eating – In the Vintage Kitchen: Where History Comes To Eat

Italy’s Chicken Canzanese and The Family of Artists Behind The Recipe

Published on February 11, 2024 by In The Vintage KitchenLeave a comment

It’s just the start of 2024, but here in the Vintage Kitchen, there is a finish line coming into view. This year we will be wrapping up a five-year project that first started here on the blog in 2020. I’m so happy to say welcome back to The International Vintage Recipe Tour.

What started out as an intended year-long project of cooking 50 recipes from 45 different countries in 2020 has now taken five years to complete just to the halfway mark. A pandemic, a tornado, a big cross-country move and 1750 House renovations have waylaid plans far more than ever anticipated, but this project has always been such a joy I never wanted to not finish it. So here we are, at the start of 2024 finishing things up from 2020.

For a quick recap and for anyone new to the blog, The International Vintage Recipe Tour takes home cooks and readers on an around-the-world adventure via the kitchen, as we cook our way through a collection of recipes featured in the 1971 New York Times International Cookbook.

the-new-york-times-international-cook-book — The vintage 1971 cookbook that launched the Vintage Recipe Tour.

Throughout the Tour, we are visiting 45 countries via the kitchen and making at least one traditional heritage food from each, sharing both the recipe and the cooking experience here on the blog. To add context to the food we are making, and to spark some new conversations around the table, every visit to a new destination is paired with a unique cultural story from that country’s history.

So far we’ve visited twenty-four countries via the kitchen on this tour… Armenia, Australia, Austria, Barbados, Belgium, Brazil, Canada, Ceylon, China, Colombia, Cuba, Czechoslovakia, Dahomey, Denmark, England, Fiji, France, Germany, Greece, Haiti, Hungary, India, Indonesia, and Israel. It’s been a whirlwind of fun, friendship and delicious food.

We chatted with an author and a food columnist via Armenia, met a descendant of the designer of the Statue of Liberty via Germany, and embraced our inner bula in Fiji. We discussed tropical architecture in Haiti, made floating paper lanterns to celebrate the Hungry Ghost Festival in China and donated funds from shop sales to help save the koalas injured in the Australian wildfires. We discussed women’s fashion in India, interviewed a Cuban-American farmer in Miami, and learned about a long-lost African-American dance in Dahomey. On the food front, we curried in Ceylon, baked Queen Mother’s Cake in Australia, made homemade mustard in Denmark, learned that not all fondue comes in a hot pot in Belgium, and took a much-needed virtual vacation to Corfu via Greece.

Our latest stop on the tour was Israel, which lined up with the 2021 holiday season. To celebrate we made a Hannukah wreath, cooked two recipes for dinner, and dove into the history of both the Jewish flag and the Jewish star. Now, our next stop on the International Vintage Recipe Tour takes us to Italy, one of the most beloved cuisines in the world. Here we’ll make a provincial meal meant for sharing and meet an artist whose family recipes formed the basis of a life-long passion with food. Welcome to Italy.

It’s impossible to write about Italy without writing about family. And you can’t write about this recipe, Chicken Canzanese without writing about a specific family. Like France and China, Italy is one of the largest chapters in the New York Times International Cookbook. There are literally dozens of recipes to choose from, a switch from some countries that had less than a handful.

Besides the long wait to get the Tour started again, the hardest part about starting up again with Italy was which recipe to choose and which cultural treasure to spotlight. Contenders in that department were Stanley Tucci’s gorgeous Searching for Italy show, the multi-generational novel The Florios of Siciliy and the genealogy of the love apple (aka the tomato). There were all the pastas and all the sauces, lovely vegetable side dishes, and quite a few desserts to pick from, but the recipe that I kept coming back to was a one-pot chicken dish that was credited to an artist.

Last fall, while visiting a local bookshop, I discovered a bright yellow 1970s Italian cookbook. To my sheer delight and surprise, it was written by the same artist mentioned in the New York Times International Cookbook. A quick peek inside revealed the same exact recipe that was also featured in the NYTimes cookbook. The same recipe by one artist in two different books. It was a sign. This was the right Italian recipe for the Tour and the right time to tell a story about a creative spirit, who also happened to be an Italian cookbook author.

