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Ruth Reichl - Save Me The Plums

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Ruth Reichl Save Me The Plums
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Ruth Reichl, Gourmets editor in chief, is the author of the best-selling memoirs Tender at the Bone, Comfort Me with Apples, and Garlic and Sapphires, and the forthcoming Not Becoming My Mother and Other Things She Taught Me Along the Way. She is executive producer of the two-time James Beard Award-winning Gourmets Diary of a Foodie, which airs on public television across the country, and the editor of the Modern Library Food Series. Before coming to Gourmet, she was the restaurant critic for the New York Times, receiving two James Beard Awards for her work. She lectures frequently on food and culture. Trailblazing food writer and beloved restaurant critic Ruth Reichl took the job (and the risk) of a lifetime when she entered the glamorous, high-stakes world of magazine publishing. Now, for the first time, she chronicles her groundbreaking tenure as editor in chief of Gourmet. This is the rare case of an amazing writer living an amazing life.Ann Patchett When Cond Nast offered Ruth Reichl the top position at Americas oldest epicurean magazine, she declined. She was a writer, not a manager, and had no inclination to be anyones boss. Yet Reichl had been reading Gourmet since she was eight; it had inspired her career. How could she say no?This is the story of a former Berkeley hippie entering the corporate world and worrying about losing her soul. It is the story of the moment restaurants became an important part of popular culture, a time when the rise of the farm-to-table movement changed, forever, the way we eat. Readers will meet legendary chefs like David Chang and Eric Ripert, idiosyncratic writers like David Foster Wallace, and a colorful group of editors and art directors who, under Reichls leadership, transformed stately Gourmet into a cutting-edge publication. This was the golden age of print mediathe last spendthrift gasp before the Internet turned the magazine world upside down.Complete with recipes, Save Me the Plums is a personal journey of a woman coming to terms with being in charge and making a mark, following a passion and holding on to her dreamseven when she ends up in a place she never expected to be.

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Save Me the Plums is a work of nonfiction Some names and identifying details - photo 1
Save Me the Plums is a work of nonfiction Some names and identifying details - photo 2
Save Me the Plums is a work of nonfiction Some names and identifying details - photo 3

Save Me the Plums is a work of nonfiction. Some names and identifying details have been changed.

Copyright 2019 by Ruth Reichl

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

R ANDOM H OUSE and the H OUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

Grateful acknowledgment is made to New Directions Publishing Corporation for permission to reprint the poem This Is Just to Say from THE COLLECTED POEMS: VOLUME I, 19091939 by William Carlos Williams, copyright 1938 by New Directions Publishing Corporation. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation.

Photograph on by Ernst Reichl.

L IBRARY OF C ONGRESS C ATALOGING-IN- P UBLICATION D ATA

Names: Reichl, Ruth, author.

Title: Save me the plums : my Gourmet memoir / Ruth Reichl.

Description: New York : Random House, [2019]

Identifiers: LCCN 2018025584| ISBN 9781400069996 | ISBN 9780679605232 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Reichl, Ruth. | Food writersUnited StatesBiography. | Gourmet.

Classification: LCC TX649.R45 A3 2019 | DDC 641.5092 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018025584

Ebook ISBN9780679605232

randomhousebooks.com

Book design by Susan Turner, adapted for ebook

Cover design: Roberto de Vicq de Cumptich

Cover image: mashuk/Getty Images (watercolor plum)

v5.4

ep

Contents

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

W ILLIAM C ARLOS W ILLIAMS , This Is Just to Say

AUTHORS NOTE
For almost seventy years Gourmet magazine chronicled American food and it has - photo 4

For almost seventy years Gourmet magazine chronicled American food, and it has an important place in our shared history. I cant know what the magazine meant to you, but if youre reading this, I assume Gourmet touched your life. This is the story of how it shaped mine.

