Let Them Eat Mezeskalacs

By Mimi Sheraton

With food, as with so many other aspects of fashionable living, there comes a time when only the old seems new and the latest appears trite. A reading through this year's crop of cookbooks indicates that time is now. No food seems more tiresome or repetitious than that known as new American or Californian, or the fare of native chefs so young they may need working papers. A "That again?" feeling comes from ubiquitous ingredients like goat cheese--hot and cold--duck sausage, free-range chickens, shiitake mushrooms and the trendy salad green mache. Far more fresh and exciting are the books dedicated to traditional and foreign foods. Today's regional cookbooks are narrower in focus than those of ten or 15 years ago. Americans used to be interested in knowing everything about a foreign cuisine at once: the food of France, or Italian cooking for all occasions. No longer. Authors must now come in closer on highly specialized dishes or on more obscure corners of the world. Herewith a small but significant shelf:

An Omelette and a Glass of Wine by Elizabeth David (Viking; $18.95) is a collection of essays with some recipes. The London-based food writer has gathered 35 years of provocative thoughts about French, Italian and other Mediterranean cooking, along with perceptive, literate pieces on English cuisine, all of which have appeared in assorted publications. To those who suggest that food critics spend too much time carping, David answers, "Does a theatre critic offer his readers indiscriminate praise of every play . . . he has seen during the week . . .? To be attacked for declining to say, whether in private or in public, that in the world of gastronomy, French, English, or any other, all was always for the best . . . seemed to me illogical, ignorant and thoroughly Philistine."

David's analyses of meals tasted and flavors recalled are completely democratic. A lyonnaise meal prepared by La Mere Brazier, the legendary cook and restaurant owner, is given no more affectionate regard than the simple lunch that provides the book's title. But when the spirit moves her, the author can drop nostalgia and pick up a skewer. A short piece entitled "Your Perfected Hostess" takes apart dishes that have become instant cliches, like vichyssoise and quiche. Of vichyssoise made with substitute ingredients, she writes, "Those people, however, who won't stoop to tinned soups but still want to be in the swim with their vichyssoise, have taken to using cucumber instead of leeks, and watercress or mint instead of chives . . . The mixture is still thick and rich and cold--and what's, after all, in a name?"

Werewolf en croute, eye of newt `a la Dracula, and a very different sort of Bloody Mary are what readers might expect to find in Paul Kovi's Transylvanian Cuisine (Crown; $15.95). And, in fact, there is a recipe for stuffed bear's foot and another for brain sausages. For the most part, though, Kovi's dishes are more benign: juicy sauerkraut glowing with paprika, subtle tarragon-scented fish soup and mushroom-stuffed carp, crisp roast goose and leg of veal with goose liver, kohlrabi nestled in egg barley and, for a delicate touch, "blushing tomatoes in sour cherry vinegar." Eggplant, cornmeal, strudels and the fragrant honey cake mezeskalacs are all included.

Even more than the food, this book provides a glimpse of one of the world's most mystical regions, strongly influenced by Romans, Rumanians, Saxon Germans, Hungarians, Armenians and Jews. All have left their culinary stamp. Most intriguing is Kovi's account of the Sabbatarians, Christians who became "Jew-imitators" because of political and economic oppression and who adopted kosher dietary laws. A co-owner of Manhattan's famed Four Seasons restaurant, Kovi attended university in Transylvania, and he has documented his culinary history with care and respect. His tempting and excellent recipes deserve a better layout. Still, the confusingly arranged instructional paragraphs are worth struggling with for the delectable rewards they promise.

Customs, lore and aesthetics are the principal ingredients of A Taste of Japan by Donald Richie (Kodansha;$15.95). An authority on Japanese film, Richie is also a dedicated food buff who studies the fine points of sushi and sashimi, tempura and tofu, as well as other Japanese culinary disciplines. Frustrated diners who can't seem to pick up sushi with chopsticks should be relieved to learn that in Japan it is considered correct to handle the fish-and-rice packets with fingers. The intricate beauty of Japanese food arrangements is shown in stunning photographs, abetted by old prints that indicate how far back many of these traditions go. Tempura, the deep-fried fish and vegetable combination that seems to typify Japanese cooking, was actually introduced by Portuguese missionaries, merchants and seamen, who fried fish for meatless days.