The artist is Edward Giobbi, a second-generation Italian-American born in Connecticut in 1926. Still painting today from his home studio in Katonah, New York, at the age of 98, Edward’s lived his entire life in pursuit of art and food. The book that made him well-known in the culinary world was his Italian Family Cookbook, first published in 1971. Selling over 30,000 copies by the 1980s, it offered home cooks a sincerity that resonated on multiple levels when it came to preparing economical and creative meals in true Italian style. The recipe featured here today, the one that appears not only in Edward’s cookbook but also in the New York Times International Cookbook, is his Chicken Canzanese, a slow-simmered one-pot made of chicken, herbs, wine, spices, and prosciutto.

A lovely selection for these end-of-winter days when the weather is jockeying back and forth between spring-like temps and snowstorms, this recipe is both light and hearty, depending on the sides that accompany it. It’s easy to prepare, has a warm, rich, earthy fragrance thanks to the prosciutto, garlic, and herbs, and can definitely be labeled a healthy comfort food since it contains no added fat.

The cooking prep is also interesting. There is a cold water brine, a unique set of flavor pairings, and a few very precisely measured spices… twelve peppercorns… six whole cloves… two sage leaves. I always find precise measurements like this fascinating. What was the process that a cook went through to determine that perfect balance of six versus seven cloves or nine versus twelve peppercorns? Would three sage leaves as opposed to two send the whole meal over the edge?

Edward Giobbi, tasting and testing in his kitchen circa 1971. Image courtesy of The News Messenger. Aug 12, 1971

As it turns out, Edward’s style of cooking and how he first learned it was based on quality but also frugality. Growing up during the Great Depression taught him and his family the value of growing your own food and utilizing agricultural resources close to home. Nutrition was key to keeping everyone healthy. Nothing was wasted or under-appreciated. Every bit of joy that you could scrape from an experience mattered. As an adult, Edward approached food in much the same way.

In the NYTimes cookbook, the recipe for Chicken Canzanese is simply attributed to Ed Giobbi, the artist. But in Edward’s cookbook, Italian Family Cooking, it’s attributed to Edward’s mother by way of a woman who lived in Canzano, in the Abruzzi region of Italy.

The Abruzzo region of Italy. Photo courtesy of iStock.

Located in the middle of the boot, Italy’s beautiful Abruzzi/Abruzzo region borders the Adriatic Sea and also the Apennines Mountains, both of which provide ample agricultural opportunity. Canzano is 105 miles east of Rome, and 230 miles southeast of Florence, and although geographically considered central Italy, the culture and food traditions of this area mirror that of Southern Italy.

Abruzzo, Italy. Photo: Sterlinglanier Lanier.

Full of food specialties ranging from provincial fish soups to local lamb dishes to plates of handmade pasta the traditional foods of Abruzzo favor both its maritime and mountain environs. Incidentally, this area of Italy is also known for a food often consumed at weddings here in the US. It’s the birthplace of the pastel-colored, candy-coated Jordan Almond, also called Italian Confetti locally.

All the pretty pastel shades of a Jordan Almond.

Edward’s parents immigrated to the US in the early 1900s first to Pennsylvania and then to Connecticut where they labored in factories and mills. Even though they both just had a third-grade level education, his parents had an appreciation for food, art and music which made a strong impression on Edward during his childhood. The Giobbi family kitchen would come alive at night and on weekends with the scents and flavors of his parent’s home country.

Once he left home to pursue his art, his mom’s heirloom recipes became a vital part of the creative process as he perfected each one in his own kitchen, practicing them over and over again, until they met her standards and his memories. That dedication to good food and good eating, combined with artistic sojourns to stay with extended family in Italy sealed his love of cooking indelibly.

By the time Edward married and had his own family, preparing daily meals was a pleasure equal to painting. In his children, he instilled a similar joy. Art and cooking became a throughline that ran strong in the new generation of the Giobbi family members.

