Free Download: The Book Lover’s Guide to Coffee

FYI: Cour­tesy of Pen­guin Ran­dom House, you can down­load The Book Lover’s Guide to Cof­fee. This free guide–a “cel­e­bra­tion of ideas that make cof­fee and lit­er­a­ture inseparable”–features:

  • 6 authors on cof­fee’s cul­tur­al sig­nif­i­cance ;
  • The rit­u­als of 7 famous cof­fee-obsessed authors;
  • Info­graph­ics rich with caf­feinat­ed, book­ish data;
  • Tips on tak­ing the per­fect cof­fee;
  • Brew­ing guides from Birch Cof­fee.

You can down­load the cof­fee guide here. (They do require an email address.) Mean­while, find more good cof­fee items in the Relat­eds below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Rol­lick­ing French Ani­ma­tion on the Per­ils of Drink­ing a Lit­tle Too Much Cof­fee

Hon­oré de Balzac Writes About “The Plea­sures and Pains of Cof­fee,” and His Epic Cof­fee Addic­tion

Philoso­phers Drink­ing Cof­fee: The Exces­sive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

David Lynch Directs a Mini-Sea­son of Twin Peaks in the Form of Japan­ese Cof­fee Com­mer­cials

J.S. Bach’s Com­ic Opera, “The Cof­fee Can­ta­ta,” Sings the Prais­es of the Great Stim­u­lat­ing Drink (1735)

“The Virtues of Cof­fee” Explained in 1690 Ad: The Cure for Lethar­gy, Scurvy, Drop­sy, Gout & More

Black Cof­fee: Doc­u­men­tary Cov­ers the His­to­ry, Pol­i­tics & Eco­nom­ics of the “Most Wide­ly Tak­en Legal Drug”

10 Essen­tial Tips for Mak­ing Great Cof­fee at Home

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

Beer Archaeology: Yes, It’s a Thing

Travis Rupp is a clas­sics instruc­tor at The Uni­ver­si­ty of Col­orado. He’s also a “beer archae­ol­o­gist” who works on a spe­cial projects team at the Avery Brew­ing Com­pa­ny (in Boul­der) where they “brew beers the way that ancient Egyp­tians, Peru­vians and Vikings did.” If you can under­stand the beer an ancient peo­ple drank, you can bet­ter under­stand their over­all cul­ture.  That’s assump­tion at the heart of beer archae­ol­o­gy.

Above, watch a three minute intro­duc­tion to Rup­p’s work. Below, find infor­ma­tion on some of the world’s old­est beer recipes from Ancient Egypt and Chi­na.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

5,000-Year-Old Chi­nese Beer Recipe Gets Recre­at­ed by Stan­ford Stu­dents

Dis­cov­er the Old­est Beer Recipe in His­to­ry From Ancient Sume­ria, 1800 B.C.

 

5,000-Year-Old Chinese Beer Recipe Gets Recreated by Stanford Students

A cou­ple of years back, we intro­duced you to what was con­sid­ered the old­est known beer recipe–an Ancient Sumer­ian recipe dat­ing back to 1800 BC. It turns out, how­ev­er, that the Chi­nese had the Sume­ri­ans beat.

Above, you can watch Stan­ford stu­dents recre­ate a 5,000-year-old beer recipe which Pro­fes­sor Li Liu revealed to the world last spring. Accord­ing to Stan­ford News, Liu and a team of researchers recent­ly found the recipe while “study­ing the residue on the inner walls of pot­tery ves­sels found in an exca­vat­ed site in north­east Chi­na.” As part of the course Archae­ol­o­gy of Food: Pro­duc­tion, Con­sump­tion and Rit­u­al, Pro­fes­sor Liu’s stu­dents recre­at­ed the dis­cov­ered con­coc­tion, fol­low­ing this gen­er­al process:

The stu­dents first cov­ered their grain with water and let it sprout, in a process called malt­ing. After the grain sprout­ed, the stu­dents crushed the seeds and put them in water again. The con­tain­er with the mix­ture was then placed in the oven and heat­ed to 65 degrees Cel­sius (149 F) for an hour, in a process called mash­ing. After­ward, the stu­dents sealed the con­tain­er with plas­tic and let it stand at room tem­per­a­ture for about a week to fer­ment.