The most titillating chapter has to do with fugu, a spiny blowfish valued as a supposed aphrodisiac even though it contains a poisonous curare-like substance that must be extracted. A Japanese practical jokester will often drop his chopsticks suddenly, suggesting the motor paralysis that is the first symptom of poisoning. "This small clatter is followed by a deathly silence as all the other guests turn to stare and the chefs become hysterical," the author reports. "After it is discovered that this is a joke, there is good-natured laughter in the dining room and rueful silence in the kitchen." Perhaps the comedy loses in translation.

The most timely of these volumes is Tapas: The Little Dishes of Spain by Penelope Casas (Knopf; $22.95; $12.95 paperback). "Little dishes" is indeed the operative phrase. These small, varied nibbles served at Spanish bars during the aperitif hours fit conveniently into the new American eating habit known as grazing: combining several appetizers to make a complete meal. Tapas range from light, cold seafood salads like mussels vinaigrette and shrimp in green mayonnaise to more substantial hot vegetable croquettes and crepes, and on to downright lusty portions of oxtail stew, pork ribs in paprika sauce and lamb meatballs in brandy sauce. The tapas life-style should be naturalized immediately. Because many are spreads, canapes and tartlets, tapas are easy to pass around at cocktail parties; the hot meat and fish creations can be cooked in main course-size quantities. Recipes are explicit, and there are helpful explanations of special ingredients. Unfortunately, the dreary, dated photographs do not match the stylishness of the text and subject matter.

By now there would seem little left for Americans to learn about Italian food, but one new work provides some fresh delights. The Italian Baker by Carol Field (Harper & Row; $19.95) is a breathtaking effort, covering all of the regional and traditional breads of Italy, along with pizzas and cakes, cookies and festive sweet breads. One of the most delectable recipes, pumpkin tart perfumed with lemon and brandy, would light up a holiday meal. For an encore, try chewy pine-nut cookies, crackling amaretti (macaroons) and the lofty golden bread of Verona, pandoro. Unlike too many cookbook authors who assume that everyone owns a food processor, Field gives instructions for working each recipe by hand or with an electric mixer.

No cookbook harvest would be complete without a consideration of France. This year's most unusual (and caloric) fare comes from The Norman Table by Claude Guermont with Paul Frumkin (Scribners; $19.95). Even soups and stews of shrimp and mussels and sole are laden with butter and egg yolks and stirred-in liquid ivory rivulets of heavy cream. Leaner by far are dishes of baked whiting with mushrooms and bread crumbs and skate fish sauteed in black butter. For the most part, Normandy's fare is not exactly in the mainstream for dieters. Descriptions of the life of the province, with its antique, half-timbered towns, its lively fishing ports, such as Dieppe and Cherbourg, its celebrated omelets of Mont-Saint-Michel, and its famed Camembert, all make for wonderful reading and eating. Guermont is a native of Normandy who now operates a restaurant near Poughkeepsie, N.Y., and he reports on his home cooking with warmth and clarity. It is a region of hearty eaters who know the value of le trou Normand--the shot of their apple brandy, Calvados, that is said to open a trou (hole) midway through a large meal so the eater can continue. With luck it will also open clogged arteries. Stranger cures have been found.

The best traditional American cookbook of the year is The Feast of Santa Fe by Huntley Dent (Simon & Schuster; $16.95). Acknowledging the combined influences of Pueblo Indians, Mexicans, Spaniards and "Anglo-American" pioneers, Dent weaves a tale composed of folklore, customs and cookery. Although many dishes bear the same names as those from Texas--tamales, tortillas, guacamole, etc.--anyone who has eaten in both regions will recognize that the New Mexican versions are brighter, lighter, more delicate and somehow aesthetically purer. After carefully recounting the lineage of all ingredients, Dent launches into a series of dazzling recipes, among them sour green chili salsa, fillings of ground beef with raisins and almonds, potato soup with green chilies and lentil soup with lime juice. Albondiguitas, the Spanish meatballs that can be served as appetizers or used to bolster a clear vegetable soup, a seductive onion-cream tart, and pork cured in red chili head the list of irresistible entries. The chili con carne and the many green chili sauces are to be expected, but a barbecued leg of lamb and turkey breast in pumpkin-seed sauce are happy surprises. Drunken prune cake, tequila-and-lime sherbet and New Mexico pralines complete the menu. What could provide a sweeter ending? --By Mimi Sheraton