Apart from the myriad of wonderful traditional Italian recipes in Edward’s cookbook, the illustrations stand out with vibrant appeal and eye-catching charm. The art was executed not by a hired freelancer or a publishing industry dynamo. It wasn’t executed by a professional food photographer or a graphic design studio. Instead, the illustrations for his cookbook were illustrated by a collection of painters entirely new to the world – his children, Cham, Lisa and Gena who at the time ranged in age from six to nine.

Edward gave his kids no direction when he asked them to paint pictures for the cookbook other than to say “draw a fish, or a soup pot or a bottle of wine.” Each of his artists offered their own interpretation.

Whimsical and sweet, Edward Giobbi’s Italian Family Cookbook was indeed, in all ways, a family affair from kids to parents to extended relatives. It didn’t stop at this cookbook either. Edward went on to write another successful cookbook, Eat Right, Eat Well: The Italian Way (1985) and his band of illustrators grew up to pursue their own careers in art, dance, music and food science.

In keeping with the Giobbi clan’s combined love of the kitchen, nothing seems more fitting than presenting this recipe on a Sunday night when family dinner rules the kitchen in most Italian households. Named for the town in which it hails, Chicken Canzanese is a meal intended for communal family dining. Simple to make, it’s a two-step process that involves a one-hour wet brine and forty minutes of cooking time. True to Edward’s nature and his mother’s style of cooking, it’s made of simple ingredients and offers a bevy of creativity in the side dishes in which you choose to serve with it. More on those thoughts follow the recipe.

Edward Giobbi’s Chicken Canzanese

Serves 4

One 3 lb chicken, cut in pieces

2 sage leaves

2 bay leaves

1 clove garlic, sliced lengthwise

6 whole cloves

2 sprigs fresh rosemary or 1/2 teaspoon dried

12 peppercorns, crushed

1 hot red pepper, broken and seeded (optional) or 1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes

1/4 lb prosciutto, sliced 1/2 inch thin or one 4oz package of pre-sliced prosciutto*

1/2 cup dry white wine

1/4 cup water

Salt for brine (see note)

Place the chicken pieces in a mixing bowl and add cold water to cover and salt to taste. *Note: I used a large mixing bowl and 1/8 cup of sea salt to 6 cups of water. Cover with plastic wrap and store in the fridge for 1 hour.

Drain the water and rinse the chicken pieces completely before patting dry with paper towels.

Arrange the chicken pieces in one layer in a skillet. Add the sage, bay leaves, garlic, whole cloves, rosemary, peppercorns and red pepper. Cut the prosciutto into small cubes and sprinkle it over the chicken. *Note: If using pre-sliced prosciutto, remove all the paper or plastic sheets between each slice. Stack the prosciutto one on top of the other, and cube the whole stack at once.

Add the wine and water. Do not add any additional salt, since the prosciutto will season the dish. Cover and simmer 40 minutes. Once the chicken has cooked to an internal temperature of at least 165 degrees. Uncover and cook briefly until the sauce is reduced slightly. Serve hot.

Rustic and earthy, Chicken Canzanese is tender and full of subtle flavors. The broth itself is fairly salty on its own thanks to the simmered prosciutto, but soak it up with a piece of crusty bread, and the briny flavor mellows. There were no serving suggestions mentioned in Edward’s recipe nor the NYTimes, but the broth would be lovely tossed in a warm bowl of pasta, spinach, peas, potatoes or mushrooms. If you are feeling decadent you could add a dash of cream to the broth to balance all the flavors. As Edward says in the introduction…”Cook the food in this book with a free hand, using your own creativity with the freshest ingredients you can get.”

Collected by museums and galleries around the world, throughout Edward’s long art career his style has varied…

Summer Shower, Pescara, Italy. Edward Giobbi. 1951

Hanover, Triptych. Edward Giobbi. Exact date unknown – possibly 1970s.