You can dig up infor­ma­tion on the Chi­nese beer recipe by look­ing at the Pro­ceed­ings of the Nation­al Acad­e­my of Sci­ences of the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca.

via Stan­ford News

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent

Dis­cov­er the Old­est Beer Recipe in His­to­ry From Ancient Sume­ria, 1800 B.C.

Watch “Beer,” a Mind-Warp­ing Ani­ma­tion of Charles Bukowski’s 1971 Poem Hon­or­ing His Favorite Drink

The Physics of Guin­ness Beer Demys­ti­fied

MIT Teach­es You How to Speak Ital­ian & Cook Ital­ian Food All at Once (Free Online Course)

John Cage Had a Surprising Mushroom Obsession (Which Began with His Poverty in the Depression)

“You know that my hob­by is hunt­ing wild mush­rooms,” says John Cage in the 1990 read­ing at Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty you can hear above. “I was sure there was a haiku poem — Japan­ese — that would have to do with mush­rooms, because haikus are relat­ed to the sea­sons: spring, sum­mer, fall, and win­ter, and fall is the peri­od for mush­rooms.” Hav­ing found a suit­ably autum­nal piece of verse by sev­en­teenth-cen­tu­ry poet-saint Mat­suo Bashō fea­tur­ing a mush­room and a leaf, Cage first reads the Japan­ese-lan­guage orig­i­nal, then offers trans­la­tions, his favorite being this loose inter­pre­ta­tion: “What leaf? What mush­room?” Per­haps we’d expect that from a more-zen-than-zen avant-garde com­pos­er best known for four min­utes and thir­ty-three sec­onds with­out music.

But Cage’s mush­room hob­by may come as more of a sur­prise, let alone the fact that it turns out to have gone much deep­er than a hob­by. “He won a mush­room quiz con­test in 1958 on Ital­ian tele­vi­sion,” writes the New York Times’ Edward Roth­stein in a review of For the Birds, Cage’s book of con­ver­sa­tions with philoso­pher Daniel Charles. “In the 1960s he sup­plied a New York restau­rant with edi­ble fun­gi. He led mush­room out­ings at the New School. He knows a Lac­tar­ius Piper­a­tus burns the tongue when raw but is deli­cious when cooked. He has even had his stom­ach pumped. As Mar­cel Duchamp wrote, inscrib­ing a chess book for his cagey friend, ‘Dear John look out: yet anoth­er poi­so­nous mush­room.’ ”

Cage hap­pened upon mush­rooms, quite lit­er­al­ly, while liv­ing in Carmel dur­ing the Depres­sion. “I did­n’t have any­thing to eat,” he tells com­pos­er and film­mak­er Hen­ning Lohn­er in a con­ver­sa­tion col­lect­ed in Writ­ings through John Cage’s Music, Poet­ry, and Art. But he knew from “tra­di­tion” that “mush­rooms were edi­ble and that some of them are dead­ly. So I picked one of the mush­rooms and went in the pub­lic library and sat­is­fied myself that it was not dead­ly, that it was edi­ble, and I ate noth­ing else for a week.” So began his jour­ney to the sta­tus he called “ama­teur mush­room hunter,” albeit one with a pro­fes­sion­al breadth of work­ing myco­log­i­cal knowl­edge.

“Fas­ci­nat­ed by their hap­haz­ard growth, the artist went on mush­room hunts, stud­ied fun­gi iden­ti­fi­ca­tion, and even col­lect­ed them,” writes Art­sy’s Sarah Gottes­man. He “crys­tal­lized his mush­room obses­sion by co-found­ing the New York Myco­log­i­cal Soci­ety, along with some of his stu­dents from the New School,” and even “made a liv­ing by reg­u­lar­ly sup­ply­ing New York restau­rants like the Four Sea­sons with the pick­ings from his mush­room hunts.” His Mush­room Book, a col­lab­o­ra­tion with mycol­o­gist Alexan­der H. Smith and artist Lois Long, came out in 1972, the year after he gift­ed his fun­gi col­lec­tion to the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia, San­ta Cruz.

