{"product_id":"ladyfingers-and-nuns-tummies-isbn-9780375702983","title":"Ladyfingers and Nun's Tummies","description":"\"Everything in [this book] is delightful to learn. Barnette takes us through languages and across millennia in a charming style . . . that offers endless food for thought.\" --The New Yorker \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat makes the pretzel a symbol of religious devotion, and what pasta is blasphemous in every bite? How did a drunken brawl lead to the name lobster Newburg? What naughty joke is contained in a loaf of pumpernickel? Why is  cherry a misnomer, and why aren't refried beans fried twice? You'll find the answers in this delectable exploration of the words we put into our mouths. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHere are foods named for the things they look like, from cabbage (from the Old North French caboche, \"head\") to vermicelli (\"little worms\"). You'll learn where people dine on nun's tummy and angel's breast. There are foods named after people (Graham crackers) and places (peaches), along with commonplace terms derived from words involving food and drink (dope, originally a Dutch word for \"dipping sauce\"). Witty, bawdy, and stuffed with stories, Ladyfingers and Nun's Tummies is a feast of history, culture, and language.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why didn't anyone think of this before? . . . What fun Martha Barnette has made of it all, every name for every dish explained and traced and jollied.\" --William F. Buckley, Jr.\"Truly delicious . . . a vast multicultural smorgasbord of our culinary delights . . . a tour de force.\"--\u003cb\u003eLos Angeles Times Book Review\u003c\/b\u003eMartha Barnette, the author of \u003cb\u003eA Garden of Words\u003c\/b\u003e, did graduate work in classical languages at the University of Kentucky.  A former reporter for \u003cb\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/b\u003e, she is now a contributing editor at \u003cb\u003eAllure\u003c\/b\u003e.  She lives in Louisville, Kentucky.Mangled translations, misunderstandings, geographical mix-ups, and other happy\u003cbr\u003eaccidents have provided the English language with some of its most common and\u003cbr\u003ecolorful terms for food and drink. Foods such as \u003ci\u003epeas, lemon sole, oranges,\u003cbr\u003eGerman chocolate cake, turkey, cherries, Jordan almonds,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003erefried beans\u003c\/i\u003e all\u003cbr\u003eowe their names to linguistic goofs of one sort or another. A close look at these\u003cbr\u003efelicitous foul-ups can help illuminate the way language sometimes works. In this\u003cbr\u003echapter, we'll explore how such names come about, often as the result of that\u003cbr\u003etypically human impulse to take something seemingly foreign and turn it into\u003cbr\u003esomething more familiar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn addition, linguistic mishaps occasionally produce English terms that seem to\u003cbr\u003ehave something to do with food but in fact do not. \u003ci\u003eApple-pie order, to egg on,\u003cbr\u003echowderhead, big cheese,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003epea jacket \u003c\/i\u003eare just a few examples. We'll meet these\u003cbr\u003eand many more at the end of this chapter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eWords Misheard or Mistranslated\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eConsider the \u003ci\u003echerry\u003c\/i\u003e. The Normans who conquered England called this fruit a\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003echerise\u003c\/i\u003e, a forerunner of the modern French \u003ci\u003ecerise\u003c\/i\u003e. The natives of the British\u003cbr\u003eIsles, however, mistakenly assumed that cherise was a plural and began referring\u003cbr\u003eto a single one of these fruits as a \u003ci\u003echeri\u003c\/i\u003e. Several English words, in fact, were\u003cbr\u003eformed by a process known to linguists as \u003ci\u003eback-formation\u003c\/i\u003e, one type of which\u003cbr\u003eoccurs when a singular word is mistakenly assumed to be a plural. (Another\u003cbr\u003eexample is \u003ci\u003ekudos\u003c\/i\u003e. Many people assume that this word meaning \"praise\" or \"acclaim\"\u003cbr\u003eis a plural noun and speak of giving someone a \u003ci\u003ekudo\u003c\/i\u003e. Actually, there's no such\u003cbr\u003ething as a single \u003ci\u003ekudo\u003c\/i\u003e, for the word \u003ci\u003ekudos\u003c\/i\u003e, an ancient Greek term for \"glory,\"\u003cbr\u003ewas borrowed whole into English.