He dislikes labels or being lumped into a certain type of painting, but he one thing Edward consistently strives for in his art instead is honesty. The same could be said for his cooking. All of his recipes are celebrations of local eating. They reflect riding the highs and lows of economy, of balancing cooking constraints with bounty, and the importance of identifying local resources. His recipes are interesting, creative, nourishing. They are of the earth and of the moment. I think that’s what makes Italian food so appealing. It’s a cuisine rooted in a waste-not culture that appreciates what’s right there in front – all the bounty that the earth can offer.

Fall Still Life- Edward Giobbi. Photo courtesy of Chroma Fine Art Gallery. Find out more about this painting here.

My favorite piece in Edward’s catalog of work is this one. I think it’s the most food and family-like of all his art. In my interpretation of it, I can see his whole entire world. His whole lineage in mixed media. There are blue fish in the sea at the bottom right. A mountainous landscape in the middle. There’s red for blood, life, wine and energy. I see flowers, woodland foraging, and garden soil. In my mind, that blob of brown represents all the possibilities that might grow from a simple swatch of ground. And the tree. The beautiful, exuberant tree surrounded by dots of confetti-like splatters and stars. That’s the Giobbi tree. The one that represents the vitality of nature, the sparkle of life, of wife, of children all rolled up in one. I could be reading too much into it. Maybe it’s just what the title says - Fall Still Life. Maybe it’s an autumn landscape in Canzano, Italy. Or a pairing of items Edward arranged in his home studio in Katonah, New York. Maybe it represents a lot more or even possibly a lot less. Or maybe… just maybe… it’s the word, the work, that Edward’s been striving for all along.. honesty.

Cheers to Edward for sharing his family’s Italian heritage with us here in America via books, art and storytelling. Cheers to his kids, Cham, Lisa and Gena for their fantastic illustrations. And finally, cheers to the unnamed woman in Canzano, who passed this recipe along. I wish we knew your name so we could credit you properly for the delicious dish.

If you’d like to catch up with the recipe tour from the very beginning days in 2020, start here or click on any of the country links mentioned above to visit those specific posts.

Next up on the International Vintage Recipe Tour, it’s a trip to Jamaica via the kitchen. Hope you’ll join us!

Annie’s Wine Baked Brisket & How a St. Patrick’s Day Staple Came to America

Published on March 17, 2019March 10, 2023 by In The Vintage Kitchen3 Comments

Cows are sacred, salt is expensive, cross the sea trading is prohibited and immigrants had to get to New York. In a nutshell, those are the four substantial situations that had to occur in order to bring brisket to your dining tables today. Happy St. Patrick’s Day dear readers! Today’s post is all about a traditional Irish food that actually is, in reality, a multi-cultural collaboration between three countries. While it is certain that many a crock-pot will be simmering away today in honor of the holiday, and the famous corned beef and cabbage that has become associated with it, you might be surprised to learn that the propulsion for this traditional heritage food actually has more to do with New York City than Ireland.

The Kerry cow is considered to be the oldest breed of cattle in Ireland.

It all started back in Ireland’s ancient times when cows were considered sacred animals. Valued for their milk and their strength over anything else, Irish cows were essential components to a working farm and were never considered a viable meat source. But England adored beef, particularly roasts, so much so that by the 1600s, England couldn’t keep up with their own country’s supply and demand. So they went to Ireland to see about some cows.

A good revenue stream for the Emerald Isle and a can’t-live-without-it commodity for England, this cow commerce between countries was mutually beneficial for all. That is until the Cattle Acts of the 1660s. In an instant, thanks to the Act, the sale of live cows to England was no longer allowed. The sudden halt in commerce left Ireland scrambling for a solution and left England grumbly with hungry bellies. This all came about at a time when salt was also an extremely expensive ingredient in England. Ireland, on the other hand, was not only flush with cattle but also abundant with coastal salt pans. The combination of these two riches formed a clever way for Ireland to package meat for export that skirted around the law. They created a new method of food preservation called corned beef – a salted meat product that could withstand time and travel to England without spoiling.

Coming from the brisket cut of the cow (located between the front knees and the shoulder area) this salt-infused food was named corned beef because of the corn kernel-sized salt crystals used in preserving it. Generally known as a tougher piece of meat since that area of a cow’s body gets quite a lot of exercise, early corned beef was essentially just a slab of meat that was rumored to taste more like salt than beef.