And yet in his beloved mush­rooms, Cage found the same escape from the pre-cast stric­tures of log­ic and rea­son that he did in sound (or indeed in the brief burst of sense impres­sion dis­tilled in haiku): “It’s use­less to pre­tend to know mush­rooms,” he says to Charles in For the Birds. ”They escape your eru­di­tion.” Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Alli­son Meier, in a piece on the Hor­ti­cul­tur­al Soci­ety of New York exhi­bi­tion of his work as a nat­u­ral­ist, also sees the pos­si­bil­i­ty of “par­al­lels between his free-think­ing music and the unstruc­tured way mush­rooms sprout up hap­haz­ard­ly,” but points out that, in images of “Cage frol­ick­ing with his mush­room bas­ket” or “the play­ful wind of words in the Mush­room Book,” we see that “this real­ly was a pas­sion in its own right” — and one, like his pas­sion for music, that could pro­duce unpre­dictably deli­cious results.

via Art­sy

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the One Night Sun Ra & John Cage Played Togeth­er in Con­cert (1986)

The Music of Avant-Garde Com­pos­er John Cage Now Avail­able in a Free Online Archive

The Curi­ous Score for John Cage’s “Silent” Zen Com­po­si­tion 4’33”

How to Get Start­ed: John Cage’s Approach to Start­ing the Dif­fi­cult Cre­ative Process

Lis­ten to John Cage’s 5 Hour Art Piece: Diary: How To Improve The World (You Will Only Make Mat­ters Worse)

John Cage Unbound: A New Dig­i­tal Archive Pre­sent­ed by The New York Pub­lic Library

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Corkscrew: The 700-Pound Mechanical Sculpture That Opens a Wine Bottle & Pours the Wine

We’ve shown you a very sim­ple way to open a bot­tle of wine, with noth­ing but a wall and a shoe. (Try it at your own risk.) Now comes the most art­ful­ly com­plex.

Above, watch Rob Hig­gs demo his mechan­i­cal sculp­ture, “The Corkscrew.” Cre­at­ed with found objects from scrap­yards and farm­steads, the sculp­ture has 382 mov­ing parts and weighs 700+ pounds, reports the BBC. Designed to pull a cork from a bot­tle and pour the wine, the steam­punk sculp­ture is not just beau­ti­ful. It actu­al­ly works.

Accord­ing to the Dai­ly Mail, you could buy “The Corkscrew” for some­where bew­teen $90,000 and $120,000.

via Devour

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Open a Wine Bot­tle with Your Shoe

Jane Austen Writes a Let­ter to Her Sis­ter While Hung Over: “I Believe I Drank Too Much Wine Last Night”

Christo­pher Hitchens, Who Mixed Drink­ing & Writ­ing, Names the “Best Scotch in the His­to­ry of the World”

How to Clean Your Vinyl Records with Wood Glue

Vin­tage Wine in our Col­lec­tion of 1100 Free Online Cours­es

How Leo Tolstoy Became a Vegetarian and Jumpstarted the Vegetarian & Humanitarian Movements in the 19th Century

tolstoy rules 2

Leo Tol­stoy is remem­bered as both a tow­er­ing pin­na­cle of Russ­ian lit­er­a­ture and a fas­ci­nat­ing exam­ple of Chris­t­ian anar­chism, a mys­ti­cal ver­sion of which the aris­to­crat­ic author pio­neered in the last quar­ter cen­tu­ry of his life. After a dra­mat­ic con­ver­sion, Tol­stoy reject­ed his social posi­tion, the favored vices of his youth, and the dietary habits of his cul­ture, becom­ing a vocal pro­po­nent of veg­e­tar­i­an­ism in his ascetic quest for the good life. Thou­sands of his con­tem­po­raries found Tolstoy’s exam­ple deeply com­pelling, and sev­er­al com­munes formed around his prin­ci­ples, to his dis­may. “To speak of ‘Tol­stoy­ism,’” he wrote, “to seek guid­ance, to inquire about my solu­tion of ques­tions, is a great and gross error.”

“Still,” writes Kelsey Osgood at The New York­er, “peo­ple insist­ed on seek­ing guid­ance from him,” includ­ing a young Mahat­ma Gand­hi, who struck up a live­ly cor­re­spon­dence with the writer and in 1910 found­ed a com­mu­ni­ty called “Tol­stoy Farm” near Johan­nes­burg.

