There were artists selling their wares. And I heard ocassional snatches of music. I spotted an accordionist whose playing I ached to hear. After the fact, I saw photos of a hog calling contest and a Man V. Bacon contest wherein men consumed quantites of bacon quickly. 

But, mostly I remain stunned. However, troubling my experience was, it was good that I had it. Never have I been more clear about what I will and will not do for bacon; What my body can and cannot do for bacon; Where my talents lie for bacon. And my old, tired body took at least a day to recover from standing on its feet for 4-5 hours, nonstop. Whine, whine, whine: I know, if the sad old thing was used to it, no problem. 

Ian said that some of his co-workers attended and remarked that they had a baconlicious time (okay, they don't talk like that, but if they could, they would; it was more like Grunt, Snort, Snuffle...). So, that's fantastic. I think the best part of the day was being a bacon pusher. We were told to give it away, and I told folks to take as much as they'd like and come back for seconds, thirds. And that the rest would be donated to Second Harvest, our local food bank. 

cruze farms & southern food writing conference

No way was I missing out on a field trip to Cruze Farms. Their buttermilk was hyped so much during the Southern Food Writing Conference that I wanted some of that for myself.

I can't recall the last time I was so motion sick. I was so glad to be off the tour bus. I was hot. I thought I might vomit. No buttermilk cocktails were offered on this jaunt. Boooo.

So Cruze Farms was an oasis of dairy delight after being cooped up on a miserable rocking tour bus. It is an oasis no matter what circumstances brought you there, mind you. The farm is located inside Knoxville city limits, but falls within the historic (think National Register) Riverdale community, one of the oldest parts of the county first settled given its prime location at the crotch of the French Broad and Holston Rivers. Just not enough occasions to use the word crotch.

Although dining at Blackberry Farm was a once in a lifetime experience, being at Cruze Farms was like coming home, even though most of my farm experience is recent and equine in nature. I could have spent all day there. We were treated to hoecakes hot from the griddle which we drizzled or drowned with as much honey as we could stand. Jaanki flipped the hoecakes and I chatted with her a bit later, after the freak lightening storm popped up. Turns out she spent time growing up in Johnson City, so we were on the same plane comparing notes with that. 

The longest line was for buttermilk biscuits. Oh. My. Golly. Had to be the best biscuits I've ever eaten in my life. They were HOT out of the oven and ooooozzing butter. It was one of those die-and-gone-to-heaven biscuit experiences. Better than the ones at the Loveless Cafe. Hmmm, trying to think of other places where I've had stellar biscuits. Cracker Barrel's are fairly good, actually. Where else? I make darned good shaggy biscuits. And I learned a thing or two about biscuits from Nathalie Dupree and Cynthia Graubart from their panel at the conference. 

Pair all that biscuit eating with samples of buttermilk and the one percent (I think?), and the chocolate, that I didn't sample. Despite my chocolate aversion, I would have drank the chocolate milk if Cristina made another round offering them. She didn't. Her primary role as milkmaid came to an end when the thunderstorm hit. 

Ayaka was busy scooping salty caramel ice cream when the downpour hit. Everyone scrambled to squeeze under the two tents, but I sought cover under the farm-shed close to where Cristina doled out the milk, which was well protected and gave me a birdseye view of everything. 

The rain and the lightening turned our biscuit party into a danger zone given the electrical cords and other items that could easily shock any of the Cruze farm workers if they stepped in the wrong direction. Colleen scrambled, shoving the tent covering Ayaka closer to the shed I sheltered in so that there was no gap to let water cascade down her back. Alas, Ayaka was drenched, but she cheerfully kept scooping while Cristina, in the true spirit of teamwork, held the roof of the tent so that it would not drip water down Ayaka's back.

As soon as everyone had adjusted for the storm, it stopped and the sun shone almost immediately. Emma left the protected cover of shelter and offered everyone a biscuit. She helps Colleen assemble the buttermilk biscuit dough. What a charmed chore that is! Lucky girl.

While some may think that a thunderstorm "ruined" the biscuit party, I don't. It offered a lovely interlude. Mother nature is unpredictable. Learning to roll with it offers the best learning environment for everyone. As far as I can tell, all were in good spirits. The storm cooled the day and offered visitors a memorable experience. 