Commercial Cuts of Beef chart from the Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer, 1967 edition

Because it was shelf stable, easy to prepare, and came in bigger portions, corned beef became a popular staple in the diets of 18th-century Englanders as well as sailors away at sea for long stretches of time. It even made its way into the diets of Early American colonists who were struggling to produce food for their new country. The only people who were not enjoying this salty slice of protein were the Irish, who, in a terrible twist of irony, couldn’t afford to buy the very product they were exporting.

Newly arrived immigrants at Ellis Island. Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress.

It would take one more century and a move to America before Irish immigrants were able to afford and enjoy the corned beef that made their home country famous. In the mid-late 1800s, a majority of the butcher shops within the New York metropolitan area were owned and operated by Jewish immigrants.

The Lustgarten family owned a Jewish butcher shop in NYC in the late 1880s. Photo courtesy of tenement.org

Living in close-knit communities, both Irish and Jewish transplants bonded over feelings of displacement and discrimination experienced in their new world. Financial resources were a challenge for most city dwellers, but especially for these two ethnic groups in particular, as they faced prejudices in work and social environments. Luckily, food brought them together via thrift and necessity, and novelty.

Market shopping along NYC’s Mulberry Street in 1900

Upon arriving in America, Irish immigrants were delighted to discover that corned beef was much less expensive in New York then it was back home in Ireland. Likewise, Jewish immigrants liked brisket because it was one of the least expensive cuts in the butcher shop and could feed a crowd. Through experimentation in their New York City kitchens, Jewish and Irish newcomers developed the low, slow cooking methods that eventually evolved brisket from a salty slab of preserved meat into a rich and flavorful meal. Cabbage was often paired with it since it was the least expensive vegetable. Both cultures developed their own trademark dishes – slow simmered corned beef and cabbage for the Irish and smoked pastrami and sauerkraut for the Jewish community. Each specialty stemmed from the humble brisket cut.

Beef Chart from the Culinary Arts Encyclopedic Cookbook circa 1948

Today’s recipe focuses on the Jewish side of cooking, with a brisket that quickly browns in butter on the stovetop before heading into the oven for a slow simmer in red wine. If you are not a fan of the saltiness of traditional corned beef or are wary of the seasoning packet that comes in most store-bought brisket kits, this recipe is a great alternative, since you can control your own level of spices. It comes from Annie, an avid cook, and a world traveler who lived in New York for most of her life. A dear friend to my father, she’s proud of her Jewish heritage and is famous for many signature dishes including homemade horseradish (more on that in a future post).

Annie sent this recipe to my dad over email 15 years ago while she was at sea traveling between Buenos Aires and Santiago. The trip was rough with wild waves and cold temperatures but Annie was more than happy to take a few moments to share her way of making brisket. In our modern age, email letters aren’t quite as pretty as handwritten ones – but the sentiment is there nonetheless. My dad has hung onto her correspondence for over a decade and a half. I discovered it recently, tucked inside one of his favorite cookbooks.

Although it requires two days to make, it is very simple and involves just a few ingredients. I used grass-fed beef from the farmers market and a red wine blend called Sheep Thrills for the fun pun. Also, Annie cooks like James Beard recommends – with your intuition – so she doesn’t specify in her recipe exactly how much seasoning to use. In the directions, I share my method, but you may want to add more or less depending on your preference.

Annie’s Wine Baked Brisket

4-5lb beef brisket ( I used a 3.5 lb grass-fed beef brisket)

4 tablespoons butter (only necessary if using grass-fed beef)

6-7 onions

4 stalks celery

2 bay leaves

2 cups red wine

Onion Powder

Garlic Powder

Celery Salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Remove the brisket from the packaging and let rest on the counter for 45 minutes to 1 hour. If you are using frozen grass-fed beef make sure that it has completely thawed in the fridge before beginning this recipe. Do not trim the fat from the brisket.

Seasonings with dots of butter on top before the flip to brown the other side.