Though uneasy in the role of move­ment leader, the author of Anna Karen­i­na invit­ed such treat­ment by pub­lish­ing dozens of philo­soph­i­cal and the­o­log­i­cal works, many of them in oppo­si­tion to a con­trary strain of reli­gious and moral ideas devel­op­ing in the late nine­teenth cen­tu­ry. Often called “mus­cu­lar Chris­tian­i­ty,” this trend respond­ed to what many Vic­to­ri­ans thought of as a cri­sis of mas­culin­i­ty by empha­siz­ing sports and war­rior ideals and rail­ing against the “fem­i­niza­tion” of the cul­ture.

Tol­stoy might be said to rep­re­sent a “veg­etable Christianity”—seeking har­mo­ny with nature and turn­ing away from all forms of vio­lence, includ­ing the eat­ing of meat. In “The First Step,” an 1891 essay on diet and eth­i­cal com­mit­ment, he char­ac­ter­ized the pre­vail­ing reli­gious atti­tude toward food:

I remem­ber how, with pride at his orig­i­nal­i­ty, an Evan­gel­i­cal preach­er, who was attack­ing monas­tic asceti­cism, once said to me “Ours is not a Chris­tian­i­ty of fast­ing and pri­va­tions, but of beef­steaks.” Chris­tian­i­ty, or virtue in general—and beef­steaks!

While he con­fessed him­self “not hor­ri­fied by this asso­ci­a­tion,” it is only because “there is no bad odor, no sound, no mon­stros­i­ty, to which man can­not become so accus­tomed that he ceas­es to remark what would strike a man unac­cus­tomed to it.” The killing and eat­ing of ani­mals, Tol­stoy came to believe, is a hor­ror to which—like war and serfdom—his cul­ture had grown far too accus­tomed. Like many an ani­mal rights activist today, Tol­stoy con­veyed his hor­ror of meat-eat­ing by describ­ing a slaugh­ter­house in detail, con­clud­ing:

[I]f he be real­ly and seri­ous­ly seek­ing to live a good life, the first thing from which he will abstain will always be the use of ani­mal food, because, to say noth­ing of the exci­ta­tion of the pas­sions caused by such food, its use is sim­ply immoral, as it involves the per­for­mance of an act which is con­trary to the moral feeling—killing.

[W]e can­not pre­tend that we do not know this. We are not ostrich­es, and can­not believe that if we refuse to look at what we do not wish to see, it will not exist.… [Y]oung, kind, unde­praved people—especially women and girls—without know­ing how it log­i­cal­ly fol­lows, feel that virtue is incom­pat­i­ble with beef­steaks, and, as soon as they wish to be good, give up eat­ing flesh.

The idea of veg­e­tar­i­an­ism of course pre­ced­ed Tol­stoy by hun­dreds of years of Hin­du and Bud­dhist prac­tice. And its grow­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty in Europe and Amer­i­ca pre­ced­ed him as well. “Tol­stoy became an out­spo­ken veg­e­tar­i­an at the age of 50,” writes Sam Pavlenko, “after meet­ing the pos­i­tivist and veg­e­tar­i­an William Frey, who, accord­ing to Tolstoy’s son Sergei Lvovich, vis­it­ed the great writer in the autumn of 1885.” Tolstoy’s dietary stance fit in with what Char­lotte Alston describes as an “increas­ing­ly orga­nized” inter­na­tion­al veg­e­tar­i­an move­ment tak­ing shape in the late nine­teenth cen­tu­ry.

Like Tol­stoy in “The First Step,” pro­po­nents of veg­e­tar­i­an­ism argued not only against cru­el­ty to ani­mals, but also against “the bru­tal­iza­tion of those who worked in the meat indus­try, as butch­ers, slaugh­ter­men, and even shep­herds and drovers.” But veg­e­tar­i­an­ism was only one part of Tolstoy’s reli­gious phi­los­o­phy, which also includ­ed chasti­ty, tem­per­ance, the rejec­tion of pri­vate prop­er­ty, and “a com­plete refusal to par­tic­i­pate in vio­lence or coer­cion of any kind.” This marked his dietary prac­tice as dis­tinct from many con­tem­po­raries. Tol­stoy and his fol­low­ers “made the link between veg­e­tar­i­an­ism and a wider human­i­tar­i­an­ism explic­it.”

