{"product_id":"the-anatomy-of-dessert-isbn-9780812971576","title":"The Anatomy of Dessert","description":"“Filled with quirky surprises and things you would have never thought to ask, Bunyard’s celebration of fruit is endlessly entertaining.”\u003cbr\u003e–Mark Kurlansky, author of \u003ci\u003eSalt\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eCod\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Big Oyster\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen we think of dessert, our mind’s eye sees cakes, pies, and pastries. Yet the truly creative palate imagines things even more tempting, decadent, and, yes, sinful. So claims Edward Bunyard in this delectable paean to the wonderful fruits of the vine, from apples and apricots to gooseberries and strawberries, from pears to the grapes that give us wine. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBunyard, a nurseryman at the turn of the last century, lovingly devotes a chapter to each fruit, sharing a heartfelt disquisition on the many types of strawberries, in which bigger is not always better; revealing how denizens of cooler and warmer climes differ in their perceptions about grapes; and asserting that “immoderate indulgence” in melon has toppled great dynasties and changed the course of history. Bunyard even offers advice on the most delightful wine and fruit pairings, and settles once and for all the debate that has raged for nearly three millennia: Which are tastier, hothouse figs or the outdoor variety. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIntroduced by Michael Pollan, \u003ci\u003eThe Anatomy of Dessert\u003c\/i\u003e is a cornucopia of wisdom that’s never out of season. It is time again to savor this classic work, first published in 1929, that gives above-the-title billing to the myriad foodstuffs we often refer to as “afters.” So come and partake in the fruits of Edward Bunyard’s labor of love.Born in Kent, England,\u003cb\u003e Edward A. Bunyard\u003c\/b\u003e (1878–1939) was a food writer and author of \u003ci\u003eThe Anatomy of Dessert\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eA Handbook of Hardy Fruits\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Epicure’s Companion.\u003c\/i\u003eApples\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    No fruit is more to our English taste than the Apple. Let the Frenchman   have his Pear, the Italian his Fig, the Jamaican may retain his   farinaceous Banana, and the Malay his Durian, but for us the Apple.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In a careful pomological study of my fellow-men I have met but one who   really disliked apples, but as he was a Scotsman born in Bavaria,   educated in England, domiciled in Italy, he is quite obviously ruled   out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    What fruit can compare with the Apple for its extended season, lasting   from August to June, keeping alive for us in winter, in its sun-stained   flush and rustic russet, the memory of golden autumnal days?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Through all the seven ages of man it finds a welcome, and we now learn   that not only does it keep the doctor from our doors but ourselves from   the dentists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Is there any other edible which is at once an insurance, a pleasure,   and an economy?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Before discussing the best dessert apples let us dismiss the popular   error that a single test is sufficient for a fair judgement of a fruit.   Often one hears the phrase, “I tasted so-and-so and did not think much   of it.” Flavour depends much upon the season, and many varieties   require a really hot summer to develop their highest qualities. The   Reinettes, such as Blenheim Orange, Cox’s Orange, Orleans Reinette, and   most of the russets, have their vintage years, of which 1921 will   remain long in the memory. All varieties, too, have their optimum   moment of aroma and also of acidity. A Cox’s in October is a little too   acid, but as the acid gradually fails, the aromatic ethers develop, and   the end of November and early December see them at their height. It   then slowly declines, very slowly if properly stored, and even in May,   after a sunny summer, it is still worthy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    To Mr. Cox, a retired brewer, we owe this “good creature,” as Mr.   Saintsbury would call it, and we can picture the scene at Colnbrook   Lawn, Slough, in 1825. Mrs. Cox would have drawn up her chair by the   fire, the evenings are turning a little chilly, while Mr. Cox, who   dines at four, is lingering over his port and dessert.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Ah, my dear, now this is what I call a good apple. Yes, yes, very   good.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Pray, is it one of your old seedlings?” says Mrs. Cox, always a little   scornful of home productions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “On the contrary, it is one of my new ones.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Ah well, I don’t see how it can be better than a Ribston.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The firelight plays on the cut-glass decanter, and a slight reflection   answers on Mr. Cox’s nose, as he smiles his wise old man’s smile and   thinks how women are all alike—and so a great moment in history slips   by.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    But perhaps Mr. Cox was a bachelor. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There is in the Apple a vast range of flavours and textures, and for   those who adventure in the realm of taste, a field for much hopeful   voyaging.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The nomenclature of flavour is more scanty than even that of colour.   How can we describe a fruit as of high flavour when this adjective by   long use has gained a special significance as applied to game? All   pomologists have felt this difficulty, the German with his süsser   Geschmack, the native of France with his use of parfumée, vineuse,   etc., and our own eighteenth-century writers whose phrase, a “delicate   haut gust,” though it charms the ear, conveys little to the mind. We   must fall back, therefore, on the fruits themselves, and try to discern   some genera of flavours, a gustatory classification.