In an ovenproof pan (preferably one that has a lid) over medium high heat, add the butter (but only if using grass-fed beef, otherwise omit the butter). Generously sprinkle each side of the meat with the onion and garlic powders and the celery salt (I did about five passes on each side with each of these seasonings). Brown the brisket, fat-side down, for 5 minutes on each side.

Roughly chop the onions and the celery and add them to the brisket pan.

Pour in the red wine and add the bay leaves. Cover and bake in the oven for 2 to 3 hours or until the brisket reaches an internal temperature of 170 degrees. (Note: Grass-fed beef cooks faster than grain-fed beef, so watch the temperature and time closely. My 3.5 lb brisket came out exactly at the 2-hour mark.)

Let the brisket cool to room temperature and then refrigerate overnight it in the same pan that you cooked it in so that all the juices can soak back up into the meat.

The next day, remove the pan from the fridge and scoop off the top layer of fat.

Remove the onions and celery to a blender and mix until well combined. This will form a thin au jus style gravy which is delicious for dipping.

Transfer the au jus to a small saucepan and warm over medium heat. Next, thinly slice the brisket and serve cold or at room temperature alongside the au jus and/or with your favorite condiments like mustard, mayo, or horseradish.

This style of brisket is perfect for French Dip style sandwiches served on crusty rolls. It also travels well for springtime picnics and outdoor family gatherings. In Annie’s house, it is a staple for many Jewish holiday celebrations. Simple fare with a collaborative past, that’s the brisket in all its wonderful ways.

There is something lovely about Annie’s recipe that ties all the historical elements of the holiday into one tidy package. With its Irish and Jewish heritage, its international transmittance, and Annie’s New York roots, it feels like this recipe really embraces the spirit of the holiday. The parallels are endless. The recipe was written on a boat in the 2000s featuring a food that was once eaten by sailors in the 1700s. Annie lived in New York during the 20th century. The immigrants who helped perfect this style of cooking lived in New York in the 19th century. Annie is Jewish. The butchers who sold brisket cuts to the Irish in NYC were Jewish. Annie uses brisket to feed her family on Jewish holidays. The Irish-American community uses brisket to celebrate their national Catholic holiday.

St. Patrick’s Day isn’t only for the Irish – it’s for everyone in America who hand a hand in building a country where people and food worked together to create new things and new traditions in a new land. Cheers to foods that continue to bring people together in surprising ways. And cheers to Annie for sharing her delicious brisket recipe. Hope this St. Patrick’s Day is your most festive one yet!

Luther Burbank, The Reliable Russet and Everyone’s Favorite Way to Eat A French Fry {1970’s Style}

Published on July 15, 2018March 10, 2023 by In The Vintage Kitchen8 Comments

They come with names that sound like 1970s rock bands… Bodega Red, Arran Victory, British Queen, Golden Wonder, Bellarosa. Or like types of prize-winning chickens… German Butterball, Champion, Adirondack Red, Tyson. Some even sound like certain breeds of dairy cows… Shetland Black, Royal Jersey, Blue Bell, Annabelle, Cream of the Crop.

But today we are not talking about chickens or cows or headliner music. Instead, today we are talking about potatoes. All those names previously discussed are specific types of one of the most consumed foods on the planet- the noble and nourishing potato. With more than 5,000 varieties in the world, you might think that it would be hard for one lone potato type to stand out in his vast tuber family of brown, round, knobby-eyed dirt dwellers. But there is actually one big-time celebrity in the batch – a spotlight stealer known around the world – a superstar of the food and restaurant scene that represents the most frequently consumed potato on the planet.

It is my pleasure to present the story of the wondrously addictive potato variety known as the Burbank Russet. Haven’t heard of it, you say? Ah, but just you wait…you’ll know it. Maybe not by backstory but definitely by bite.