Going on this field trip was part of the Southern Food Writing Conference that I paid for so in accordance with the new FTC regulations, I received no other form of compensation for the udder love and affection I show for Cruze Farms and their bovine products. 

blackberry farm & southern food writer's conference

Writers received a Pimm's Cup garnished with lemon and cucumber for the ride from Knoxville to Walland, TN. The danger in the Pimm's Cup is Pimm's being such a subtle liqueur makes tossing a half dozen down quickly, quite easy, and that can surprise a drinker. This was not the case with me. I received one. Just saying. Beware the seductive nature of the Pimm's Cup.

The hills rolled. Light filtered through leaves and around the bend of each curve of the road. The last leg of the ride was lovely and anticipation mounted as our tour bus pulled up to the white gates of Blackberry Farm. Necks craned for a peek at the farm's famed red barn. The bus struggled along the road and dropped us off near the garden where a bevy of servers awaited us with a cocktail, an International in small Ball jars. An International is a dangerous cocktail as well. 

Hors d'oeuvres included a mint and fava pesto on bread. As I took my first bite I glanced into my cocktail because the taste made me think it should be coming from my glass. The mint was unexpected. The other offering was a meaty thing that I didn't take so as to not seem so greedy. Should have tried it all. You know what they say about hindsight. A couple of violinists serenaded our party until we were shooed up to the barn for a glass of champagne and a six course meal that began after six and ended after eleven.

Oh what a night. Seating was assigned. Not sure who arranged that. Twas good and evil. I sat with strangers and they became acquaintances. Our was the last table served. Thus consciousness of whom the people sitting at the table being served first erupted, well, in my head, not so much in anyone else's that I know. 

Pausing before tasting to capture images of food with my camera or iPhone was a travesty, especially since the low-lighting made my 5D inoperable. The iPhone with flash was what I used for the following photos, and they're wretched, really. Cannot do justice to the courses served. 

Blackberry farm beet and blue cheese salad: strawberries, purple mizuna, pea tendrils, pecans and saba. Golden beets, regular beets, and a cheese so soft and creamy that it couldn't be cheese. I suck as writing about food and describing it. Restaurant reviewing is not my forte. All I can say is how I love beets, and this was an extraordinary way to begin with beets from the garden. 


North Carolina mountain sunburst trout: smoked Cruze farm buttermilk consomme, watercress and red turnips. Trout so tender and buttery it melted in my mouth. The confusion came when my tablemates and I discussed whether to use the fork of the spoon to attack this dangerous fish with. Service refreshed our silverware between courses, otherwise we would have struggled with eight to ten inches of flatware on either side of our plates. 

Guinea and dumplings: poached farm egg, guinea confit, potato gnocchi and hen of the woods mushrooms. This was my favorite. Divine. Yummy. I could eat this all night. Every night. The poached egg was simply fantastic. And the salty flavors were fantastic, too.  Who knew you could, or should eat guinea? As I told my tablemates, I've contemplated going vegetarian for some time, for a variety of reasons. But it's occasions like these, when the opportunity to eat guinea arises, that I simply could not go vegetarian. Yet, how often do I get such an occasion? Once in forty years. So, it will be okay to go vegetarian. If I live to be eighty, perhaps I'll have another chance at eating at Blackberry Farm, or trying a novel game meat. 

Grilled and braised painted hills beef: open faced biscuits with carrots, lamb's quarters and fava beans. And so the beef. We were confused at first, thinking that one of these was beef and one was lamb. Tasty, indeed. I wish I had taken notes. My memory has faded at this point. It was an astonishing meal. I can't say that every course outdid the next because the guinea and dumplings was my favorite, but this grilled and braised beef was delicately flavored in a style reminiscent of barbecue. 

Biscuit ice cream: biscuit feuilletine and strawberry jam. Should have set a coin adjacent to the plate to give you perspective. This bite of dessert was small. It was just enough, really, after all the courses. We were stuffed so much that our brains were spewing out of our ears by the time dessert came 'round. So, this was delicate and lovely, but rather anticlimactic. I'm so particular about dessert. If it isn't pie or cheesecake, then I'm usually disappointed. This taste was enough to cleanse and freshen the palate.

