MARK MORTON
Cupboard Love: A
Dictionary of Culinary Curiosities
INSOMNIAC PRESS
$21.95,
336pp
This is the second, revised edition of this book, a
fascinating read for lovers of food and words alike. That
this is in fact the second edition of Cupboard Love is an
encouraging sign—it shows enough people have
already learned
of its pleasures to make such an edition
necessary.
And
pleasurable this book is; a sumptuous feast of facts
and fancy
that should win over all but the hardest, or
most incurious,
hearts.
Cupboard Love is primarily an etymological dictionary.
In case you aren’t up on your terminology, that means its
first concern is tracing the history of words, noting their
progression through time, and laying plain the solution
to
the riddle of how a word has come to hold the
meaning it does.
All of which doesn’t mean you won’t
also get a helpful
definition of the word to boot—you will.
But the beauty of this
book lies not only in learning that,
say, falafel is “made by
deep-frying balls of ground chick
peas and hot pepper, and then
serving them in a pita
with tahini,” but also that the word
itself “derives from the
Arabic word for hot
pepper—filfil.”
And that, ironically, is one of the more bland
entries.
Morton is a great scholar, bringing what must obviously
have been considerable research to every entry, but
what
elevates this from mere reference text to
pleasurable read is
Morton’s engaging, light and often
funny style. The book is
packed with humorous asides
and wry observations, the likes of
which one might find
unexpected (but welcome) surprises in a
reference book
on culinary terms. It’s also filled with flashes
of inspired
literary humour, like the entry for crock pot which
begins:
“Like the last clause in this sentence, the term crock
pot
is redundant because crock means pot, and pot means crock.”
But again, that’s what sets this book
apart—it is
eminently readable, and in so being tricks you into
learning things almost without realizing it.
Its sly structure also ads to the book’s readability. I was
initially drawn to it by those entries that refer the reader
to other entries. At first, they seemed ridiculous—the
entry for “kid” tells you to see “butcher,” for example;
under “salad” all you are told is to see “salt.” I think this is
all part of Morton’s wickedly playful sensibility, however;
like their brethren in Ambrose Bierce’s Devil’s
Dictionary, these entries not only make you smile, they
help make you an active reader, keeping you on the
move, and on your toes, as you dip into the book’s
plentiful pages.
And there’s
plenty to dip into. From the mushroom you
eat, to the plate you eat it on, to the restaurant you eat it
in, to the knife you cut it with, to the fart you expel
afterward: all come under Morton’s watchful eye, their
definitions and etymological origins laid bare. If that
doesn’t sound interesting—again, you’d be surprised.
There’s much you probably don’t know about these
everyday things, and the value of a book like this is that it
makes the world seem new again, showing you things
you might have come to take for granted through fresh
eyes, imbuing them with fresh meanings.
For example: did you know that
margarine exists thanks
to Napoleon III, who offered a prize to whoever could
create a butter substitute since dairy products had
become pricey and scarce due to a cattle plague in the
1860s? Or that the word “cookie” doesn’t come from
“cook,” but rather the Dutch word koekje, a diminutive of
koek, meaning cake? Or that the word “soup” is really
only about 250 years old, and that before the mid-17th
century it was usually called pottage or broth?
Those are but a few examples, picked randomly out of hundreds, of
the wealth of information stored here.
Those with a love of food and / or
words, those who
would be interested to learn that the word “loaf” is
intimately related to the words “lord” and “lady,” are
those who should clear a space for Mark Morton’s
endlessly entertaining Cupboard Love on their shelves.
It’s a great book to be enjoyed as both a meal, devoured
in a long sitting, or as a series of bite-sized snacks,
nibbled at a few entries at a time.
