Back in the 70s and 80s it was quiche. Then in the
90s, it was latte. These days good ol’ boy/girl bubba/bubbette
politicians seem intent on labeling those who consume arugula as effete,
lah-dee-dah elitists.
Excuse me — arugula? I’ll admit
there’s a certain twisted logic about quiche. It’s French. Yes, it’s true
that if it weren’t for the help France gave our fledgling American
Revolution, we might still be using currency that sports
the British
monarch’s profile; but we did come to France’s rescue in both
world wars, which pretty much evens things out to my mind. More to the
point, until the last few decades, fancy restaurants and fancy food in
America were almost exclusively French. These days, however, quiche can be
found in so many American coffeehouses, restaurants, diners and bakeries,
and even in grocery delis, that the very most upscale “elite”
establishments eschew it as too commonplace.
Deriding latte drinkers also makes a kind of
nonsensical sense. In Italy, latte — espresso combined with a larger
quantity of steamed milk — is regarded as a beverage for invalids and
young children. Normal, healthy adults, not just machismo types, drink their
potent espresso undiluted, perhaps with a little sugar. Still, it’s
in America where lattes are too often dumbed down until they’re no
more than coffee-scented warm milk. A properly made latte is my coffee
drink of choice; but these days I usually add an extra shot (or multiple
shots) of espresso because it’s so often bland. Maybe latte is
“elite” because it costs more than a cup of murky
“joe” that’s been sitting on a burner forever. Maybe
it’s because it just tastes better.
Charges of elitism are hardly new in American
politics. According to UIS Political Studies professor and presidency
expert, Tim Miller, it was Andrew Jackson who first branded his opponent,
incumbent John Quincy Adams, as an elitist in the 1828 presidential
election. The “elite” item in question wasn’t a
foodstuff, but a billiard table that Adams had installed in the White House
in 1825. He’d lived and traveled extensively in Europe and Russia,
both on his own and while his father, second president John Adams, lived in
France, the Netherlands, and England while representing the U.S. during and
immediately after the Revolution. Jackson and his followers used the
billiard table as a political weapon — the symbol of Adams’
worldliness. It was the opening shot in a mudslinging campaign many still
regard as the dirtiest presidential campaign in U.S history.
Jacksonians’ claims about Adams’ billiard table were
exaggerated at best and false at worst, but they were effective: Adams lost
the election.
Does anybody really think that people who eat arugula
or drink latte have less common sense, and are less down-to-earth, less in
touch with “ordinary folks,” less real, less —
let’s face it — American, than those who eat head lettuce and drink Folger’s? What
about the folks who eat arugula and drink Folger’s?
A few months ago, I heard an explosive expletive
coming from our bathroom early one morning. My husband, Peter, is not
necessarily cheerful in the mornings, but he’s rarely foul-tempered
either, so I stuck my head around the corner to see what was the matter. He
was staring at the deodorant in his hand. Peter thrust it toward me.
“Can you believe this?” he asked disgustedly. I didn’t
see anything other than a container of his usual brand until he jabbed a
finger at the slogan that proclaimed: “If Your Favorite Vegetable is
a Corndog, Then You’re a Mitchum Man!”
“Isn’t that just great,” said
Peter, who is not particularly fond of corndogs. “Now there’s
even Bubba deodorant.”
In his second book, The
Audacity of Hope, Barack Obama wryly relates
an episode from his first trip to southern Illinois. It was the summer of
1997 after his first term in the state legislature, and Obama was
accompanied by his legislative aide, Dan Shomon. Shomon repeatedly told him
to only pack khakis and polo shirts, “no fancy linen trousers or silk
shirts.”
“I assured him that I didn’t own any
linens or silks,” Obama says.
When the men stopped at a TGI Friday’s, Obama
ordered a cheeseburger, and when the waitress brought the food, he asked if
she had Dijon mustard. Obama writes that Shoman shook his head:
“He doesn’t want Dijon,” he
insisted, waving the waitress off. “Here” — he shoved a
yellow bottle of French’s mustard in my direction —
“here’s some mustard right here.”
The waitress looked confused. “We got Dijon if
you want it,” she said to me.
I smiled. “That would be great, thanks.”
As the waitress walked away, I leaned over to Dan and whispered that I
didn’t think there were any photographers around.
