Elvis Vs. the Beatles

Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, the granddaddy of all gastronomes, famously aphorized, “Tell me what you eat, and I’ll tell you who you are.” Far be it from me to presume to improve on a maxim by the author of “The Physiology of Taste,” but my experiences compel me to propose a variation: Tell me what you cook, and I’ll tell you who you are.

When it comes to the culinary arts, there are cooks and there are bakers, and almost never do the twain meet. Rarely do you find in one person a burning passion for making pastry and pan-frying a steak. Are you Molto Mario or Mrs. Fields? The implications are as definitive as when Uma Thurman told John Travolta in “Pulp Fiction” that Beatles people can like Elvis and Elvis people can like the Beatles, but no one can like both equally.

Thinking about this recently, I wondered what draws some of us to the flame and others to the steady, radiant heat of a precisely calibrated oven? I’m attracted to cooking not merely because the raw materials easily blend to my organizational style (I’m a procrastinator who likes to improvise), but also because I simply make what I like to eat, which, most of the time, is savory, not sweet.

It’s not just a matter of taste, and it’s not just individuals who display an affinity for one or the other--entire societies can be understood through the prism of what they cook. After all, Germans, legendary for their lack of style and for producing Einstein, high-performance automobiles and Bach, have the most magnificent pastry-making tradition in the world. Who doesn’t have room for another slice of strudel?

On the other hand, whom do we love and trust to juggle half a dozen saute pans over a stove of dancing flames? The Italians, of course, those brilliant maestros of improvisation.

Beyond the socioeconomic-political explanations, it can be boiled down to temperament: If style is substance, are bakers the pocket protector-wearing engineers of the kitchen and cooks the highflying artists? As a friend of mine who is a recipe developer observed, “Bakers like the whole idea of an oven--like cooks like the top. It’s a whole top and bottom thing.”

And I think she might have something there. In the hierarchy of the food world, cooks are on top. Cooking is the domain of epicures, while baking retains the whiff of ‘50s hausfraus in crinolines and aprons frosting devil’s food cakes. It’s so thoroughly feminized that in an episode of “Sex and the City,” Charlotte wonders whether her adorable new suitor might be gay because, yep, he’s a pastry chef. “Iron Chef”-type celebrities, on the other hand, are macho performers who tame the fire. They’re masters of barely controlled chaos refined in the crucible of the line, where under the immense time pressure of a restaurant there’s every probability that anything could go very wrong.

The truth, of course, is that cooking well--like baking well--is neither mysterious nor easy. The drama in pastry-making is just quieter--and deadlier. It’s easy to improvise with a chicken cutlet, a lot dicier with a layer cake. I’ve been humbled trying to make caramel while guests were waiting for their dessert. If you don’t cook it long enough, you have brown sugar syrup. A millisecond later, it turns into a seething caldron of burnt lava. There’s a very slim margin of error, and if you don’t know how to fix it before you’ve begun, you’re in a kitchen of hurt.

Come to think of it, it’s not so different from making risotto, which traditionally relies on a mise en place (the orderly arrangement of prepped ingredients ready to go into the pan) and attentive stirring until the perfect texture is achieved. Adapting the recipe here so that you can add the broth all at once (and not stir quite as attentively) makes it a great gateway dish for confirmed bakers. There are plenty of sweets with the same kind of crossover appeal for cooks. Crostata dough, possibly the pastry equivalent of a chicken cutlet, is extremely forgiving and pleasingly free-form, the perfect canvas for adding any number of fillings that a cook-slash-baker might devise.

You might find yourself getting in touch with your inner Ludovic Lefebvre or secret Sherry Yard. OK, that might be taking it too far. I think there are separate genes for cooking and baking, and someday scientists will map their functions on the brain. I have a friend--an artist in everything she does--who is a perfect example. She bakes pies that haunt people’s memories, but she considers herself a cook. “I get bored with baking,” she told me. “Plus, it’s not interesting to me to eat that way. Who wants to sit down and eat a fancy layer cake?”

As it turns out, not all bakers want to have their cake and eat it too. “I don’t really have a sweet tooth,” says my sister, who loves to bake. “And look at Mrs. Fields. She was always skinny, so she obviously wasn’t in it for the eating.” If bakers are hungry for order, and cooks are just hungry, then I’ll take some cake. Just a small piece.