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother food word formed this way is \u003ci\u003epea\u003c\/i\u003e, a descendant of the Middle English name\u003cbr\u003eof this legume, \u003ci\u003epease\u003c\/i\u003e, as in the singsong nursery rhyme that begins \"Pease\u003cbr\u003eporridge hot.\" By the early seventeenth century, the English began referring to a\u003cbr\u003esingle one of these as a pea, although as late as 1614 Sir Walter Raleigh\u003cbr\u003edescribed something as being \"of the bigness of a great Peaze.\" Both \u003ci\u003epea\u003c\/i\u003e and\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003epease\u003c\/i\u003e, at any rate, are linguistic descendants of the ancient Greeks' word for\u003cbr\u003e\"pea,\" \u003ci\u003epison\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe same thing happened with \u003ci\u003ecapers\u003c\/i\u003e. Among the ancient Greeks, the word \u003ci\u003ekapparis\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003edenoted a shrub with flower buds that could be pickled and added to salads and\u003cbr\u003efish dishes. The Romans adapted this name into \u003ci\u003ecapparis\u003c\/i\u003e, which eventually found\u003cbr\u003eits way into Middle English as \u003ci\u003ecaperis\u003c\/i\u003e or \u003ci\u003ecapres\u003c\/i\u003e. Once again, speakers of modern\u003cbr\u003eEnglish lopped off that final \u003ci\u003es\u003c\/i\u003e, so that now one of these piquant buds is\u003cbr\u003ereferred to as a \u003ci\u003ecaper\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe opposite may have happened with the \u003ci\u003egherkin\u003c\/i\u003e. This small pickling cucumber's\u003cbr\u003ename apparently stems from a Middle Persian word for \"watermelon,\" \u003ci\u003eangarah\u003c\/i\u003e, a\u003cbr\u003eterm the Greeks later changed to \u003ci\u003eagouros\u003c\/i\u003e and applied to watermelons as well as\u003cbr\u003ecucumbers. In Dutch, \u003ci\u003eagouros\u003c\/i\u003e became \u003ci\u003egurk\u003c\/i\u003e, the plural of which is \u003ci\u003egurken\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSimilarly, many etymologists suspect that the word \u003ci\u003emuffin\u003c\/i\u003e arose, as it were, from\u003cbr\u003ethe Low German \u003ci\u003eMuffen\u003c\/i\u003e, the plural form of \u003ci\u003eMuffe\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"small cake.\" (True to its\u003cbr\u003eGermanic roots, by the way, the English language once formed plurals the same way\u003cbr\u003eas Dutch and German, by adding an \u003ci\u003e-en\u003c\/i\u003e to a singular noun. Vestiges of this\u003cbr\u003epractice are still visible in our words \u003ci\u003eoxen\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003echildren\u003c\/i\u003e.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSeveral other foods got their names when strange-sounding parts of foreign words\u003cbr\u003ewere changed to something that sounded more familiar. The \u003ci\u003ecrayfish\u003c\/i\u003e or \u003ci\u003ecrawfish\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003cbr\u003efor example, isn't a fish at all. Actually, this staple of Cajun cuisine has a\u003cbr\u003ename adapted from the Old French \u003ci\u003ecrevice\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"edible crustacean.\" \u003ci\u003eCrayfish\u003c\/i\u003e and\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ecrevice\u003c\/i\u003e are linguistic cousins of the English \u003ci\u003ecrawl\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003ecrab \u003c\/i\u003eand are unrelated to\u003cbr\u003ethe English \u003ci\u003ecrevice\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"deep cleft,\" which comes from an entirely different\u003cbr\u003eroot. At any rate, the Old French \u003ci\u003ecrevice\u003c\/i\u003e skittered into Middle English as\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ecrevise\u003c\/i\u003e, the tail end of which eventually evolved into the more recognizable\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e-fish\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother southern favorite, \u003ci\u003ehoppin' john\u003c\/i\u003e, apparently has nothing to do