“How was it pos­si­ble,” Alston sum­ma­rizes, “to regard the killing of ani­mals for food as evil, but not to con­demn the killing of men through war and cap­i­tal pun­ish­ment? Not all mem­bers of the veg­e­tar­i­an move­ment agreed.” Some saw “no con­nec­tion between the ques­tions of war and diet.” Tolstoy’s philo­soph­i­cal argu­ment against all forms of vio­lence was not orig­i­nal to him, but it res­onat­ed all over the world with those who saw him as a shin­ing exam­ple, includ­ing his two daugh­ters and even­tu­al­ly his wife Sophia, who all adopt­ed the prac­tice of veg­e­tar­i­an­ism. A book of their recipes was pub­lished in 1874, and adapt­ed by Pavlenko for his Leo Tol­stoy: A Vegetarian’s Tale(See one exam­ple here—a fam­i­ly recipe for mac­a­roni and cheese.)

In her study Tol­stoy and His Dis­ci­ples, Alston details the Russ­ian great’s wide influ­ence through not only his diet but the total­i­ty of his spir­i­tu­al prac­tices and unique polit­i­cal and reli­gious views. Inter­est­ing­ly, unlike many ani­mal rights activists of his day and ours, Tol­stoy refused to endorse leg­is­la­tion to pun­ish ani­mal cru­el­ty, believ­ing that pun­ish­ment would only result in the per­pet­u­a­tion of vio­lence. “Non-vio­lence, non-resis­tance and broth­er­hood were the prin­ci­ples that lay at the basis of Tol­stoy­an veg­e­tar­i­an­ism,” she observes, “and while these prin­ci­ples meant that Tol­stoy­ans coop­er­at­ed close­ly with veg­e­tar­i­ans, they also kept them in many ways apart.”

via His­to­ry Buff

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leo Tolstoy’s Fam­i­ly Recipe for Mac­a­roni and Cheese

Watch Glass Walls, Paul McCartney’s Case for Going Veg­e­tar­i­an

Tol­stoy and Gand­hi Exchange Let­ters: Two Thinkers’ Quest for Gen­tle­ness, Humil­i­ty & Love (1909)

Leo Tolstoy’s Masochis­tic Diary: I Am Guilty of “Sloth,” “Cow­ardice” & “Sissi­ness” (1851)

Leo Tol­stoy Cre­ates a List of the 50+ Books That Influ­enced Him Most (1891)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Cook Up Aleister Crowley’s Rice Recipe: Perfect for Eating with Curry

crowleyricerecipe

Before vis­it­ing a Gnos­tic Mass at one of Aleis­ter Crowley’s Ordo Tem­pli Ori­en­tis chap­ters in the UK, Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Thomas McGrath was warned by a friend in no uncer­tain all caps, “DO NOT EAT THE CAKE OF LIGHT.” I’ll let you find out for your­self why the excess cau­tion against this Crow­ley con­fab­u­lat­ed piece of anti-Catholic sacra­men­tal bread. Suf­fice it to say, the British occultist who called him­self the Great Beast 666 shared oth­er cer­e­mo­ni­al recipes in his copi­ous writ­ings on rit­u­al prac­tices. Many of them involved bod­i­ly flu­ids as a mat­ter of course.

In addi­tion to the Mag­ick for which he’s com­mon­ly known in coun­ter­cul­tur­al cir­cles, Crow­ley was an artist, avid moun­tain climber, world trav­el­er, and aspir­ing chef of more or less edi­ble foods, who often cooked for his trav­el­ing com­pan­ions. Dan­ger­ous Minds draws our atten­tion to one dish Crow­ley described in his “auto­ha­giog­ra­phy,” The Con­fes­sions of Aleis­ter Crow­ley. Called “glac­i­er cur­ry,” the stuff was appar­ent­ly so spicy it made hard­ened moun­taineers “dash out of the tent after one mouth­ful and wal­low in the snow, snap­ping at it like mad dogs.”

Crow­ley neglect­ed to list the ingre­di­ents and means of prepa­ra­tion for the unbear­able “glac­i­er cur­ry,” but he did leave anoth­er recipe among his papers for a much cool­er accom­pa­ni­ment. (Dis­cov­ered, writes Coil­house, by a “Pro­fes­sor Jack” in the Crow­ley Archives at Bird Library, Syra­cuse Uni­ver­si­ty.) Called “Riz Aleis­ter Crow­ley,” and meant “to be eat­en with cur­ry,” you can find it below. The pro­por­tions have been esti­mat­ed by writer Nico Mara McK­ay, who has made the rice with deli­cious results.

