Summer of rage | The Spectator

The man in the White Castle

The world’s first fast-food restaurant chain. The first to sell over a billion hamburgers, to invent the carry-out and to offer discount coupons in the newspapers. Jewel of the American Midwest. Celebrating its centenary. Better burgers than McDonald’s, according to Consumer Reports. Still run as a family business. Some 377 US locations, and growing. Obsessively loved by some, faintly ludicrous to others with its trademark enamel-glazed, faux-brick architecture and miniature square patties, White Castle is the Rodney Dangerfield of greasy spoons. It gets no respect.

Timothy Jacobson

The culinary wisdom of charity cookbooks

Joy’s Toasted Parmesan Canapés: mix four tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese with half a cup of grated Swiss (or any other mild cheese that will melt), add mayonnaise enough to make a spread, season with salt and oregano or basil, spread on bite-sized rounds or squares of thin-sliced white bread, top with a slice of green olive (optional), broil until bubbly, serve immediately. Caveat, sophisticates: the ‘Parmesan’ likely as not was that pale yellow powder dispensed from the green Kraft cylinder, the Swiss was from Wisconsin, the mayonnaise was aka Miracle Whip Salad Dressing, the spices dried ones from the McCormick jar and the bread courtesy of Pepperidge Farm (if you were lucky). Not a whiff of anything cordon bleu or ‘artisanal’ here, the latter a term not yet dreamt-up c.

Calla Jones Corner

Lessons from a lobsterman

Willard Nickerson was about as Cape Cod as you could get. Chatham locals even gave him the nickname ‘The Codfather’. Willard was a 12th-generation member of the Nickerson family, his ancestors having arrived on the Mayflower. He was also a Chatham lobsterman/fisherman and on July 4, 1976, Willard led the annual parade down Chatham’s Main Street in my father’s 1952 Woody car. My father was rightly proud to chauffeur one of the town’s most revered residents. Willard was not just a local treasure because of his profession, he also played the trombone during Chatham’s summer band concerts. If you happened to be a year-round resident, Willard would come and find leaks in your roof during a blustery nor’easter.

Roger Kimball

A taste of heresy

The weight of history — a seemingly infinite vista of incident — hangs heavy in the Languedoc in the South of France. The region (also called Occitania) is the place where people said ‘oc’ rather than ‘oui’ for ‘yes’ — langue d’oc instead of langue d’oïl. Gauls, Romans, Visigoths, Franks, Moors, Cathars: one by one they came, they pillaged or prayed, slaughtered or were slaughtered. A plaque in the Carcassonne cathedral reminds us that only yesterday St Dominic (1170-1221) preached there during Lent. A lot of nasty things have happened in Languedoc over the centuries. Perhaps that is one reason the people are so cheerful now. The area is also the biggest wine-producing region in France, which also contributes to the quota of cheerfulness.

Bill Kauffman

Coffee with Coleen

I’ve eaten a lot of breakfasts in my time — hell, it must be approaching 20,000 by now — and few if any have equaled those consumed at Coleen’s Kitchen on Main Street in the lived-in Erie Canal village of Brockport, New York. It takes a few minutes before you sense that there’s something not quite wrong about Coleen’s. Upon entering the restaurant you pour your own coffee at the beverage station. Maître d’ Coleen directs you to your seat. She hands you the extensive four-page menu, which warns that ‘you will be charged 59 cents if you ask what kind of bread I have’. Read it well and don’t waste Coleen’s time, you lazy bum! Waitress Coleen takes your order.

Food & Drink