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    First we must rule out the merely sweet or sour, these are not flavours   though important adjuncts. Acidity for culinary fruits is of primary   importance, as it is to this that their capacity for turning soft is   due; those varieties which cook only to a woody texture can be brought   to a normal softness by the addition of an acid such as lemon juice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Much has been written against the “large sour apples” used generally   for cooking, and varieties which “provide their own sugar” recommended   in their stead. Every apple, however, is sour in its youth, and the   acid gradually disappears as ripening proceeds, taking, as is natural,   longer in late varieties than in the early. If, then, an apple is too   sour, it merely means that it has been used too early. It is perhaps   hardly necessary to point out that sourness tempered with sugar is not   the same as mere lack of acidity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In dessert apples it is noticeable that all the most esteemed sorts   have a good proportion of acid, and it is the blend of this sweetness   and flavour that renders them attractive, the merely “sweet” being as   nauseous as in human-kind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The right season to eat an apple is a matter of importance; to catch   the volatile ethers at their maximum development, and the acids and   sugars at their most grateful balance requires knowledge and   experiment. Many apples will keep far beyond their period of maximum   flavour, and in some this moment is so fleeting that they are hardly   worth growing; a week-end away from home might prove disastrous. Times   and seasons are therefore but rough guides to the correct moment;   experiment alone can decide. An incontinent friend eats his Ribstons   direct from the tree, and has at least convinced me that we do, in   fact, place too late a season for this admirable fruit. It should be   tested frequently after gathering, and will generally be found to be   best used before Cox’s come in in November.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In flavours we can discern a few main groups, and the early apples   mostly have what has been called the Strawberry or Raspberry flavour,   Worcester Pearmain, Duchess of Oldenburgh, Emperor Alexander being   notable examples. The first-named fruit, however, must not be judged   from barrow or shop samples, which are usually gathered far before they   are ripe, and both in texture and flavour are to be passionately   avoided. The really ripe Worcester has character, and, though far from   the supreme heights, is in its season acceptable and the Raspberry   flavour distinctive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A second class will be the Blenheim flavour, a nutty, warm aroma which   is to my taste the real apple gust; in fact, I take a Blenheim as a   test case. The man who cannot appreciate a Blenheim has not come to   years of gustatory discretion; he probably drinks sparkling Muscatelle.   There is in this noble fruit a mellow austerity as of a great Port in   its prime, a reminder of those placid Oxford meadows which gave it   birth in the shadow of the great Palace of Blenheim. Like Oxford, too,   it adopts a leisurely pace, refusing to be hurried to maturity or to   relinquish its hold on life. An apple of the Augustan Age.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    What can Cambridge put by its side? Its thin and acid airs have   produced only a Histon Favourite, an apple of no period, indiscriminate   and undistinguished.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The Blenheim qualities are shared by few, Orleans Reinette is its most   notable analogue. Similar in appearance with an added spice as of the   Ribston, this stands of all apples highest in my esteem. Much of its   Blenheim nuttiness is found in Egremont Russet, while Woodstock Pippin,   Ballinora, and a few others share its qualities in some degree.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A third flavour group is that of the Russets which have a peculiar   “fennel” flavour; Brownlee’s Russet and Reinette Grise de St.-Ogne show   this in marked degree, while the French group of Fenouillets are named   from this special gust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The highly spiced flavour of Cox’s Orange stands as a type, and into   this group would come Ribston and Margil and a few of the Cox   descendants, such as St. Everard, Houblon, and Rival. Like all   classifications these divisions at once reveal their inadequacy when we   consider the outsiders so far unplaced. Where shall we put James Grieve   with its faint Cox flavour, Allington Pippin in whose “gelid pores” Mr.   Eden Phillpotts discerned pine and grape, “the scent of quince and   pear, breath of honey from the hive”?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    No! Genera and classes are a vanity and can be disproved at every turn,   but let them stand, critics must live.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In the matter of textures matters go more smoothly. We can well   contrast the smooth, almost marrow-like flesh of James Grieve with the   crisp glassiness of May Queen, which breaks with a crack as you bite   it, the cassant or croquant flesh of French writers. The Russets when   fully ripe are soft, as is also the Blenheim, a grain suggesting   warmth, while the crisp-fleshed varieties taste distinctly colder. Cox   becomes quite soft, and yet not dry, in its later stages, and those   whose dental powers owe more to art than to nature, may well keep their   Cox’s till March. To the young, however, the crunch is the thing, a   certain joy in crashing through living tissue, a memory of Neanderthal   days. For them the Quarrendens and Kerry Pippins, which a far-seeing   Providence has ordained to ripen in the time of summer holidays.