Showing posts with label River Cottage Cookbook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label River Cottage Cookbook. Show all posts

Monday, January 26, 2009

The River Cottage Cookbook



One of the highlights of the Christmas season this year was receiving a copy of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's River Cottage Cookbook.  The book, for the unfamiliar, is a weighty tome, part cookbook, part how-to, part memoir, detailing the practices and eating habits of an ex-top London chef's life in the English countryside.  It's an exceptional book.  Though I've not yet attempted a single recipe, I've been pretty enthralled by the book so far.  Actually, the recipes are the least interesting aspect of the volume for me; it's the rest of the book, the true meat of it, that has proved the most captivating.

More than a cookbook, River Cottage really excels as a homage to and instruction manual for home agriculture.  The book is divvied up into quarters: gardening, livestock, fish, and hedgerow (what us yanks might call a hunting and gathering section).  Each chapter begins with a lengthy preamble about the pleasures and requirements of  gardening, raising, slaughtering, catching, canning, pickling, and serving your own food.  This book has reached out to a deep and primal place in my soul, the loam-brown farmer's heart within me; I want my own pigs, I want my own bacon.  

It's been a long standing fascination of mine,  though one mostly unarticulated.  But ever since reading The Omnivore's Dilemma, I've been more and more consumed with the local food movement.  I was thrilled this summer, in Oxford, to live across from a cover market, replete with fruit sellers, fish mongers, and butchers, all offering fare from the surrounding countryside. 

 
It's a model we don't seem to have anymore in America, and one I feel is sorely lacking.  Fearnley-Whittingstall's book takes the movement one step further, placing the production line squarely between the backyard and the kitchen.  It's gotten me excited.  I'm already a proponent and consumer of game, and though I'm not quite prepared to run out and get my own flock of spring lambs, a modest garden is a good start.  Perhaps with a basket full of my own produce in front of me, with a venison tenderloin waiting in marinade, I'll be ready to tackle those recipes.