Reviewed by Gary Meyer
(7/19/00)
Some folks see nothing immoral in paying strangers to titillate them with exotic, sensual delights while fulfilling a fundamental physical need. Lawful establishments provide pleasure and satisfaction to patrons who could be getting it at home. I refer, of course, to the restaurant industry. But in Nevada, ask for salt and pepper and you may find you've hired a pair of playmates with pleasantly contrasting skin tones. In By Hook or By Cook, the Silver State's Working Ladies share their secrets to doing it in the kitchen.
When you tell people that you live in Reno, you invariably get the nudge-nudge-wink-wink about being in the only state with legalized Houses of Ill Repute, which they assume are right across the street. Visions of frontier decadence dance in their heads -- honky-tonk piano in the parlor, crystal chandeliers, a sweeping staircase leading up to velvet-flocked boudoirs with canopied four-posters. Well... no. Because brothels aren't permitted in major population centers, the reality's more likely a cubicle in a double-wide next to the junkyard, somewhere like Pahrump (pronounced Pay-rump). In the Paris of Northwest Nevada, and also in that big, silly place with the faux-European theme parks, prostitution is as criminal and as widespread as in Manhattan.
The typical john might swagger in, trousers bulging with a thick, firm wallet, but when confronted by a lineup of lingerie-clad lovelies-for-hire, he tends to wimp out and retreat to the bar, where he has to be coaxed and cajoled into choosing a partner. In her cramped bedroom, his small-arm's inspected and he's seated on a truly European touch, the bidet, for a little intimate scrubbing. She tenderly presents him with a foil-wrapped packet...
That's the extent of my research -- Clean Sheets has yet to authorize funding for my statewide, undercover consumer survey, so we'll just have to make do with the cookbook for now. By Hook or By Cook is more novelty than gastronomy, better suited to your risqué bathroom stash than next to your Julia Child, but it delivers. Puttanesca? Check. Rocky Mountain Oysters? Check. Spotted Dick? Louche limericks? Unpardonable puns? Check. Check. Check. Apocryphal Soupy Sales anecdote? It's in here, but I thought it went: "My wife can't make my cherry pie, but she sure can make my banana cream." (If you're old enough, you'll have your own version.) We need to be reminded of things like that. Unaccountably missing is Groucho Marx's: "She will now sing 'A Ham Sandwich, a Banana, and You,' from Aida."
Puttanesca, the pasta of courtesans, is a zesty preparation that may have derived its name from its tempting aroma of garlic, tomatoes, olives, capers, and anchovies, wafting into the street to entice passers-by. With a come-on like that, who needs a red light? Or perhaps its brief preparation time appealed to the Oldest Professionals, making it a convenient snack between quickies. The Rocky Mountain Oyster recipe advises quartering bull or sheep testicles into bite-sized chunks, which are marinated, dredged, sautéed, and served hot. (OK, guys, you can stop clutching your crown jewels now.) Spotted Dick is a British pudding created for the purpose of double entendre, an opportunity lamentably squandered, except for the observation that it's not what you want to wake up with, the morning after. Nor is the recipe authentic. Bananas? (Bananas figure big here.) On the other hand, who has suet?
The cat house staff have plenty of time to cook, since they're typically confined to the brothel for weeks on end and forbidden to socialize in the towns where they work. Legalization has brought neither empowerment nor entrepreneurship -- the split with the house is fifty-fifty. Their support group, COYOTE (Call Off Your Old Tired Ethics), favors de-criminalization, rather than legalization, which only institutionalizes the stigma. In "A San Francisco whore in a Nevada brothel" (San Francisco Bay Guardian, April 26, 2000), Ann deLorenzo writes: "It doesn't feel that different from the classic middle-American trade-off, in which 'good girls' give up their sexual freedom in the hope that they will thereby be protected from sexual violence."
Some of these dishes would grace any table. In "A Taste from Down Under," Tammie, of Mabel's Whorehouse outside Lost Wages, prepares an appealing morel soup that evokes the "...primordial and subterranean. Dark, enigmatic and musky odors." She wisely reserves the mushroom soaking liquid to add to the stock and sautés the morels in a quarter cup of butter (now that's decadent). "Butt Delight" is a tasty rendition of baked halibut steaks, topped with a reduction of shallots, mushrooms, butter, and wine. Or you can "Spank Your Tuna" 'til it's black and bleu (a French cooking term for underdone on the inside). Keri, also of Mabel's, cleverly advises lubricating each piece of fish with non-stick vegetable spray before blackening in a hot cast iron skillet.
Other recipes come direct from a potluck in Hell. Take "Crabs Like Never Before" from Fran's Star Ranch, please. Fran broils a mess o' English muffins topped with crab meat, Velveeta, and mayonnaise. Raunch hands will revel in "Cowboy's Bubble Bath," a bean dip fortified with chili powder, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar and cayenne for a memorable afterburn, a concoction strongly suggesting chaps, crotchless panties, and musical accompaniment other than "They Call the Wind Mariah." A classic Minnesota hot dish called "Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am Turkey" for no apparent reason, is a melange of ground turkey, broccoli, canned corn niblets, and canned tomato sauce baked at 325 degrees for one hour or until your guests flee in terror.
To cleanse the mental palate after that one, may I recommend some Hard Sauce? Cream half a pound of softened sweet butter with a cup of sugar, gradually beat in a third of a cup of rum or brandy, then add a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Chill until ready to serve on your favorite body part.
Bone appetit! Don't let your meat loaf.