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The need of care in selecting the right moment for each apple becomes   more urgent when we consider the early varieties, where this instant of   perfection has chosen to be with as great care as in the case of the   more temperamental Pear. The first apples, such as Gladstone, Irish   Peach, Feltham Beauty, should be eaten from the tree, or at any rate   not kept over till the next day, when they will be flat and   unprofitable. Of the three named, Irish Peach is to be preferred. Its   fresh acidity with slight spicy aroma accords well with the warm August   days. White Transparent, though usually cooked, is, at its brief   moment, commendable. When ripe it becomes a transparent ivory white and   the flesh is soft and yet full of juice. An acute writer has termed it   a “before breakfast apple,” and a tree handy to the house will not be   unvisited in late July and early August. In Gladstone we have the   earliest of apples in our list, quite a good hors-d’Suvre to the apple   season, but surely never was a fruit more unsuitably named. Its shining   red cheeks and impudent eye lack the dignity rightly associated with   the great Liberal leader; now Gloria Mundi, with its severe angles and   pallid majesty, would have some claim.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    After our first early apples are over a slight pause occurs until St.   Everard makes its welcome appearance at the end of August or   thereabout. This is a newcomer with much of Cox in its ancestry, and   its flavour is a substantial shadow before the coming event. For a   limited time quite first class with much of its parental texture and   juice, but unfortunately a bad grower. For the Coxomaniac this starts   the apple season. At the same time comes Lady Sudeley, an apple which   every garden should possess if only for its flaming scarlet fruits. The   flesh is tender and melting, and at its hour of prime very highly   aromatic and juicy. For the best result it should be gathered before it   is willing, and stored in the fruit room for a week or two and sampled   from day to day till the exact moment arrives. Grown in an unkindly   soil, it can be hard and woody, and has thus lost many admirers. After   Lady Sudeley comes James Grieve, in its Midlothian home a Christmas   apple, but with us in the Home counties a September fruit. This is one   of the very few apples resulting from the marriage of a cooking and a   dessert apple which is of dessert quality. One feels that like some of   the recently ennobled we know of, it is a near thing, and untoward   circumstances such as a cold and sunless summer reveal the humbler   origin. But given a fair chance we welcome the newcomer, thankful for   the melting, almost marrowy flesh, abundant juice, and fragrant aroma.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    October brings us four apples of great distinction, and with   Gravenstein and Egremont Russet I should be quite content. Let us,   however, add Ellison’s Orange and Rival to our list.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Of Gravenstein it is hard to speak in mere prose, so distinct in   flavour is it, Cox itself not standing more solitary, so full of juice   and scented with the very attar of apple. This aroma comes out on the   oily skin and remains on the fingers despite many washings, bringing to   mind the autumnal orchard in mellow sunlight. Strange, indeed, it is   that this excellent fruit, coming from Schleswig in 1760 and much grown   in this country in the early half of the last century, should have been   almost forgotten by gardeners.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The flesh contrives to be crisp without hardness, and it has the   remarkable quality of keeping unshrivelled until Christmas and not   losing flavour. I place it in this month as it is impossible to delay   our enjoyment of it one moment beyond its legitimate ripeness. In   parenthesis, it may also be eaten from the tree in September, but this   information should be kept a close secret.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In Egremont Russet we have a fruit of superb quality, its abundant   juice and remarkable nutty flavour are unapproached in their season.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In Ellison’s Orange is a Cox’s Orange descendant, claiming as the other   parent the Calville Blanc, a marriage of the most esteemed dessert   apples of England and France. It is with some misgivings that I include   the result of this international union. It has, with me, a distinct   aniseed flavour, and when I presented it to one educated palate with a   request for a description of its flavour, I was told that he was   reminded of a chemist’s shop. Against this it is only fair to set the   voice of a Midland connoisseur, who would select this variety were he   reduced to a single apple. I therefore judge that the aniseed is a   product of a warmer climate and am thankful that in a month containing   Egremont Russet and Gravenstein no risks need be taken in the south.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Rival is an apple that can hardly be omitted from the collection if   only on account of its beauty. A tree of this variety in full fruit,   with its almost salmon-carmine tinge and light bloom, is, to an apple   lover, irresistible. And why, I may ask, should we not grow fruits for   their beauty? The eye requires its food no less than the stomach, and   when we can combine these appeals we follow a sound instinct implanted   long before modern physiologists discovered it. The brilliance of   Gascoyne’s Scarlet with its carmine on ivory, Peasgood’s Nonesuch with   its matronly form joined to the fresh colour and bloom of virginity,   should decorate the dessert table even though, for interior purposes,   we usually prefer them to come to us via the kitchen. But Rival has its   fleeting moment of good flavour and can honourably figure at the   dessert.Introduction by Michael Pollan; Preface by David Karp; Ruth Reichl, Series Editor; Modern Library Food","brand":"Modern Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300198371557,"sku":"NP9780812971576","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780812971576.jpg?v=1767738079","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-anatomy-of-dessert-isbn-9780812971576","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}