What’s new on the pickled spruit?

I’ve been writing here for about a year now and I couldn’t be more grateful and intrigued by my blogging experience. I have learned and rediscovered so many things about myself. I have met so many wonderful people, always up for a good food-related discussion; people with academic and journalistic backgrounds who express their ideas with such wit and ease. They inspire me.

At the same time, I also realized what makes me happiest when it comes to writing. It is the exploration of ideas, the connection with literature, social sciences and art. I want to create interesting pieces, bring perspective, analyse and put forward new ideas. I will, hence, concentrate my efforts on the Food in Books and Stories series, which will most likely take a more academic spin. I will do my best to research well all coming articles and include the relevant links. I will try to improve my writing style. I’ll still post the occasional recipe and share my views on nutrition, as this was the genesis of The Pickled Spruit. So stick around, I’m always curious to hear your thoughts.

Malloreddus con salsiccia: a taste of Sardegna

The cuisine of Sardinia is wonderfully complex and delightful, a real testament against the modern world’s preconceived ideas about the Mediterranean diet. On this arid, beautifully diverse island, it’s wild boar that reigns and not the creatures of the sea. The mix of influences is what makes Sardinian cooking so incredible. I have neither the knowledge nor profound understanding of this remote, rather enclosed culture to follow this thread properly, yet I do enjoy a more practical approach of this topic. Read More

Food in books, ep.3: Food symbolism in Kafka’s Metamorphosis

Food symbols

From silly brand logos, to catchy metaphors, to the original archetypes in our collective unconscious described by C.J. Jung, symbols are shared codes that orient our lives and behaviors. We can understand and share unique symbols with our peers, symbols becoming thus, defining for the group; in the most banal form this is what we would call an “inside joke”. At the most deepest and transversal level, regardless of cultural background or other social factors, all of us humans share the same symbols: the mother, the father, the child, the god, the devil, the wise old man, the wise old woman, the hero, the trickster. Jung does not, as far as my knowledge goes, investigate symbols related to food. I think the most straight forward one would be the preservation of life. Sharing food with others could very well be an archetypal motif of the group inter-relativeness, the quintessential, core group being one’s closest kinship, the family. I will not, dear reader, go further in the analysis of what sharing food means, suffice to say I see it as one of the closest, strongest bounds that unite us. Sharing food unites us in preserving life and in generating pleasure, two of the fundamental traits of all living beings.
Most distinct food symbols are culturally driven and not necessarily stable in time. For example, fish used to be considered lesser food in medieval times. It looked a bit like a snake, rather than a beast and the elites were not enjoying it. Today, fish is considered a prized, fancy meal. It is a strong symbol in Christianity, however, it doesn’t bare much significance in Islamic culture. Still, some food symbols are shared by us all: think of the mother’s milk.
I don’t know if Kafka has relied on food symbols throughout his story, but I chose to find and analyze them. In this article I will, however, try to expose the symbolism of of food in the metamorphosis, as well as the connection between food and one’s humanity. This is my investigation. Read More

The Champagne- Bruno Paul (1874-1968)

Bruno Paul was a German architect, illustrator, interior designer and furniture designer. A man with an artistic eye, one could say.

I love this beautiful illustration depicting the table after a lavished dinner party. The plates are empty, the drinks are spilled on the table, the guests are dressing up and getting ready to leave in the antechamber. Yet, the host is smoking the after-dinner cigar and checking if there’s any champagne left in the last bottle- the party continues. Don’t we all love the feeling when our guests are one foot out the door, we’re about to recover our home, it’s quiet and we can enjoy one last drink in peace?

The greenest soup: leeks and peas

Confession: I sometimes like to create alternative worlds in my head.

I play detective and follow random people when I walk the dog (she loves it), I sometimes have imaginary conversations with inanimate objects (we all do that, right?) and I confer human traits to various food ingredients. If you’re still here after reading this, I’ll deep dive. For example, garlic is a grumpy grandpa, with a big mustache: he has a heart of gold, lots of good stories and loves to entertain…but you need to get to know him first. Potatoes are construction workers who love beer. Cabbage is a fat lady with a tiny voice, who’s extremely emotional. If you played into the game, you should be wondering what about leeks and peas. Peas are shy demoiselles, who spend lots of time in their boudoir and love silky gowns. And leeks? Well…my inspiration for leeks comes from the French translation: poirot. M. Poirot. M. Hercule Poirot. I love the irony of cooking leeks in Belgium: M. Poirot was, of course, Belgian, even though everyone thought him French. Like all Belgians, he was a grand gourmand and I sometimes wonder if he loved leeks dishes, too. Guys, I live in the city of Magritte, of crazy comic strips and blunt graffiti, so such transgressions are allowed, if not encouraged. But enough madness, back to our green soup. Read More