I Hear America Singing

I only review American books.

This is for two reasons, the first culinary and the second literary. The culinary reason should be, I think, fairly obvious to any American interested in gastronomy. As Americans grow increasingly obsessed with everything gourmet, we turn to our native ingredients more and more frequently: cranberries, corn, tomatoes, turkey, etc., etc. To gloss over the past 75 years or so, James Beard showed us that an American cuisine is something worth working towards, and Alice Waters showed us that we pretty much don't have a choice—seasonal, local ingredients are the best way to improve the taste of food. It doesn't hurt that Americans have access to wide range of fresh ingredients. By this point American cuisine has evolved into something in which we can—should—take pride. American restaurants are among the best in the world; why shouldn't we create a home-cooked tradition equal to them? I've eluded to this previously, but one of my major goals in reviewing cookbooks is to support authors who are helping Americans improve their home-cooking skills. Professional chefs will always have each other to create competition, and I'm not worried about their ability to evolve. (How capitalist of me.) I'm worried about you. I want you to become a better cook, and I want you to have access to the best references possible.

And as for literature? I need American literature. Americans need American literature. I've written a lot on this topic, and I won't bore you with my self-righteous, obnoxious theoretical reasons, but I will say it has a lot to do with Whitman. I am grade-A certified obsessed with Walt Whitman. Reading Whitman is like reading a call to arms. He wants you to participate in what is usually referred to (by critics) as his “project”: the effort to produce a national poetry as diverse as American citizens. This has a lot to do with realizing the promises of the founding fathers, and much of it is romantic nonsense. There's something to it, though. Our stories are as plentiful and varied as the native ingredients we draw upon for the burgeoning American cuisine; how are we going to utilize these resources to the best of our abilities if we're not sharing our experiences? I know this sounds ridiculous and verging on fanatic, and I don't often get patriotic, but that man does something to me. If you haven't read Whitman, go read Whitman right now. It's springtime. It's the perfect time to do it. Read Whitman outside. You'll get it. I want to help old Walt out. With cookbooks. So help me out and write some good ones. OK?

Oh the farmer's joys!
Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Iowan's, Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys!
To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work,
To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops,
To plough land in the spring for maize,
To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in the fall.