with either\u003cbr\u003ehopping or anyone named John. Some lexicographers believe this traditional New\u003cbr\u003eYear's Day stew of black-eyed peas, rice, and bacon or salt pork may take its\u003cbr\u003ename from a Caribbean dish called \u003ci\u003epois à pigeon\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"pigeon peas,\" an expression\u003cbr\u003evariously adapted into \u003ci\u003ehoppin' john\u003c\/i\u003e or \u003ci\u003ehappy john\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA similar mangling of a French name occurred with the shortbread known as\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003epetticoat tails\u003c\/i\u003e. This term dates from sixteenth-century Scotland, where the\u003cbr\u003eFrancophilic courtiers of Mary Stuart called them \u003ci\u003epetits gâtels\u003c\/i\u003e, which later\u003cbr\u003ebecame \u003ci\u003epetits gâteaux\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"little cakes.\" Somewhere along the way the Scots\u003cbr\u003eapparently decided that \u003ci\u003epetits gâteaux\u003c\/i\u003e sounded a lot like \u003ci\u003epetticoat tails\u003c\/i\u003e and\u003cbr\u003estarted calling them that. They even began baking them in a ring pan with\u003cbr\u003escalloped edges, so that now the cookies also bear a resemblance to their frilly\u003cbr\u003enamesake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eJordan almonds\u003c\/i\u003e, those large nuts covered with a smooth, hard candy coating in\u003cbr\u003evarious pastel colors, come not from Jordan but from Spain. Their name actually\u003cbr\u003ederives from the Old French \u003ci\u003ejardin\u003c\/i\u003e, meaning \"garden.\" This descriptive was\u003cbr\u003eadopted into Middle English, in which a fine variety of almond was called a\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ejardin almaund\u003c\/i\u003e--but English speakers soon anglicized it, despite the risk of\u003cbr\u003egeographical confusion.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother food-related adaptation of a French word is the term \u003ci\u003ekickshaw\u003c\/i\u003e, which now\u003cbr\u003emeans \"a fancy food or delicacy.\" \u003ci\u003eKickshaw\u003c\/i\u003e comes from the French \u003ci\u003equelque chose\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003cbr\u003emeaning \"something.\" In the past, the British used both \u003ci\u003equelque chose\u003c\/i\u003e and\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ekickshaw\u003c\/i\u003e interchangeably and, somewhat contemptuously, to denote \"a 'something'\u003cbr\u003eFrench\"--that is, food prepared in an overly fancified, Frenchified way as opposed\u003cbr\u003eto more substantial English fare. Thus in 1655, a persnickety English writer\u003cbr\u003edismissed what he called \"over curious cookery, making . . . \u003ci\u003equelque-choses\u003c\/i\u003e of\u003cbr\u003eunsavoury . . . Meat.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother French word misheard resulted in the name of the fish we call \u003ci\u003elemon sole\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003eActually, this fish is a type of flounder, not sole, and has nothing at all to do\u003cbr\u003ewith the tart yellow fruit, even though it may be served with a thin slice of it.\u003cbr\u003eThe name \u003ci\u003elemon sole\u003c\/i\u003e derives instead from a French term for \"flatfish,\" \u003ci\u003elimande\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003eIt's thought that \u003ci\u003elimande\u003c\/i\u003e, in turn, may derive from the French word \u003ci\u003elime\u003c\/i\u003e, meaning\u003cbr\u003e\"file\" or \"rasp,\" because of this creature's rough outer layer. Another theory\u003cbr\u003eholds that the name \u003ci\u003elimande\u003c\/i\u003e (and, ultimately, \u003ci\u003elemon sole\u003c\/i\u003e) comes from the Latin\u003cbr\u003eword for \"mud,\" \u003ci\u003elímus\u003c\/i\u003e, a reference to the bottom-dwelling habits of flatfish.\u003cbr\u003e(If the latter is true, then the enticing lemon sole is a close linguistic\u003cbr\u003erelative of the less-than-enticing words \u003ci\u003eslime\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003elimaceous\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"sluglike.