"To anyone who presumes to lecture you on housewifery as an abject capitulation to the feminine mystique. Simply let him see you presiding over your kitchen with steel in one hand and butcher knife in the other. Execute six well-drawn strokes, and his words will turn to ashes in his mouth." — Capon

Some of the recipes hold up, notwithstanding a certain theological casuistry which dissolves the lamb (shank) into a parade of symbols justifying its own consumption (this is the other kind of Tin Violin-ing). The Compleat Angler remains the novel model for "the [gentleman] who considers everything more important than [eating] and yet has discovered very few better things to do." (Frye)

Though it is remarkable how the misogyny of the contemporary american neonazi is not incomparable to that of the mid-century deipnosophist writing for a general audience. (This is due to a characteristic lack of imagination.) ( )

I’m not a cook, and I don’t enjoy it when I have to do it. I’m more willing to go without a meal than spend time on cooking one. So I have no business reading a book about cooking. But since this book is about more than that, I figure I haven’t broken any laws by reading it.
Since I’m usually such a stickler for reading every word (or it doesn’t count), I must admit I did not read the 70 or so pages of recipes at the end of the book. If I were a cook, I would buy it for the recipes, because this guy sure knows what he’s doing.
This collection of essays that all tie into a recipe called Lamb for Eight Persons Four Times was written by an Episcopalian priest in the late sixties. So besides getting his thoughts on food and the way we approach cooking, eating, and life in general, I felt like I got a peek into a different culture from a different time.
His essays were thoughtful, well-written, and often quite funny. There were two parts that made me laugh the most: when he cursed margarine to outer darkness in one chapter, and in the last chapter “The Heart that Burns,” where he sang the praises of baking soda as a heartburn remedy to the extent that he presented an imaginary reward to it.
This is one I wish I’d been reading on my kindle so I could highlight all the goodness.
Highly recommended, whether or not you love cooking. ( )

This is a book that I needed to read this season. It teaches sacred and full attention to the facts of creation.

"Man's real work is to look at the things of the world and to love them for what they are. That is, after all, what God does, and man was not made in God's image for nothing."

It is almost certain that this is the only book of theology that has an entire chapter on bread which does not mention the Eucharist. The chapter is about the radical simplicity, complexity, and universality of bread, especially in combination with two other beauties of creation, butter and cheese. It is about humans (you) getting your hands covered in God's creation while you knead it into an unexpected delight, bread.

Father Capon probably uses "you" on every page. I'm a lector in our church, and when I read Paul, I always find where he says "you", because he really means you, personally. Not some generic "you", but you yourself, now. Who might benefit from kneading some bread.

( )

Take one author, combine a priestly vocation with a culinary avocation, simmer for a couple of decades, and you’ll end up with The Supper of the Lamb. This book is a deeply theological reflection on food, its preparation, and fellowship around the table. The title, borrowed from Revelation 19, hints at the eschatological momentum of the text, as the loving preparation of each meal leads us ever closer to the ultimate feast – the heavenly marriage supper of the Lamb.

And there are recipes. ( )

Wow, whadda book. ( )