Word: cooked
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...every cookbook, there are 50 kookbooks, with titles like The Galloping Gourmet, What Cooks in Suburbia, Wolf in Chefs Clothing, Feed the Brute, Wurst You Were Here, and Abalone to Zabaglione. Apparently, publishers will publish anything that has recipes in it. There is a recent book called Fine Food, Wine, and Pickled Pine, for example, which is subtitled "The Story of Coventry Forge Inn" and contains a chapter headed "Our Recipes-Haute and Not so Haute." The negative approach is big these days. Holt, Rinehart & Winston has put out The Madison Avenue Cookbook "for people who can't cook...
...Choke a Duckling." The newest and perhaps best for the cook first venturing into the intricacies of French cooking, is an extraordinarily thorough cookbook called Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Knopf; $10), written by three women-one American and two French. Explaining the chemical processes that make cooking succeed (or fail), it explains in detail what most French cookbooks assume everyone knows, and carefully tells the American housewife how to adapt to the fundamental differences between French and American materials...
After mastering Mastering, the more ambitious cooks can confidently move on to the three great books of the French cuisine. The single volume that nearly all professional chefs use is Escoffier's Guide Culinaire, titled in English The Escoffier Cook Book (Crown; $3.95). Obvious as Aristotle, the great chef lays down axioms that are the laws of cooking: superior results can be obtained only with superior materials; the careful preparation of foundation stock is "everything"; care, in fact, is "50% of cooking...
Mixed Bag. If a housewife is squeamish about strangulation, there is a handful of books and writers that provide an adequately mixed bag of recipes for those of more modest ambitions. James Beard, author of everything from a basic cookbook to Cook It Outdoors, is a gifted milker of the cooking-boom...
...jammed. The sick, carrying paper tags with their names, villages and tribes, wait for hours to see the doctors, are bedded down on straw-mattress cots in dark, stench-ridden huts whose earth floors are awash during the rainy season. Outside, over open fires, the patients' women relatives cook, while a horde of chickens, dogs and goats (protected under Schweitzer's "reverence for life" mystique by which no living thing should be unnecessarily disturbed) roam at will, adding freely to the surrounding filth. When a patient dies and his body is unclaimed, it is wrapped in a fern...