Ingre­di­ents

- 1 cup brown bas­mati rice

- sea salt

- 1/4 cup sul­tanas

- 1/4 cup sliv­ered almonds(1)

- 1/4 cup pis­ta­chio nuts

- pow­dered clove

- pow­dered car­damoms

- turmer­ic pow­der (enough to colour the rice to a clear gold­en tint)

- 2 tblsp. but­ter

Steps

Bring two cups of salt­ed water to a bowl. Throw in in the rice, stir­ring reg­u­lar­ly.

Test the rice after about ten min­utes “by tak­ing a grain, and press­ing between fin­ger and thumb. It must be eas­i­ly crushed, but not sod­den or slop­py. Test again, if not right, every two min­utes.”

When ready, pour cold water into the saucepan.

Emp­ty the rice into a colan­der, and rinse under cold tap.

Put colan­der on a rack above the flames, if you have a gas stove, and let it dry. If, like me, your stove is elec­tric, the rice can be dried by plac­ing large sheets of paper tow­el over and under the rice, soak­ing up the water. Prefer­ably the rice should seem very loose, almost as if it it has not been cooked at all. When you’ve removed as much water as you can, remove the paper tow­el.

Place the rice back into the pot on a much low­er tem­per­a­ture.

Stir­ring con­tin­u­ous­ly, add the but­ter, sul­tanas, almonds, pis­ta­chio nuts, a dash or two of cloves and a dash of car­damom.

Add enough turmer­ic that the rice, after stir­ring, is “uni­form, a clear gold­en colour, with the green pis­ta­chio nuts mak­ing it a Poem of Spring.”

In addi­tion to the esti­mat­ed pro­por­tions, the ver­sion above has been mod­i­fied some­what to fit our con­tem­po­rary recipe expec­ta­tions, but the folks at food blog Hap­py Veg­etable Cow have an exact tran­scrip­tion of Crowley’s type­script (top). They note Crow­ley’s con­ti­nu­ity with free-form recipe tra­di­tions of antiq­ui­ty and cel­e­brate the bit of “cre­ative nar­ra­tive” at the end. For an even more cre­ative­ly phrased grain recipe than Crowley’s aro­mat­ic rice, see David Lynch’s sur­re­al quinoa instruc­tions.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Aleis­ter Crow­ley: The Wickedest Man in the World Doc­u­ments the Life of the Bizarre Occultist, Poet & Moun­taineer

Aleis­ter Crow­ley & William But­ler Yeats Get into an Occult Bat­tle, Pit­ting White Mag­ic Against Black Mag­ic (1900)

Aleis­ter Crow­ley Reads Occult Poet­ry in the Only Known Record­ings of His Voice (1920)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Artists’ and Writers’ Cookbook Collects Recipes From T.C. Boyle, Marina Abramović, Neil Gaiman, Joyce Carol Oates & More

writers-cookbook-cover

The Artists’ and Writ­ers’ Cook­book: A Col­lec­tion of Sto­ries with Recipes © 2016, edit­ed by Natal­ie Eve Gar­rett, illus­trat­ed by Amy Jean Porter, pub­lished by pow­er­House Books..

There will nev­er not be a mar­ket for the cook­book, with all its var­i­ous sub­cat­e­gories, from fad diet to celebri­ty chef. While The Onion’s pro­posed “Niet­zschean Diet” (which “lets you eat what­ev­er you fear most”) may nev­er catch on, one unusu­al cook­book niche does involve the recipes of famous writ­ers, artists, musi­cians and oth­er high- and pop-cul­ture fig­ures. The genre flour­ished in the six­ties and sev­en­ties, with Swingers & Singers in the Kitchen in 1967, Sal­vador Dalí’s Les Din­ers de Gala in 1973, and the MoMA’s Artists’ Cook­book in 1978.

