Summer isn't quite over, so here's one more beach/boat/lazy Saturday read that gets you ready to cook for (not so much) colder weather: quasi-native Kathleen Flinn's, Burnt Toast Makes You Sing Good.
Flinn, raised first in Michigan and then Anna Maria Island, tells a compelling story, weaving recipes for midwestern classics throughout the retelling of her family's (mostly) midwestern lives.
I just finished Laura Esquivel's fantastical Like Water for Chocolate and presently have no tolerance for tall tales and, at times, Flinn's tone does take on a mythic quality. As I read accounts of how her father may have felt when he met her mother, I wondered if this book would follow Esquivel's example of delving into the ridiculous.
My impression of her telling "legends", however, was disabused when I learned her mother had kept extensive journals throughout her life. Through these treasures, the reader can be a part of moments Flinn could not possibly have experienced, but for her mother's foresight.
Throughout each vignette and in the overall throughline, Flinn does a superb job of weaving together the not-always-idyllic-but-still-grounded-and-happy midwestern life into a patchwork quilt of meals and love. To me, an Italian girl who has lived in New York and Florida only, some of the recipes seem a bit bland. This, of course, is my own perception and not at all the fault of the author. Midwesterners, I suspect, will love this food. The recipes reinforce my idea of the region's cuisine.
Below, Flinn talks to us about the recipes she didn't use, how life in Florida changed her cooking, and her feelings on the food movement.
Who told you the stories about things that happened before you were born (or old enough to have clear memories of the event)? Was it one person or are your recollections based on an amalgam of family oral history?
Much of the book developed from short stories that my mother wrote to help her remember elements of her life. None of us knew that she had been writing down her recollections of events for years. She had even taken down notes of my father’s life as a young child and interviewed her own mother about her life. It was only when I began to investigate writing about our family that I discovered she had this cache, I asked her why she hadn’t shared it. She shuffled her feet and looked down, embarrassed.
“You and your sisters are real writers,” she said. “I was embarrassed. I worried you’d think they were any good.” Of course, for a memoir writer, this was an absolute treasure. But that’s why I had so much detail of events that happened well before my entry into the story.
You mention many recipes that evoke wonderful memories. Tell us which recipes you didn't select, either because of their taste or the memories they evoke.
After a bad experience with pig kidneys in China a few years ago, I stopped eating organ meats and I just couldn’t face testing the recipe for my grandmother’s pan-fried chicken gizzards, even though it my grandpa’s favorite thing. As a result, I ended up gutting a chapter and incorporated it into one that feature a recipe for lemon meringue pie instead.
I included one recipe that I had originally rejected. It’s a recipe for goulash, a very classic Midwestern recipe that involves ground beef, macaroni, tomatoes and paprika. I have about 120 volunteer recipe testers and they were split on the dish. Those who grew up with goulash gave it a thumbs up, but those who didn’t have a history with it didn’t like it. My husband thought it was bland. But I had written a whole chapter around it, so I wasn’t sure what to do. So I ended up dumping the chapter but at the last minute, I included it in the well of “extra recipes.” To me, it’s such a classic Midwest dish that I couldn’t leave it out.
How has your midwestern cooking been influenced by life in AMI?
When we moved from Michigan to Florida, we definitely changed how we ate then, and even now, my diet here is different than when I’m anywhere else. I go out of my way to seek out local seafood, either at the Fresh Market on AMI or heading over to Cortez. We’re so lucky to have two true seasons to produce; you can get a good tomato in January. When we moved here when I was a kid, I had never eaten a mango or an avocado. I cannot imagine my life without either now.
The end of your book is heartbreaking to read, although throughout the book you make it clear (either intentionally or not) that your dad isn't still alive by the end of the book. If your dad were still alive, what (other than the obvious) would have changed in your telling of his time in Florida?
It’s hard to know. He loved Anna Maria Island and felt that he was destined to be in this part of Florida. He said more than once that his soul lived here. As an adult, I get that in a way that I never could before he died. I’ve lived abroad and traveled the world and still spend part of each year in Seattle. But something deep within me changes when I cross the bridge to the island. I think the most clearly when standing on the beach here at night. I’ve written the biggest chunks of all my books on Florida soil. Maybe what he felt was passed down to me by genetics or some other means. If I’m honest, I know my soul lives here, too.
Your vignettes of midwestern life evoke images of a family strongly connected to the land. Later in the book, your tone towards prepared food indicates you remain tied to the land, even though your geography is coastal. Specific to Florida and our southwest-ish coast, how is your cooking affected by our different growing seasons, especially the summer seasons where so many things are shipped in from other areas? What are your feelings on issues like food miles and organic?
We can make the world a better place or a worse place in terms of sustainable food with the choices we make every single day. I think we forget the power that we have as consumers. . I’m glad to see the price of organic coming down so that it’s more accessible to more consumers, and part of the reason is that’s what people want, so the market will deliver.
On our farm in Michigan, we used soapy water on our plants and fruit trees. This meant we had lower yields but we didn’t eat pesticide. I’m a big fan of the various movements aimed at getting people to grow more produce, such The Edible Schoolyard initiative started by Alice Waters and the Gardens Not Lawns effort underway in many communities. I have a raised garden bed on the island where we grow tomatoes, Swiss chard, herbs, salad greens, that sort of thing. But like many people, we don’t have the room or the time to grow the bulk of our food. I like to take a pragmatic approach. I try to always buy the produce most susceptible to pesticides in organic form (such as berries, apples, spinach, etc.) and buy conventional produce in season as it tends to be cheaperWe’re so lucky here in Florida that we have access to great, local seafood. I’m a major advocate of sustainable seafood and I try to make everyone aware of the Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch; they have localized guides for what seafood to buy and what to avoid. You can download here.
Meet Kathleen Flinn at Inkwood Books at 7 p.m. Monday, Aug. 25. Tickets cost $35 and include admission for two, one copy of the book, and food and refreshments (provided by Cena.)