Cookin' on the Horseshoe, a fundraising cookbook released in 1970 by the Ladies Altar Society in Lakeland, Louisiana, opens with a shocking revelation: "Contrary to popular belief, the great majority of the people of False River and its environs is not of Acadian descent." I know, all my illusions about the people of False River and its environs have been shattered too. It turns out the area was settled by the French long before the Acadians showed up and Creole cookery is the specialty of the area, not...Nova Scotian. Il n'y a que la vérité qui blesse.

Another shocking revelation: False River is actually a lake. But I guess that one makes sense.

Sadly, the introduction to the cookbook includes this statement:

Today Creole cooking is still influenced by this background, but an affluent society such as ours -- with our great scientific achievements -- with all the innovations in the processing and packaging of foods -- we find that resourcefulness, ingenuity, and even imagination in the preparation of food at home is no longer necessary.

But happily, the people of False River and its environs (who are definitely NOT Acadian, FYI) had not devolved into cooking entirely from processed mushroom soup and packaged Jell-O, at least not by 1970. This cookbook is full of interesting local ingredients, like turtles, frogs and other creatures that might flourish in swampy not-rivers. Unfamiliar vegetables also show up, like the exotic-sounding mirliton, or vegetable pear, which it turns out is actually chayote, a popular South American vegetable I saw for sale this morning at the Hollywood Farmers Market.

Even more intriguing is a recipe for Cushaw in Shell, a vegetable (?) or shellfish (??) made up of a globe, a string and a neck. The string holds the globe together and the neck can be cooked and mashed separately with cinnamon (but definitely "no raisins or marshmallows"). WTF? Actually, a cushaw is just a crooked neck squash. Way to make a squash sound like the offspring of some weird alien, Grover Alford. And why can't I use marshmallows?

And since I'm mentioning Grover, I have to point out that the names of the contributors in this cookbook are nearly as interesting as the recipes. Lottie Belle Chauvin, Ada Hubble, Pigeon Thibaut...the list goes on. I kind of want to write a story set in Lakeland, LA, just so I can give the characters names like Clementine Bergeron and Malvina Pickett.

Like many community cookbooks from the 1970s, Cookin' on the Horseshoe tries to provide a few "ethnic" recipes, with depressing results. Mexican Casserole 1 begins with "Line casserole with round Fritos" and proceeds from there with chili, chopped onions and cheddar cheese. This at least is better than Mexican Casserole 2, which starts with "Line a casserole with potato chips" and involves tuna and mushroom soup from a can. It also has hot sauce. That's what makes it Mexican, see?

But neither of these is as shocking as a salad called, charmingly, WOP Salad. It has Italian olives and capers in it. I'll say no more.

And then there's the booze. Cherry Bounce, a combination of wild cherries, sugar and whiskey, has a disturbingly prophetic name. What is it exactly that ends up bouncing? You, off the walls? Or your lunch, on the pavement?

But my favorite homemade booze recipe in the book is Orange Wine, which I love for its sassy, unapologetic instructions. We have Clementine Bergeron to thank for this gem. First, she says, "Don't cover too tight or it might go BOOM." Terrifying. Then put it somewhere cool for several months. She confesses, "I put mine under the house and I don't breathe a word to a soul." I imagine Clementine hosting bridge parties, smiling to herself the whole time because she knows there is a big vat of orange wine bubbling under everyone's feet. Except that after 1970, everyone knew what she was up to -- I'm wondering if that's what's behind the quote at the bottom of the page. Is the cookbook committee telling her she needs to tear down her wine-protecting walls and start building some bridges? Made of potent orange wine?

After two weeks of only marginally edible dishes, I decided this week's recipe should be something I actually wanted to eat, with instructions that didn't give me pause. So I picked Shrimp & Corn Soup, submitted by Mrs. J.F. Chustz. I like shrimp. I like corn. The recipe is simple and doesn't contain Jell-O; it seemed foolproof. The finished soup was good, but would have been better if I had splurged and bought the bigger, more expensive shrimp, and used bacon grease instead of oil as my fat. But bacon grease makes anything better, so that's a no-brainer.

Shrimp & Corn Soup
Makes about 3 quarts

1 tablespoon lard or other fat
1 tablespoon flour
1/2 lb shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 onion, chopped
1 16-oz can tomatoes
5 ears of corn
2 qts water

Slice the corn from the cobs and set aside.

In a large pot, heat your fat of choice over a medium flame. Add flour and onion and cook, stirring, until mixture has browned. Add shrimp, corn and tomatoes. Season aggressively, then add water. Cook about 1 1/2 hours, tasting and adding more salt as needed. Serve sprinkled with chopped parsley.

This week one of my succulents started sprouting what must surely be a flower, a bumpy rosette at the end of a long stalk. But I haven't been able to admire it really because every time I look at it, I think about that moment in Alien when that gross alien baby bursts from John Hurt's chest. A gross alien baby that looks somehow like my succulent flower.

...No? Maybe it's just me.

A couple weeks ago I got an email from a woman who was doing research on the rising number of Americans who ride scooters, for a news piece to air on Japanese TV. We exchanged a few emails and then she popped the question: did I want to be interviewed and filmed riding my scooter for the story? ...Um, YES.

Then I got really nervous. I hate being in front of a camera. Oops.

But I ended up having a great time. Maybe it's some kind of LA thing that seeps into your blood, this secret desire to have someone follow you around and film the most mundane aspects of your daily life. Hopefully I'll soon be contacted by a crew filming a documentary about people who talk extensively to their cats.

Besides airing in Japan, the segment will also be online, so I'll be posting it once it's up!