Biscuit cuillere: chocolate mousse and raspberries. As not-a-chocolate fan, this was ever-more anticlimactic than the previous dessert. Fresh raspberries inside were tasty treats, and the crunchy bottom crust was notable. If I loved chocolate, no doubt the dark chocolate flavor would likely make me al orgasmic and such. The moussey-bits were perfectly moussey: fragile and refined.

As a wine-loather I confess that the wines served were excellent. Perhaps I've never had wine as good as these and that is why I do not prefer wine at all. They were: Domaine Thomas et Fils Sanserre 2010, Chateau Montelena Chardonnay 2009, Belle Glos Las Alturas Pinot Noir 2010, and another Chateau Montelena Cabernet Sauvignon Calistoga 2009. Loved the Chateau Montelena's and shall seek out their product and start a wine habit.

Eating at Blackberry Farm was part of the Southern Writer's Food Conference that I paid to attend, so according to the new FTC regulations, I'm including this statement that I received no other form of compensation for this endorsement. 

wayne scott strawberry festival

Certainly is festival season around this blog. Since I'm a mother, taking our daughter to festivals seems like the thing to do, when the weather is nice. Actually, there won't be many festivals between now and October, when the Apple Festival happens. So on Saturdays I think we'll hike or canoe.

Until we arrived at the strawberry festival I didn't realize it was officially called the Wayne Scott Strawberry Festival. This is another first-time attendance at a local festival for me. Have heard of it for years, but never went. Mostly, I don't like crowds. This wasn't crowded, actually, so that excuse doesn't work. And most festivals are all about food, so it makes sense that I'm there, right? Cuz I'm all about food. 

Strawberries are nice, but not my favorite fruit. And I don't love a strawberry shortcake, but the ones I saw other festival attendees carrying around piqued my curiosity and I decided I had to have them. Several booths competed for my money on the shortcake front, but when it came down to it, the Clinchfield Senior Adult Center's shortcake looked best. 

It wasn't completely awesome, but it was a delightful treat for three bucks. The strawberries were fresh. Not so sure about the cake. The ice cream was inside a cooler to keep it chilled as the gentleman scooped it, so I have no clue about what brand it was. And the whipped cream was land o lakes from a can. 

There was plenty of other festival food, but we didn't partake. Ian isn't particularly ambulatory since he's not a week post-op yet. While I stood in line for the shortcake and found a place to eat, he accompanied Elsa to the Unicoi Elementary playground and sat on a bench while she gamboled, skipped, slid, and climbed. One thing I know about festivals and children is this: Producing them on school grounds is essential in keeping children attendees happy. 

flag pond ramp festival

May twelfth was the twenty-seventh annual Flag Pond Ramp Festival, but it was my first time attending. They didn't establish the festival until I was a (very young) teenager, so it's not anything my parents would have taken me to as a child. Plus, while I'm technically a Unicoi county native (since all people in Unicoi county not born at home are born in Johnson City/Washington county, TN hospitals), I'm not eager to claim that identity. Oh, it's complicated and suitable for another type of blog, but not this one. And since it's one of those things that kind of happens in my back yard it doesn't seem exotic enough to capture my interest, so I've never been. Also, I asked one my of friends in the know whether it was any account. He said to skip it. Since I delayed in getting tickets to the Lake Eden shindig, we ended up at the Ramp Festival instead and that worked out just as well. 

Would have written about the ramp festival experience while it was fresher in my memory except that Ian had a gallbladder depositing us at the ER early Sunday morning (the thirteenth) and I sat at his hospital bedside all week comforting him and blogging was not a priority.

Nonetheless, the ramp festival was worth the $7 I paid for a plate of the best eating I'd had in a great while. I think that if Ian had made it home from work in time to come to the ramp festival with us and had eaten ramps, he wouldn't have had the gallbladder attack. Oh, the power of the ramp.

Funny, that at my age (40) I had never eaten a ramp. Since they became all the rage in the big city, I have even less desire to eat something so trendy. It's just the way I am, the anti-trendy. My grandfather and I hunted them on several occasions in the forests of Tennessee and North Carolina. He knew several patches. And undoubtedly he offered them to me, but I declined.

As did Elsa when I offered them to her. Folks who eat raw ramps are shunned. The odor is offensive, you see. My father-in-law mentioned that when he was in the reserves that the ramp-eaters were obvious from the non-ramp-eaters. But, cooked ramps are tender and subtle as -- gee-- a communion wafer. 

