Cooking Through Fiction: Moby-Dick

There are a few books that have first lines that when read aloud are immediately recognizable. For example, this next one:

Call me Ishmael.  Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. 

You guessed Moby-Dick, correct?

Many of us are fanatics about something. Music, sports, books, food. Captain Ahab, captain of the Pequod, was a full-blown, maniacal fanatic about the great, white whale: Moby Dick. And can you blame him, knowing that on a previous voyage, the whale bit off Ahab’s leg? He must find the whale. He must kill it. He has one singular focus, but does he succeed?

Cooking Through Fiction: The Catcher in the Rye

The Catcher in the Rye, written by J. D. Salinger, was published in 1951 and was originally meant for adults, but its popularity rose among teenagers due to its rebellious, angst-driven themes.

Holden Caulfield, the protagonist and narrator, is a sixteen-year-old, six-foot-two-and-a-half-tall cynical, foul-mouthed young man who despises all things phony. And yet, he is still one of the most loved characters of the 20^th century. He’s one of my favorites as well. But dang, that boy has the mouth of a sailor on a bad day.

Cooking Through Fiction: Frankenstein's Cake

When most people hear the name Frankenstein, they immediately imagine the monster depicted in the movies. The tall, grotesquely built lump of flesh given life by whom….? Victor Frankenstein.

Frankenstein isn’t the monster stitched together with human remains; he’s the monster’s creator. After reading the novel many times and even watching the movies, I think people are right in thinking that Frankenstein is the monster in Mary Shelley’s novel, but only if they’re referring to Victor.

Cooking Through Fiction: Dracula's Robber Steak

Continuing in the pursuit of cooking my way through fiction, I’ve been reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Within a few chapters, it’s as though a shroud has been draped over the entire world. Sunlight cannot penetrate the darkness, and as a reader tumbles into this gothic realm, one begins to wonder if anything other than flickering firelight exists at all. Perhaps there are only degrees of darkness, ranging from the silvery gray of twilight to the absolute stygian blackness. On the rare occasions when a moon can be seen, villagers are mesmerized, desperate for its light.