On Friday, it was National French Fry Day and we celebrated with a homemade batch of Russet potato french fries in honor of the guy who created them. Meet Luther Burbank, 19th-century American botanist extraordinaire…

Luther grew up in Massachusetts in the 1850s playing with seed balls in his mother’s garden instead of playing with sports balls in his farm neighborhood. His interest in botany from the time he was a youngster fueled his curiosity for plant cultivation, a field of study that would eventually turn into a lifelong career. Throughout his childhood and into early adulthood, Luther tinkered around with seed starting and plant breeding. Although it was a laboriously slow process, most often times ending up in disappointment, Luther came by this area of study naturally. His mother also shared his interest in gardening and the two of them would happily spend hours working in the garden, talking about the life stages of various plants.

The plant world was a playground to Luther, something that represented creativity and freedom from set rules and rigid disciplines. He had aspirations to one day have his own farm in California where he would grow vegetables and flowers for the retail market and try his hand at growing new breeds of plant life. In his early 20’s, he started experimenting with potatoes. But developing a new variety wasn’t as easy as you might think. Potatoes are peculiar things. They can be regenerated in two ways – through seeds or eyes. Either method produces similar results or slightly different results in the form of mutations or spores each time offspring are generated. It is difficult to determine at the onslaught of a growing project how the potatoes will turn out at the end of the project. More often than not the experimentation stage for Luther in trying to cultivate a new variety was long and finicky.

If you have never seen how a potato grows, this is a good illustration. Plant above the ground and lots of potatoes nestled together below ground. Image from the 1893 L.L.May & Company Seed Catalog featuring Northern Potatoes.

But in 1873 gratification came, finally, to Luther’s ruddy, soil-covered hands. One day in his 24th year, Luther went out into the field to dig his latest sample crop, half expecting to uncover the same old story of growing the exact same plant he started out trying not to grow. But this time, something was different. Instead of digging up an ordinary round potato, Luther pulled a tuber out of the ground that was twice as big and twice as long. It was reddish-brown in color and hefty in weight. A totally different specimen than the parent potatoes he had started this most recent batch with. Success at last! His first genuinely original new potato had emerged.

He christened this new masterpiece the Burbank Russet and immediately sold it for $125. Was that enough money for Luther to retire early to his California dream farmhouse and garden? Not quite yet, but that’s not important to this story. Money never mattered to Luther, only the science that stood behind it. He had made a new potato and that was pretty motivating stuff to keep his heart in the game and his hands in the soil.

Luther’s Burbank Russet was an exciting and innovative new addition to the agricultural market for its time because of its size. Almost twice as large as typical potatoes of that era, it also boasted an adaptable consistency (good for baking, mashing and frying) and it was more disease resistant to common blights that affected many potato crops around the world. But after it was introduced in the late 1800s, it took some time for the Burbank Russet to catch on. The US government initially started farming it in Oregon and from there it slowly spread to neighboring states and then the region and then the rest of the country. Eventually, it became the best-loved potato cultivator in the United States.

Farmers loved it because it was easy to grow and held up well in both shipping and storage. Once it became a successful and abundant crop, the food industry got on board. Its size, consistency and cooking adaptability made it an ideal food product for both general household consumers as well as commercial food companies and restaurants.

Although the actual cooking process of making French fries – cutting strips of potatoes and frying them in fat – had been around in France and Belgium since the 1700s, it wasn’t until a valuable American discovery was made in the 1930s that fries started to take hold as an American food staple. This important discovery was that french fries froze well and could be reheated easily while still maintaining the same shape, taste and texture. In the early days of refrigeration, this was exciting! This mere fact opened up opportunities for the retail, transportation and restaurant industries as french fries could now be shipped around the country in both frozen and fresh forms.

A midcentury newspaper ad for McDonald’s french fries.

By the time hamburger stands started popping up in the 1950s and 1960s, french fries became a main attraction at the drive-in burger stand as well as the family dinner table.

A vintage frozen french fry ad from the 1960s. Photo courtesy of itsjustoldpaper on Etsy.

The novelty of enjoying french fries both at home and at restaurants offered plenty of potential in the form of culinary creativity. In mid-century America, the common condiments for them were simple… ketchup (or catsup, however you prefer!) and salt.

A 1955 advertisement for French Fries featuring Hunt’s catsup.