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Pre­dat­ing these celebri­ty recipe books, The Artists’ & Writ­ers’ Cook­book appeared in 1961. Brain Pick­ings describes the book as “a lav­ish 350-page vin­tage tome, illus­trat­ed with 19th-cen­tu­ry engrav­ings and orig­i­nal draw­ings by Mar­cel Duchamp, Robert Osbourn, and Alexan­dre Istrati.” It fea­tured 220 recipes by painters, nov­el­ists, poets, and sculp­tors like Man Ray, John Keats, Robert Graves, Harp­er Lee, Georges Simenon, and more. What’s old has become new again, with the recent reprint­ing of Dalí’s cook­book by Taschen and, on Octo­ber 11th, the pub­li­ca­tion of an updat­ed Artists’ and Writ­ers’ Cook­book, edit­ed by Natal­ie Eve Gar­rett and illus­trat­ed by Amy Jean Porter.

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The 2016 ver­sion includes recipes from such liv­ing artists as Edwidge Dan­ti­cat, Ed Ruscha, Neil Gaiman, Joyce Car­ol Oates, James Fran­co, Nik­ki Gio­van­ni, Mari­na Abramović, and many more. The recipes range from the whim­si­cal (see T.C. Boyle’s “Baked Camel (Stuffed)” fur­ther up) to the thor­ough­ly metaphor­i­cal (as in Abramović’s “Essen­tial Aphro­disi­ac Recipes,” above). In-between, we have such stan­dard fare as “The Util­i­tar­i­an, Amer­i­can-Style PB&J: An Artist’s Best Friend,” cour­tesy of Fran­co, which calls for the fol­low­ing ingre­di­ents:

wheat bread
peanut but­ter
jel­ly
gin­ger ale (option­al)
pick­les (option­al)

Hait­ian nov­el­ist Edwidge Dan­ti­cat takes a seri­ous approach with a tra­di­tion­al recipe for “Soup Joumou.” She pref­aces this more exten­sive dish with a poet­ic descrip­tion of its nation­al impor­tance, con­clud­ing that it is con­sumed “as a sign of our inde­pen­dence, as a cel­e­bra­tion of a new begin­ning.…” The recipe may send you to the gro­cery, but—especially this time of year—you’ll find all of the ingre­di­ents at your near­est chain store:

1 pump­kin between 2–3 pounds, peeled and cut into small pieces
1 pound cab­bage, sliced and chopped
4 car­rots, peeled and sliced
3 stalks cel­ery, sliced and chopped
1 large onion, cut into small pieces
5 pota­toes, peeled and cubed
2 turnips, peeled and cubed (option­al)
1 lime cut in half and squeezed for a much juice as you can get from it
¼ pound mac­a­roni
3 gar­lic cloves, crushed or cut into small pieces
1 sprig thyme
1 sprig pars­ley
2 tea­spoons salt
2 tea­spoons ground pep­per
1 Scotch bay­o­net pep­per

Sounds deli­cious.

Neil Gaiman keeps things very sim­ple with “Coraline’s Cheese Omelette,” intro­duced with an excerpt from that dark children’s fan­ta­sy. For this, you like­ly have all you need on hand:

2 eggs
but­ter
cheese
1 table­spoon milk
a pinch of salt

The essays and nar­ra­tives in the new The Artists’ and Writ­ers’ Cook­book are “at turns,” writes edi­tor Natal­ie Eve Gar­rett, “comedic and heart-wrench­ing, per­son­al and apoc­a­lyp­tic, with recipes that are enchant­i­ng to read and recre­ate.” As you can see from the small sam­pling here, you need not have any pre­ten­tions to haute cui­sine to fol­low most of them. And as the book’s subtitle—“A Col­lec­tion of Sto­ries with Recipes”—suggests, you needn’t cook at all to find joy in this diverse assem­blage of artists and writ­ers’ asso­ci­a­tions with food, that most per­son­al and inti­mate, yet also cul­tur­al­ly defin­ing and com­mu­nal of sub­jects. Pick up a copy of The Artists’ and Writ­ers’ Cook­book on Ama­zon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1967 Cook­book Fea­tures Recipes by the Rolling Stones, Simon & Gar­funkel, Bar­bra Streisand & More

Sal­vador Dalí’s 1973 Cook­book Gets Reis­sued: Sur­re­al­ist Art Meets Haute Cui­sine

MoMA’s Artists’ Cook­book (1978) Reveals the Meals of Sal­vador Dalí, Willem de Koon­ing, Andy Warhol, Louise Bour­geois & More

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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