Seven dollars bought a large plate filled with bacon, ramps and potatoes, soup beans, cornbread, cole slaw, your choice of pickled items, dessert, and a drink.

Elsa is not an adventurous eater. We goad her into trying new things. Ironically she loves soup beans, a food I avoided as a child. We shared a plate. She ate the beans and nibbled the cornbread. My potatoes were half and half: half cooked with ramps and half plain; Elsa ate some of the plain. Both were delicious as they were seasoned with bacon fat. 

She saw the skillet/pile of bacon as we edged through the line and trilled "Bacon... I love bacon..." and the kindly man in charge of the bacon area slipped her two pieces before we received our plate and our serving of bacon.

Seating was limited, so we wandered everywhere before landing on the steps outside the cafeteria. The festival was held in the former Flag Pond elementary school building. Fortunately we weren't too much in the way. Elsa was happy. She made a craft, swang on the swings, and played on the playground. She made friends with the people who stood around us in line. Everyone loves a toddler, especially when she shouts out "My Daddy works in Carolina." And then acts all shy when they try to make further conversation with her. Chatting with folks at festivals is always fun. I absorbed information about ramps being early this year, and even earlier over in North Carolina. 

Ramp festival next year? Sure thing!

knoxville redeemed or, the southern food writing conference

Let me state my bias upfront: I have strong feelings against Knoxville, for various reasons. First, those people believe east Tennessee ends and begins with it, so does the state government. Thus, we, in the rest of the eastern part of the state, a.k.a. the armpit, receive little to no state funding. Second, all the people who wanted to escape my hometown for the "big city" went to Knoxville, and they think they're living large. Poor things. Third, I have scads of personal animosity against UT both for myself and others who were done dirty by their ugliness and lack of integrity. 

Despite all these negative marks against Knoxville, I enjoy trips to their downtown by avoiding all the ugly sprawl that the rest of the city has "developed" into in the last twenty years and pretending the university doesn't exist--I close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, and chant "you're not there, you're not there, you're not there." Since roller derby is the only sport I enjoy, the non-existence of UT presents no problems for me.

However, after spending two days in Knoxville during the Southern Food Writer's Conference last week may have redeemed Knoxville's vile reputation--in my mind--, somewhat. Knoxville and its environs offers many lovely attractions for those food-minded persons. I'm slightly ashamed that I'm not more knowledgeable about the Knoxville foodie scene, but since it's 90 miles away, I think it's really out of my immediate scope. Yet, I can appreciate it.

The conference was delightful. The line up of speakers included Brett Anderson, Sherri Castle, Ronni Lundy, Fred Sauceman, Nathalie Dupree, Shaun Chavis, Jason Horn, Jennifer Cole, Cynthia Graubart, John Egerton, Jennifer Justus, Regan Huff, Jack Neely, Elizabeth Sims, Barbara Swell, and Fred Thompson. It was established in conjunction with the International Biscuit Festival, which I didn't attend, unforutnately, though I did eat several scrumptious biscuits while at the conference. Hope to be at the IBF next year though. 

Swag included a roomy, organic tote bag emblazoned with the International Biscuit Festival logo filled with foodstuffs.

The tipping point for me to sign up for the conference was that dinner at Blackberry Farm was included. Staying at Blackberry Farm is on my life list. I likely won't ever mark that off my life list because I married for love and not for money. Dining there was divine, I'll blog about it soon. And the other totally awesome experience was our group field trip to Cruze Farms, my new favorite dairy supplier. Wish they delivered as far afield as the Tri-Cities.

Besides introducing me to new sources of local food artisans like Benton, Cruze Farms, and Muddy Pond Sourghum Mill, the conference was a boon for letting me hob nob with other like-minded individuals. I learned so much from each session and made pages and pages of notes.  Immersion around other writers and food industry folks was dreamy. I didn't want to leave, and it firmed my resolve to change my professional circumstances to reflect a reality more in line with my dreams and interests than what I currently do.

So yeah, there is plenty to love about Knoxville. Their farmer's market, their re-developed downtown, their festivals and conferences, their artisianal farmers. Lots to love. Just ignore the other stuff I mentioned at the start and we get along right fine.