But by the 1970s, these little potato favorites were garnering more international gourmet attention. Common toppings and condiment companions of the disco era included the following…

…paprika, cracked black pepper, parmesan cheese, malt vinegar, crushed herbs, ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, salt, and a special mayonnaise/mustard mixed combo variation. In addition to frying, it also became much more commonplace, especially in the latter decades of the 20th century, to oven-bake freshly cut fries. This method of cooking was believed to be a “healthier” version since it involved less oil and a tamer cooking experience (no vats of hot fat to contend with!) as opposed to traditional deep-fry methods.

Because a lot of people tend to think it is easier to go to a fast food restaurant and buy a serving or two of fries or grab a box of frozen ones from the grocery store, we made the oven-baked variation for this post to prove how simple, quick and easy it is to take a fresh potato and turn it into a delicious hot french fry in less than 30 minutes. This recipe comes from the vintage cookbook Joy of Cooking (1975 edition) and was a breeze to make. Literally, it took 5 minutes to prepare and 20 minutes to bake, which makes it a fast side dish for your summer burgers.

Oven “French-Fried” Potatoes (serves 1-2)

1 large russet potato (scrubbed)

1/8 cup olive oil

A generous sprinkling of sea salt

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Slice potatoes lengthwise into long 1/4″ sticks (you can do this by hand or by using the julienne setting on your vegetable slicer. Either way try to keep each stick as uniform as possible to ensure even baking. Lay the freshly cut sticks between a couple layers of paper towels and pat dry to remove extra moisture, then spread sticks out on an ungreased baking sheet and drizzle with olive oil.

Using your hands, toss the potatoes and oil together so that all sticks are coated and spread them back out in the pan as flat as possible.

Bake in the oven for 10 minutes. Then remove from the oven and flip the fries over and return back to the oven for an additional 8-10 minutes. They should look something like this when they are ready…

Remove fries from the baking pan onto a paper towel-lined plate. Sprinkle with salt and pepper (or any of your favorite spices) and serve immediately.

Inspired by the 1970s list of approved condiments, I kept thinking while writing this post how fun it would be to have a french fry bar party where guests could pick and choose their own toppings from a wide assortment. So many flavors pair well with potatoes, so the possibilities would be endless as far as dips and dredges, sprinkles and submersibles. The one element of homemade french fries that should always remain constant though is the potato – always use russet potatoes. They are the variety of choice in almost every fast food french fry you’ll ever eat – including McDonald’s whose fries are legendary. And besides, you’ll make Luther happy using his version over any other!

Luther never lived to see the ultimate french fry-loving success of his humble potato breed, although he did live a fulfilling gardening life up until the time of his death in the mid-1920s. And he did acquire that dream farm in California that he always wanted…

Luther Burbank’s house as it looked in the 1920s

Now in 2018, his house is a city park and garden that is open to the public.

Luther Burbank House and Garden, 200 Santa Rosa Ave., Santa Rosa, CA

And he built a garden where he invented new varieties of fruits and flowers and vegetables. We have Luther to thank for cultivating these beauties…

Clockwise from top left: The Plumcot – a mix between plums and apricots, the Fire Poppy, the July Elberta Peach, the Spineless Cactus and the Shasta Daisy

So while he never did see his potatoes bubbling up in oil at the Golden Arches, he did see his lifelong passion laid out in the garden as the golden hour light passed from day into night. Satisfaction was never going to be found in fame or fortune when it came to Luther Burbank. He didn’t care about either of those two things. His happiness lived deep within the dirt – a vast canvas of potential – fueled by a creativity and curiosity that never ceased to inspire him.

Cheers to Luther for inventing one of the most delicious potatoes in the world. And cheers to all the farmers who keep growing the russets. May they continue to add a bit of indulgence to our diets and serve as a basis for inspiration in our culinary endeavors.

Find out more about Luther and his Santa Rosa, CA garden park here. Find the vintage Joy of Cooking cookbook in the shop here.

If you guys have any favorite toppings or condiments that you prefer on your french fries please post them in the comments section below. We’d love to hear from you!