I WAS EIGHT YEARS OLD when I first found the magazine sitting on the dusty - photo 5

I WAS EIGHT YEARS OLD when I first found the magazine, sitting on the dusty wooden floor of a used-book store. My father was a book designer who enjoyed the company of ancient volumes, and he often took me on book-hunting expeditions around New York, leaving me with a pile of vintage magazines while he went off to prowl among the dark and crowded shelves. That day I picked up a tattered old issue of Gourmet, enchanted by the cover drawing of a majestic swordfish leaping joyfully from the water. This looked nothing like the ladies magazines my mother favored, with their recipes for turkey divan made with cans of mushroom soup, or pot roast topped with ketchup, and I opened it to find the pages filled with tales of food in faraway places. A story called Night of Lobster caught my eye, and as I began to read, the walls faded, the shop around me vanishing until I was sprawled on the sands of a small island off the coast of Maine. The tide was coming in, water tickling my feet as it crept across the beach. It was deep night, the sky like velvet, spangled with stars.

Much later I understood how lucky I was to have stumbled on that story. The author, Robert P. Tristram Coffin, was the poet laureate of Maine and a Pulitzer Prize winner with such an extraordinary gift for words that I could hear the hiss of a giant kettle and feel the bonfire burning as the flames leapt into the night. The fine spicy fragrance of lobster was so real to me that I reached for one, imagined tossing it from hand to hand until the shell was cool enough to crack. The meat was tender, briny, rich. Somewhere off in the distance a fish splashed, then swam silently away.

I closed the magazine, and the real world came into focus. I was a little girl leafing through the pages of a magazine printed long before I was born. But I kept turning the pages, enchanted by the writing, devouring tales of long-lost banquets in Tibet, life in Paris, and golden fruit growing on strange tropical trees. I had always been an avid reader, but this was different: This was not a made-up story; it was about real life.

I loved the ads for exotic ingredients you could send away for: oysters by the bushel, freshly picked watercress, alligator pears (avocados), and frogs legs from the frogland of America. Once I actually persuaded my parents to order a clambake in a pot from Saltwater Farm in Damariscotta, Maine. Eight live lobsters and a half peck of clams came swathed in seaweed and packed in ice. It cost $14.95, and all you had to do was poke holes in the top of the container and set it on the stove.

I couldnt get enough of those old issues, and now when Dad went off exploring bookstores I had a quest of my own. The day I discovered a battered copy of The Gourmet Cookbook among the ancient issues, I begged Dad to buy it for me. Its only fifty cents, I pleaded.

It came in handy the morning I opened the refrigerator in our small kitchen and found myself staring at a suckling pig. I jumped back, startled, and then did what any sensible person would do: reached for the cookbook. I was only ten, and I hoped it would have some advice on how to deal with the thing.

Sure enough, there it was, on page 391: Roast Suckling Pig Parisienne. There was even a handy photograph demonstrating how to truss the tiny animal.

I remember that moment, and not just because the recipe insisted on a lot of yucky stuff like putting a block of wood into the pigs mouth (to brace it for the apple that will be inserted later) and boiling the heart for gravy. I remember it mostly because that was the day Mom finally admitted she was glad Id found a hobby.

My mothers interest in food was strictly academic. Asked what had possessed her to purchase the pig, she replied, Id never seen one before, as if that was an adequate answer. The same logic had compelled her to bring home a can of fried grasshoppers, a large sea urchin with dangerously sharp spines, and a flashy magenta cactus flower. She had little interest in eating these items, but if I was going to insist on reading what she called that ridiculous magazine, she thought it should be put to use.

The fried grasshoppers were not a hit; I suspect the can had been sitting on a shelf for years, awaiting some gullible customer. And while the editors were eager to instruct me in the preparation of eels, bears, woodchucks, and snipe, they were strangely silent on the subject of sea urchins. When I finally managed to pry the creature open, I found the gooey black inside so appalling that nothing would have tempted me to taste it. As for the cactus flower, its great good looks camouflaged a total lack of flavor.

But the suckling pig was a different story. I did everything the cookbook suggested and then hovered anxiously near the oven, hoping it hadnt led me astray. When the pig emerged all crackling skin and sweet soft meat, Mom was happy. Ive never tasted anything so delicious, she grudgingly admitted. That magazine might be useful after all.

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