I feel so frickin' ridiculous, but just so you know, I paid my way to this food writer's conference, but I don't want there to be any question about it since those new FTC regulations make it clear that food bloggers/writers should be transparent in their relationships or affiliations with anything or anyone they "review," so according to the new FTC regulations, I received no other form of compensation for this endorsement of the conference, etc. 

appalachian macaron, is that an oxymoron?

Macarons haven't been high on my list of things to track down. Admittedly, I haven't travelled anywhere urban or chic enough boasting bakeries or pastry shops churning them out by the truckload (to my knowledge) and since I'm not mad about them, I haven't tracked any down. Nor am I one to jump on any bandwagons as far as trends go. Trends come, trends go, and they come and go so quickly that they're really stinky uncool by the time they reach my neck of the woods. Why grab onto them them well past the "sell by date"? 

Imagine my delight and surprise when this weekend I stumbled onto, or into, a plethora of macarons deep in the heart of Appalachia; southwest Virginia as it was.

Our Daily Bread, my new favorite bakery hands-down, is in Blacksburg, Virginia. That town is vying for my favorite place in Virginia. Love Roanoke and Richmond and I love most of its small towns, as well; they ooze such character and history. I've already searched Tech's website for job openings just to see what the possibilities are for relocating there, I loved it THAT much.

The thanks for this find go to my beloved friend Laura, a Virginia Tech alum who let me tag along to her alma mater for a special alumni event, and made sure we stopped for cookies, grasshoppers, scones, macaroons (my REAL love), macarons, and assorted other goodies.

I got one each of the flavors available: blueberry, raspberry, lemon, pistachio, chocolate, and lemon. My favorites were pistachio and blueberry. They were tasty. Different. But not anything that I would buy regularly or drive miles for. Gorgeous colors though, perfect for photography. I'll stick with my dangerous scone addiction.

paris, my sweet

Imagine having a job that assigned you to Paris for two years. If dreams can come true, the did for Amy Thomas because she indulged in the City of Light's most fabulous chocolates and pastries for a year, or more while working on Louis Vuitton's advertising campaign. She writes about this year of hardship in Paris My Sweet: A Year in the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate). While I don't live and die for chocolate, I DO love all things Paris. Probably not as much as Thomas does/did. But, I can live vicariously through her, at least.

In thirteen chapters Thomas tours would-be tourists through Paris's chocolates, bonbons, cupcakes, macarons, cakes, cookies, madeleines, muffins, carrot and banana cakes, and whatever else she encounters. Recently reloacted from New York, much of what she writes compares Parisian trends to New York trends, and so this book could be useful for those with eyes for the Big Apple as well.

Even though cupcakes are so "over" you'll find them on every corner of NYC. She mentions Beyond Magnolia, Buttercup, Billy, and Sugar Sweet Sunshine. But also says that when you stand on a corner watch out for cupcake trucks--CupCake Stop. Paris boasted four or five shops such as Cupcakes & Co., Berko, Synie's Cupcakes, and Sugar Daze and Sweet Pea Baking. 

But what's really valuable about Thomas's book is the context she provides. So, if you didn't know the backstory on Magnolia Bakery and how its former manager left to open his own near replica, then you might learn a thing or two. But, that's a NY tale, not Parisian. So while there are some NY tales, most of it is Parisian based. While exploring Paris she blogged about it too and shared all her new finds with the world at large.

The terrible thing about the book is that I want to sample everything Thomas writes of. And can't. Must travel to Paris. And that's the one thing I truly hate about yummy food books: Reading about buttery croissants and then being unable to try one for myself. Thomas has a keen eye and nose for the best combinations of flour, sugar, and eggs. 

Thomas mentions the typical Parisian frostiness and how impossible it was making friends. Eventually she found her place with a group of expats. But then a large decision loomed: Spend another year in Paris, or return to New York? Her priorities changed while she lived there, and New York wasn't as appealing as when she left it. Yet, she didn't feel as though she belonged in Paris 100 per cent, either. What to do?

Deciding where her heart and where her life belonged sent her into a lengthy list of either-or questions and answers. But you'll have to read the book to learn her ultimate decision.

Sidebars at the end of each chapter list her picks for shopping for the best chocolates, pastries, cakes, cookies, etc. and a full list of Paris and New York bakeries with addresses, phone numbers, and websites precede the index.

The color map illustrations of NY and Paris spots Thomas recommends on the front and rear flyleaves by Gary Hovland lend the book a delicious je ne sais quois!