Good Food,
a food column by Jennifer Brizzi
I'm a member of the International Association of Culinary Professionals, a group of thousands of people from around the world involved in some way with food. Every spring the IACP throws a convention in a different city around the country, like Chicago, New Orleans or Phoenix. This year it was held in Providence, Rhode Island, and I was lucky enough to get to go, only because I could drive there and stay for free with friends from my eight-year residence in that state.
The first event was a Rhode Island clambake. I sat at the best table (between the dance floor and the raw bar) in a cavernous conference room decorated with real ocean sand, movie magazines and other accoutrements of the beach. We ate unlimited sweet local oysters and clams in both wild and cultivated varieties. There were four kinds of chowder, the milky New England, clear and red Rhode Islands and a corn chowder for the vegetarians.
Then came time to stand in line at the buffet. It was the first time in my life I've seen a chafing dish full of boiled lobsters. I'm so proud of myself; I only took one.
A rockabilly band played loud music while one gentleman went from table to table pouring mescal directly into the open mouths of his friends. I met Faith Willinger, an American cookbook writer who lives in Tuscany and wrote Red, White and Greens (HarperCollins, 1996), a particular favorite of mine about cooking vegetables the Italian way. She introduced me to her publisher and I was so nervous I forgot the name of her book and just said, "I love your greens book."
I'm a big fan of Sicilian food, having visited that sunny isle a few times, and was thrilled to meet a couple of my favorite Sicilian food authors, Clifford Wright and Vincent Schiavelli, who is also a veteran Hollywood actor. I wouldn't have met them at all, if my tablemates, a Pennsylvania PR person and a couple of Tulsa restaurateurs, hadn't shoved me in their direction. Wright and Schiavelli were deep in a conversation but very approachable and appreciative of my interest in their work. I was such a groupie, it was sickening. I even told them it was like a dream to meet them. And it was.
Rick Moonen, chef at Oceana in New York City ("If it swims, I'll cook it"), asked me what kind of wine they were serving. I didn't know but chatted with him briefly. I've never dined at his restaurant and didn't want to just say, "I've heard of you" (he is quite famous as chefs go). As is usual for me, I didn't think of what to say until days later.
I befriended a couple of kindly volunteers, portly local women foodies as starstruck as I was. Later, as I was heading down a hallway toward the parking garage, one of them came sprinting past me, camera in hand. When she saw me she screeched to a halt and dragged me back in the direction I had just come from to take a picture of her with Julia Child.
Julia had been sitting chatting on a bench with Delores Custer (a well-known food stylist and teacher) and I had walked right by them without even noticing. The volunteers and I lurked around them, waiting our turn to talk to Julia. She signed my friends' aprons and posed for a picture with them.
Then finally it was my turn to meet her. She is warm and friendly, and rather than shake your hand professionally, she holds your same-side hand like an old friend or a loving aunt and looks into your eyes. "It's nice to meet you," she told me, after I gushed about what a huge fan I am (even though I only have a battered old copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking I). "So, you're a food writer," she said and I beamed back at her, speechless. She seemed frail and delicate for one so active; she constantly travels from coast to coast and across the Atlantic.
My first class was Creative Food Writing, with a panel of experts that included Nina Simonds (Chinese-food writer), Amanda Hesser (New York Times), Claudia Roden (Middle Eastern-food writer), Laurie Ochoa (Gourmet magazine) and Judith Jones (Knopf). I noticed that Julia was in the audience, too, sitting in the row behind me. I was tickled to be taking a class along with her.
Next was a class on the cuisines of Morocco, Turkey and Persia (Iran), the room perfumed with exotic spice.
That night I had dinner with my old friend Claire at a place called Gracie's in Federal Hill, the Italian section of Providence. While not quite Italian, the year-old eatery was very good, with ample food and a professional staff. I had a toothsome linguine with mussels and lemongrass, and Claire had mushroom ravioli; both were excellent.
It was nice to return to the town I lived in for eight years. When I first moved to Providence, it was pretty dumpy, and although its historic East Side had lots of great architecture, the city had little going for it besides a handful of good restaurants that were insufficient for its population; lines were forbiddingly long on Friday and Saturday nights. But Providence people have cool New England exteriors that surround hearts of pure gold.
It was a joy to see my old city reborn. It had been in an economic slump when we left six years ago, but is now full of booming businesses, with triple the restaurants and a waterfront area that went from a trickly little canal to a long park-like area beautifully landscaped and inviting to the stroller. It must have cost billions. In the summer there's an event called WaterFire (thrown early for the conventioneers) where wood-burning flames are lit every few feet for more than a mile along the canal. The sky is black and haunting music from around the world emerges from hundreds of speakers: pure atmosphere. In the summer Providence becomes Prov-Venice as gondoliers glide through the canal.
The next day brought more classes. The first featured the food of Provençe with Erick and Madeleine Vedel. We got to taste a zesty salt cod and leek dish and a succulent sliced beef shank braised with bay leaves, garlic and capers. Erick Vedel has collected 1000 authentic historical recipes from the region.
My last class was Cooking on Camera. Half the class raised their hand when the moderator asked who had already been on TV. I wasn't among them, and am not yet planning my own cooking show. But one just never knows when the Food Network just might come knocking on one's door, does one?
What I loved most about the conference was the opportunity to spend time around so many interesting, like-minded people. I guess that's why conventions were invented, so that everyone passionate about the mating habits of grasshoppers or some such specialty can get together in one room. I hate to generalize, but I will anyway: food people are bright, passionate, sensual, friendly and a hell of a lot of fun. But I imagine grasshopper sex aficionados seem much the same to their fellow enthusiasts.
On my way out of town, I stopped to fill a cooler with some of the Rhode Island specialties I can't get anywhere else. I bought three big packages of saugies (singular: saugy - isn't that the cutest word?), the best hot dogs this side of Frankfurt. I picked up some zesty red Portuguese sausages, chouriço and linguiça. The chouriço I've already baked with a mashed potato/scallion top crust. The linguiça awaits a frittata perhaps, with peppers.
I even bought things I never ate when I lived there, like the fluffy Portuguese sweet bread and Autocrat coffee syrup for making the official state beverage, coffee milk. Some items had to remain memories this trip, like New York System hot weiners [sic], grapenut pudding and johnnycakes. Next year's conference is in Minneapolis, and unless my ship comes in I won't go. But maybe a low-budget trip back to Rhode Island can happen …
Jennifer Brizzi is saving up for the convention of the International Association of Grasshopper Enthusiasts.
Jennifer Brizzi | P.O. Box 48 | Rhinecliff, New York 12574 | U.S.A.
jenniferbrizzi@yahoo.com
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Meeting Julia Child in Rhode Island