Did you know Wyoming was the first state in the U.S. to grant suffrage to women? According to the introduction to Cooking in Wyoming, "it all started with a tea party in 1869 in South Pass City," which is why one hundred years later the Wyoming Recreation Commission released the Women's Suffrage Centennial Edition cookbook, to celebrate a century of Wyoming women who can both vote and roast an elk.

The cookbook opens with Wyoming's most exciting culinary offering: Pioneer Recipes! Thanks to a childhood spent obsessively reading and rereading the Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingalls Wilder, I have a deep fascination with all foods eaten by pioneers, homesteaders and people traveling in wagon trains. I probably spent way too many girlhood hours craving salt pork and johnny cakes, even though I've never eaten either. I'm fairly certain, in fact, that I'd find Mrs. Archie D. Cook's Pork Cake (made with one pound of ground salt pork) absolutely vile. But I'd still like a johnny cake in my pocket, for long trips on the wagon with Ma, Pa, and Mary, okay?

Pioneers -- and modern-day hunting Wyomingites (actual term) -- eat a lot of venison, ducks, wood chucks, bunnies and donuts. There are approximately fifteen donut recipes in this book, including one for Spudnuts, which until I read this cookbook I thought was just a funny name for a depressing donut franchise found near my university in South LA. But no, they are actually donuts made with potatoes and they sound surprisingly good. Not as good as Mother Miller's Fried Pies, though. Mmm...fried pies...

The book is notable for its large number of contributions from men, including a one-page treatise on preparing duck, which ends with "Note to You Duck Hunters: No wife likes to dress and fix ducks so why don't you try fixing the ducks? Then all wife has to do is shove them in the oven, plus prepare the balance of the meal." Wow, how nice of him to give his wife a night out of the kitchen make the duck. What, did you forget this is the Women's Suffrage Centennial Edition?

My second favorite bird-based recipe is not a recipe at all, but a grumpy rant about eating elderly geese, submitted by the obviously-crochety Mrs. Robert McNiel. The problem with cooking wild geese, she says, is that you can never tell how old they are, so you might get a tough 25-year-old or a tender 2-year-old. The same goes for mallard ducks. The end. Uh, Mrs. McNiel? Maybe you didn't hear me? I asked if you wanted to contribute something to our COOKbook. You know, like a recipe? ...What's that? I heard you. And as I said before, some Canadian geese live to be 70. Goodbye. Um. Thank you, Mrs. McNiel.

After the pioneer recipes, the book flirts with some late-'60s American food horrors, but for the most part stays true to its prairie grass roots with simple recipes and preparations. I do have to mention one terrifying dish though: Corn and Spaghetti Custard. I'll say that again. Corn (okay) and Spaghetti (kind of weird, that combination) Custard (oh good god). You mix cooked spaghetti with corn niblets (or creamed corn!), pour in an egg-milk mixture, and let the whole monstrosity steam in the oven until set. Then you put buttered carrots in the middle and drizzle it with tomato sauce. I hear all of Italy sobbing softly right now.

While looking for this week's recipe, I found myself drawn to the various instructions for sourdough starters. I have a fascination with friendly bacteria (hence my love of homemade yogurt) and wanted to try my hand at growing my own batch of happy bread bacteria. Making the starter was easy enough and it was fascinating to peek under the damp dishtowel in the morning and see the bubbling starter soup, twice the size of the night before. Mixed with some baking soda, sugar and an egg, it made picture-perfect sourdough pancakes, the ideal breakfast for a camping trip. Or a lazy Saturday brunch in your kitchen. Whichever you prefer.

Sourdough Hotcakes
Makes about 12 hotcakes

2 cups sourdough starter (recipe below)
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 egg
1 tablespoon sugar
1 can evaporated milk

Mix the first four ingredients in a large bowl and add 1/2 cup evaporated milk, or enough to make a medium-thin batter. Cook on a nonstick skillet, flipping each hotcake when the edges look dry and the center is bubbly. Keep warm in a 250-degree oven or serve immediately with butter and maple syrup.

Sourdough Starter

2 cups flour
1/2 package yeast
1 teaspoon salt
Lukewarm water

Mix the flour, yeast and salt, then add enough water to make a medium-thick batter. Cover with plastic wrap or a clean, damp kitchen towel and let stand overnight. To keep it going from day to day, add more flour and salt each night. When using the starter, be sure to set some aside and continue feeding it to keep your bacteria family going!

Last Sunday was the annual Crab Fest at The Hungry Cat, which I was lucky enough to be invited to by the lovely Meg (in the photo above, depicting the general feeling at the end: sleepy, swollen-footed satiation). There is something magical about eating two courses of crab followed by all-you-can-eat boiled blue crab dumped directly onto newspaper-covered tables, which you smash apart with a mallet while trying not to get crab gunk all over your cucumber martini. Magical, I say. And very messy. You can see all my pictures from the day here.

And this Sunday was my birthday. My sister Sonya is in town, so I got to wake up to the sound of two of my favorite people making me breakfast in the kitchen. And wondering how to make coffee. (Rob: "But this is in OUNCES!" Rest assured, the coffee tasted fine.) Earlier in the weekend, Sonya had the honor of being my first scooter passenger ever and we had a couple thankfully-uneventful rides around town, stopping by Intelligentsia for coffee, Taqueria El Charrito for tacos and Scoops for ice cream. There was also a crawfish boil party in there somewhere. I know how to feed my guests at least.

Rob and I rounded out my birthday with an afternoon screening of WALL-E (we both teared up) and a Sunday dinner at Lucques, where the pork stew over polenta was good enough to make up for any unfulfilled birthday wishes of years past.

(There's a Cookery Book Monday coming later today!)