One of things people sometimes learn in college, perhaps out of necessity, is how to cook. For me, it happened junior year, the year we finally got out of the dorm and into the world. There were five of us who wanted to live together, and somehow, the business of finding the apartment fell to me. Somehow, I was seduced by an ad that read "Rent a cave on campus."Consider that ad campaign for a moment: the chance to live in a "cave"? In the heart of West Philadelphia? Why in the world was that calling my name?
Well, first of all, it wasn't on campus; it was way the hell out past 54th street somewhere. I can't remember now. As for the "cave" part, well, that was reference to the fact that half of the two-story apartment was below ground, as in the kitchen, living room, and one of the bedrooms. Which meant basically no windows, the constant smell of mildew, and a lot of roaches. But, such is college.
And even though the most infamous thing ever baked there was a batch of brownies on an infamous Saturday evening for an infamous party, that apartment was also where I learned to cook. Four of us got together and formed kind of a meal plan where we would each take a night of the week and cook whatever we wanted. We'd throw our bills together and settle up eventually. At the end of the week. Kind of.
My brother was out of the picture. He had become a vegetarian by then, even though he didn't really like vegetables, which meant that his typical meal involved either a cheese hoagie from one of the food trucks on campus or a cheese pizza.
To be fair, though, vegetarianism hadn't gotten very far by 1977. Yeah, there was some Middle Eastern-tinged places run by students here and there on or around campus, but they really hadn't figured out how flavors went together or anything like that. Brown rice was considered to be an acceptable entity in and of itself. Grocery stores had similar limitations. Most seasons of the year had relatively little fresh produce, and the thought of getting today's everyday staples like avocados, cilantro, jalapenos, any lettuce besides iceberg, any fruit out of its season was unthinkable.
Our cooking plan worked okay, just okay. While we usually met the obligation for our individual nights, the quality and expense of the food varied greatly. Add in the ego of bringing treasured family recipes to three, young, male, non-family members. It led to a bit of dissension. I remember one guy serving a bowl of plain, cooked ground beef one time. I can't remember what went with it.
I tended in the opposite direction, armed with my mother's copy (via my brother) of the Three Rivers Cookbook, which might have been a kind of typical city cookbook were Pittsburgh not blessed with so many ethnicities jammed together so that Polish, Italian, German, Slovakian, Jewish, Ukranian, Russian and other specialty foods were a matter of course. I tried cooking everything from lasagna to crab-spinach souffle, racking up substantial food bills based on the need for multiple ingredients.
And, because my brother was a vegetarian at the time, we got into the vegetarian thing, too. If nothing else, it was sometimes cheaper, dishes like ratatouille providing a temporarily-filling one-dish meal, if a little too veggie, a little too bland. Because vegetarian felt kind of right, clinging as we were, even then, to many of the ideas of the 60's. Even though everything had changed, we were still living the hippie dream. We were college students, after all.
The cookbook that emerged into our collective consciousnesses was The Vegetarian Epicure by Anna Thomas. Though it had been out since 1972, it had been published by an alternative publisher and really built steam in the later 70's. I look back at it now and realize a) how many recipes I actually cooked out of that book, and b) how much the book relies on the deadly trilogy of butter, cheese, and cream to accomplish its combination of vegetarian and gourmet goals. Today's vegans would cringe.
Well, let them. What's amazing to me now is how much some of those recipes have held up. The one I've listed below came to the forefront just this week when I looked at a counter full of ripe tomatoes and lamented, "I've got to figure out something to do with all those tomatoes."
"Can't you make some kind of tomato pie?" my daughter asked.
And then it all came rushing back. "Of course I can," I said. "I just have to find the recipe." And I went to a bookcase and found the original sun-bleached copy of that venerable cookbook and the next night we were eating that tomato pie. I'll say this: it's a keeper. Everyone in the family loved it. It blows the doors off a standard quiche, it's healthier, and it really allows fresh tomatoes to be the star.
Here's to those hippie sensibilities. Maybe I'll become a socialist next.
Tomato and Cheese Pie (courtesy of The Vegetarian Epicure--recipe renamed by me and modified somewhat to accomodate today's emphasis on lower fat choices)
1 10-inch Pie Crust
8 oz Swiss Cheese, grated (probably any cheese would work)
2 Tablespoons Flour
1 Large Onion, thinly sliced
2 Tablespoons Olive Oil
1 Teaspoon (or more) Basil, chopped
2 Large Tomatoes, sliced
2 Large Eggs
3/4 Cup Half and Half or Whole Milk
1) Bake the pastry for the pie in a 10-inch pie dish for 7-8 minutes at 450 degrees.
2) Grate all the cheese and toss it with the flour.
3) Saute the onions in the oil over medium heat until they soften and begin to turn golden.
4) Spread about 1/3 of the cheese over the bottom of the pie dish, then spread the onions over it.
5) In the oil that is left in the pan, heat the tomato slices with the chopped basil for a minute or two. Arrange the tomato slices over the onions, then cover with the remaining cheese.
6) Beat the eggs with the milk or half and half and pour it over the cheese. Sprinkle a little nutmeg on top, if you like.
7) Bake in a preheated oven, 350 degree oven for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the top browns nicely and a knife stuck in the center comes out clean.
8) Serve hot or at room temperature, in wedges.
"Hippie Dream" comes from Neil Young's much-maligned Landing On Water, a lesser work, to be sure, but an interesting one to these ears.
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