\")\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe word \u003ci\u003ecutlet\u003c\/i\u003e is another French derivative that isn't what it seems: it's not,\u003cbr\u003eas one might reasonably suppose, a \"little cut\" of meat. Instead, \u003ci\u003ecutlet\u003c\/i\u003e comes\u003cbr\u003efrom the French \u003ci\u003ecôtelette\u003c\/i\u003e, a descendant of the Latin \u003ci\u003ecosta\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"rib.\" This makes\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ecutlet\u003c\/i\u003e an etymological relative of several other words involving \"ribs,\" \"flank,\"\u003cbr\u003eor \"sides,\" including the large, \"ribbed\" English cooking apple known as a\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ecostard\u003c\/i\u003e, as well as the tender \u003ci\u003eentrecôte\u003c\/i\u003e steak that's cut from \"between the\u003cbr\u003eribs.\" All of these words are also kin to \u003ci\u003eaccost\u003c\/i\u003e--literally \"to approach the side\"\u003cbr\u003eof something or someone, not to mention the word designating the \"rib\" or \"side\"\u003cbr\u003eof a landmass, \u003ci\u003ecoast\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSimilarly, \u003ci\u003espareribs\u003c\/i\u003e aren't \"extra\" ribs. Rather, this is an English alteration\u003cbr\u003eof the Low German \u003ci\u003eribbesper\u003c\/i\u003e, or \"pork ribs roasted on a spit [or spear],\" from\u003cbr\u003eOld German words for \"rib\" and \"spear.\" (The same idea is still reflected in the\u003cbr\u003emodern German word for \"spareribs,\" \u003ci\u003eRippespeer\u003c\/i\u003e--literally, \"spear ribs.\") The\u003cbr\u003eEnglish adopted the Old German word and altered it to \u003ci\u003eribspare\u003c\/i\u003e, a term for\u003cbr\u003e\"sparerib\" that persists in England even today. More of them, however, switched\u003cbr\u003ethe elements of this compound in a way that not only seemed to make more sense\u003cbr\u003ebut was also reinforced by the fact that ribs tend to be closely trimmed of meat\u003cbr\u003eor, in other words, rather \"spare.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe name of the savory spice \u003ci\u003erosemary\u003c\/i\u003e is also misleading. Because this minty herb\u003cbr\u003egrew wild on the sea cliffs of southern Europe, the Romans called it \u003ci\u003eros\u003cbr\u003emarínus\u003c\/i\u003e, literally \"sea dew.\" Thus the \u003ci\u003eros-\u003c\/i\u003e in \u003ci\u003erosemary\u003c\/i\u003e means \"dew\" and is\u003cbr\u003erelated to the obsolete English words for \"dewy,\" \u003ci\u003eroscid\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003erorid\u003c\/i\u003e. The \u003ci\u003e-mary\u003c\/i\u003e in\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003erosemary\u003c\/i\u003e, meanwhile, comes from a large pool of \u003ci\u003emarine\u003c\/i\u003e words, including \u003ci\u003emermaid\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003emaritime\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003emarinara\u003c\/i\u003e. (The last of these, referring to \"sailor-style\" sauce,\u003cbr\u003eapparently refers to the fact that the ingredients in marinara sauce were less\u003cbr\u003elikely to spoil at sea and could easily be prepared with a minimal use of\u003cbr\u003efire--always a concern aboard wooden vessels). English speakers who inherited the\u003cbr\u003eherb's name as \u003ci\u003eros marínus\u003c\/i\u003e twisted it into the more familiar \u003ci\u003erosemary\u003c\/i\u003e, a\u003cbr\u003ecombination no doubt influenced by the traditional association between the Virgin\u003cbr\u003eMary and her floral symbol, the rose.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor that matter, even \u003ci\u003erefried beans\u003c\/i\u003e aren't what they seem. Although their name\u003cbr\u003eseems like a reasonable translation of Spanish \u003ci\u003efrijoles refritos\u003c\/i\u003e, the fact is\u003cbr\u003ethat these beans aren't really fried twice. In Spanish, \u003ci\u003erefritos\u003c\/i\u003e literally means\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003ewell\u003c\/i\u003e-fried,\" not \"\u003ci\u003ere\u003c\/i\u003e-fried.\"","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304230047973,"sku":"NP9780375702983","price":13.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375702983.jpg?v=1767731090","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/ladyfingers-and-nuns-tummies-isbn-9780375702983","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}