In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the public at large was skeptical about vegetarian cooking. They could be downright hostile, especially in Texas where I began my career. Promoting my first two cookbooks was challenging, but I loved rising to the occasion.
"Ah wanna know how she cooks black-ah’d peas," the menacing voice of an aggressive caller asked the host of a call-in radio show in San Antonio, Texas, decades before irate talk radio had become part of pop culture. Earnestly, enthusiastically, I began to describe a recipe in my first cookbook, "The Vegetarian Feast." I explained that lots of garlic and onion were the key, how I first softened them in oil before adding the black-eyed peas, water, and … I was just about to say “bay leaf” when the caller interrupted and snarled, “She cain’t tell me ah can cook black-ah’d peas without ham hocks.” Then another caller chimed in: “Ah don’t think y’all’s food is so healthy; we have lots of Chah-nese people here, and they eat lots of vegetarian food, and Ah don’t think they have very good teeth.” Invisible in the radio studio, I smiled a bright white smile, packed up and headed north toward Dallas, cookbook in hand.
Three years later, I was on the road again on a nine-city promotional tour for my next meat-free cookbook, "Fast Vegetarian Feasts." This was back when there was local daytime television in cities throughout the country, and publishers sent authors out to promote their books. It was long before the Transportation Security Administration era, and I traveled with a kit that would have been impossible today: two chef’s knives, a 10-inch nonstick skillet for my showy souffled Grand Marnier omelet, three bowls (one copper, two stainless), a whisk, a rubber spatula, a platter, Tupperware containers, a small bottle of Grand Marnier and a jar of honey. If I had several shows scheduled, I’d have the makings for more dishes -- tortillas, tofu, soy sauce, tomatoes, poblano and serrano chiles, avocados, pasta, seasonings and oils, all in my carry-on luggage.
In some cities, after my morning talk shows and before evening book signings, I prepared beautiful sit-down lunches for the booksellers and reviewers. To avoid having to repeat shopping for the same ingredients in each place, I bought most of my supplies at the beginning of my tour in Los Angeles, and schlepped them, along with the equipment I’d need, from there to Minneapolis to Austin to Houston to New York. I packed one suitcase with everything from sesame oil to bulgur wheat, souffle dishes, pate tureens, four breadpans and two round plastic platters and bread pans. I was living in France then, so there was no going home between gigs. Clothes for six weeks in four different climates filled another bag. All this before there was pull-along luggage.
My first television appearance was a 15-minute spot on "AM Los Angeles," L.A.'s most popular local morning show where I was asked to unravel the mysteries of tofu. I had spoken several times with the production supervisor and was set to bring in five prepared dishes and make the sixth on set. The host of the show had not been briefed; she was unaware that the dishes were supposed to look like they were hot off the stove but that in fact they would be bone cold.
She began the segment with, “Tofu, yech!” then reached for a tofu and poblano taco and said: “Tastes like cold scrambled eggs." She wouldn’t let up. "It’s the texture I can’t stand," she said, taking a bite of stir-fried tofu with snow peas, "and it’s so ugly," as she slid a piece of tofu into the ginger-soy dipping sauce. She urged me to take a bite and then asked me how I liked it, but of course I couldn’t say much, my mouth being full. After the spot the stagehands, who’d never even seen tofu, polished off all of the food in minutes.
Wherever I went, the television hosts were very tall, and I was forever craning my neck to talk to them. On "Good Morning Houston," I was halfway through my avocado taco demonstration before a live audience when a production assistant came on set with a stool and asked the host to sit down so the cameramen could get us both into the frame. When I got to the next show, I saw that the stove on the set came up to my collarbone and immediately asked the stagehands to place a platform behind the kitchen unit.
Halfway through my 8-minute spot, the tall, belle-of-a-host glanced down and, just as I was easing my carefully mounted puffed Grand Marnier omelet batter into the sizzling butter in the pan, she interrupted me to reveal not the secret of my omelet, but of my stature: “Listen y’all, Ah gotta tell ya somethin’. She’s standin’ awn a plat-fowem! Look, Ah’m gonna show ya (she steps onto the platform). See, now Ah’m gonna take ma shoes off (she takes off her shoes while I continue to cook). See how TAAH-ny she is!”
“Well, I didn’t want your viewers to think that all vegetarians are midgets,” said I, as I carefully slid the puffed, golden masterpiece out of the pan, folding it onto its garnished platter. “Et voila! Le dessert!”
Souffled Grand Marnier Omelet
Serves 2
Ingredients
3 large eggs, separated
Small pinch of cream of tartar
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons Grand Marnier or Cointreau
Small pinch salt
1 teaspoon finely grated orange zest
Small pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Powdered sugar for dusting (optional)
Sliced oranges and/or strawberries for garnish
Directions
- Preheat the oven to 400ºF. Heat an oven-proof 10-inch skillet over medium-high heat. Have a platter for your omelet close at hand.
- Whisk the egg whites in a clean dry bowl or in the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. When they begin to foam, add the cream of tartar and continue to whisk at medium speed until they form medium peaks. Continue whisking while you slowly add the sugar, until the egg whites form stiff, satiny (but not dry) peaks.
- In another large bowl, beat the egg yolks and add the Grand Marnier or Cointreau, salt, orange zest, and the nutmeg. Stir ¼ of the egg whites into this mixture, then gently fold the rest.
- Add the butter to the hot pan, and when the foam subsides and the butter is just beginning to color, gently scrape in the egg mixture, using a rubber spatula. Do not stir. Immediately transfer to the oven for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and slide out onto the platter, folding the omelet in half. Dust with powdered sugar if you wish, garnish with orange slices, and serve immediately.
Variation: Souffled Amaretto Omelet
Substitute Amaretto liqueur for the Grand Marnier. Omit the orange peel. Garnish with toasted slivered almonds.
Martha Rose Shulman is the award-winning author of more than 25 cookbooks, including "Mediterranean Harvest: Vegetarian Recipes From the World's Healthiest Cuisine," "Mediterranean Light," "Provencal Light" and "Entertaining Light."
Photo: Souffled Grand Marnier omelet. Credit: Martha Rose Shulman
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