Do many Americans really believe that eating arugula
is elitist? Or is it a faux issue created by advertisers, media with too
much airtime to fill, and opportunistic or over-anxious political handlers.
We’re not talking about caviar, foie gras, and truffles, folks. While
it’s true that only in the last few years has arugula been commonly
eaten in the U.S., these days it’s hardly an unusual foodstuff at any
societal level. It’s sold in bags in most grocery stores and on
menus, not just at medium and upscale restaurants, but in salad bars and
mainstream chains such as Olive Garden, Ruby Tuesday and, yes, TGI Fridays.
Rachael Ray posts six recipes that include arugula on her Web site —
you can’t get much more bubba-esque than that.
It’s a pretty safe bet that there are far more
people in the U.S. eating arugula than eating moose stew. But who cares?
Are we really so silly — so shallow — that we think eating
arugula disqualifies someone from becoming president, and that eating moose
stew makes someone a better candidate — or vice versa?
For all our sakes, I hope not.
Contact Julianne Glatz at realcuisine.jg@gmail.com.
All greens become stronger-tasting during the hot
summer months. For several years, Peter grew a strain of rustic (wild)
arugula that’s quite a bit more intense than the strains normally
found in groceries and gardens even in cool weather. In the summer, its
flavor became much too aggressive for salads. Cooking tames down
strong-tasting greens, and with an abundance of rustic arugula in our
garden, I devised the following recipe. It became such a family favorite
that we were soon making it year round, with varying kinds of greens, beans
and sausage. The entire family liked how it tasted, but for me another big
part of its appeal was that it was such a quick-to-make (start to finish in
under an hour) one-dish meal.
PASTA WITH ARUGULA, CHICKPEAS,
AND SAUSAGE
1 lb. dry pasta in sturdy shapes such as
rigatoni, cavatappi, or penne
Salt (preferably kosher or sea) for salting the
pasta water and finishing the
dish.
Approximately 1 1/2 c. salami, coppa ham,
proscuitto, or other cured sausage, cut into
matchsticks between 1/4 and 1/2
inch thick
OR 1 lb. bulk Italian sausage
1/2 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 15 oz. can chickpeas, undrained, or substitute
other canned beans such as
cannelini or
black beans, or kidney beans.
1/2 c. dry white wine or dry white vermouth
4-6 c. coarsely chopped, washed arugula, or
other greens such as dandelion,
kale, Swiss
chard or spinach, stems removed
if large.
(stongly flavored and/or sturdier
greens, such as
arugula, dandelion and kale
should be more
toward the 4 c. range)
1/2 c. chopped fresh Italian flat-leafed parsley
2 T. thinly sliced or minced garlic or more or
less to taste
1 T. Hungarian or Spanish sweet or
bittersweet paprika
1 tsp. hot pepper flakes or to taste, optional
Freshly grated Pecorino Romano, aged Asiago,
Parmegiano Reggiano or other
grating cheese
for serving
If using cured sausage, sauté it over
moderately high heat in a large skillet until lightly browned and crisped.
If using Italian sausage, place in the skillet over moderately high heat
and chop with a spatula or cooking spoon, keeping it in fairly large chunks
(about the size of marbles) until the sausage is lightly browned and
completely cooked through. Remove either kind of sausage from the pan and
set aside.
Set a large pot of water on to boil for the pasta.
Reduce the heat to medium, and add half the olive
oil, the garlic, hot pepper, and sauté until the garlic JUST begins
to turn golden. Add the paprika and cook for a minute; then add the wine
and bring to a boil. Add the chickpeas with their liquid and simmer for 10
minutes or until the mixture has thickened slightly. Add the reserved
salami or sausage and half the parsley, and cook until heated through.
Remove the pan from the stove while the pasta cooks.
When the water comes to a boil, add a scant handful
of salt and dump in the pasta. When it returns to a boil, set the timer for
five minutes less than the package instructions.(For some reason, the
cooking times on pasta packages are almost always too long.)
When the pasta is two or three minutes away from
being done, place the skillet back on the stove over high heat. Stir in the
drained pasta with the contents of the skillet and a ladle of the pasta
water, and let the mixture simmer for a few minutes, until the flavors have
combined and the pasta is completely cooked. Salt to taste. Remove from the
heat, stir in the remaining olive oil and serve immediately, accompanied by
the grated cheese. Serves 4-6
This article appears in Sep 11-17, 2008.