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Honey-Roasted Peach Croustade With Pistachios and Honey-Sweetened Greek Yogurt

This not-too-complicated dessert should sway most cooks.

8 servings

1 1/2 cups Greek-style yogurt

7 tablespoons honey, divided

1 1/2 pounds small, ripe peaches (about 6), quartered and pitted

2 tablespoons firmly packed golden brown sugar

2/3 cup raw pistachios

1 cup flour

1/4 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

7 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces

1 egg yolk

Place the yogurt in a cheesecloth-lined strainer set over a bowl, about 1 hour. Mix with 3 tablespoons honey and set aside. Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Line a large, heavy baking pan with foil. Arrange peaches skin side down on the foil. Drizzle with 2 tablespoons honey and sprinkle with brown sugar. Roast in the oven until just tender and beginning to brown, 15 minutes. Turn the peaches and continue roasting until very tender and the honey begins to turn dark brown on the pan’s edges, about 12 more minutes. Cool completely in the pan.

In a food processor, using on/off pulses, chop the pistachios and transfer to a bowl. (Do not wash the processor.) Pulse the flour, sugar and salt to blend in the processor. Add the butter and process until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Drop the egg yolk through the feed tube and process using on/off turns just until moist clumps form. Gather the dough into a ball and place in the center of a piece of plastic wrap. Flatten the dough into a 5-inch disk. Wrap in plastic and freeze 20 minutes. (It can be made a day ahead and refrigerated.)

Position a rack in the upper third of the oven and heat to 375 degrees. Sprinkle a large sheet of parchment paper lightly with flour. Unwrap the dough and place it in the center of the parchment; sprinkle with flour and top with a second sheet of parchment. Roll out the dough between the parchment paper to a 10-inch-diameter round, sprinkling with additional flour as necessary. Remove the top sheet of parchment. Sprinkle the dough evenly with 1/2 cup of the pistachios. Replace the top piece of parchment and roll the nuts into the dough, forming an 11-inch-diameter round. Invert the dough and parchment onto a heavy baking sheet. Remove the top piece of parchment.

Arrange the peaches on the crust, in concentric circles alternating skin side up and skin side down, leaving a 1 1/2- to 2-inch border. Using the parchment as an aid, fold the crust edges up over the edges of the peaches. Drizzle the peaches with 2 tablespoons honey and sprinkle with remaining pistachios. Bake until the crust is golden brown, about 25 to 30 minutes. Cool 20 minutes. Run a spatula under the croustade to loosen and carefully slide onto a platter. Cut into wedges and serve warm with the strained yogurt.

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Risotto With Zucchini, Prosciutto, Marjoram and Lemon

Normally liquid is added to the rice incrementally. Here the technique is simplified without sacrificing texture. The key for the baker is to have all the ingredients ready before starting. This end-of-summer dish is great served as a starter or with grilled chicken or fish.

8 servings

5 tablespoons olive oil, divided

6 medium zucchini, quartered lengthwise and thinly sliced (8 cups)

3 ounces sliced prosciutto, chopped

1 large onion, chopped

4 garlic cloves, chopped

2 cups arborio rice

1/2 cup dry white wine

7 cups chicken broth, brought to simmer

2 teaspoons finely chopped fresh marjoram

1 1/2 teaspoons grated lemon peel

1 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large heavy saucepan over high heat. Add zucchini and saute until tender and lightly browned, about 4 to 5 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl. Return pan to medium-high heat. Add prosciutto and cook, stirring, until lightly browned, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl.

Add 2 tablespoons oil to the same pan. Add onions and saute until tender, about 8 minutes. Stir in garlic. Add the rice and stir until it’s translucent at the edges, about 3 minutes. Stir in the wine and cook until the liquid is absorbed, about 30 seconds. Add the chicken broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and cook, stirring frequently, until the rice is tender and the mixture is creamy, about 15 to 20 minutes. Stir in the marjoram and prosciutto, then the lemon peel and zucchini. Stir in the cheese and season to taste with salt and freshly cracked pepper. Serve immediately.

Recipes courtesy of Jeanne Thiel Kelley, a recipe developer and author of “Holiday Baking” (Time-Life Books).