Previously: Happy Halloween and Someone’s gone missing.
Each issue of Cook’s Illustrated begins with a folksy letter with news from down on the old Vermont farm by founder and editor-in-chief Chris Kimball. These charming, old-timey updates remind us all of a slower, simpler way of life, where neighbors stop to swap plowing tips out by the trading post and run when they see Old Henry coming. Who’s Old Henry? Why, what a question, stranger. Old Henry knows who you are. That much is certain. Old Henry knows who you are just fine.
The Toast has received an advance copy of Mr. Kimball’s Christmas letter, which we are proud to publish in full here.
Merry Christmas, folks. Merry Christmas to you. Children, I find myself having to remind you once again in the coming year that you mustn’t ever touch the bowtie that I always wear around my neck, even in sleep, even while I sleep and lie dead to the world every night. Children, I can hear you when you think you’re sneaking up on me.
The greatest gift a man can get is a simple black-and-white line drawing of an antique garlic peeler.
You mustn’t ever touch this bowtie. You mustn’t ever remove this bowtie that I wear underneath my chin, the bowtie that rests against the softness of my warm throat. If that bowtie were to come off — oh, children, how sorry you would be then. How sorry, and how pitiful, and how remorseful, and how useless would be your remorse.
Sure, searing a piece of meat seals in the juices. But it seals in a lot of other things, too. Things you wouldn’t want to get out, things you wouldn’t want to see the light of day, if you came to know them.
Ask yourself in the coming New Year if you’re really scrambling your eggs slowly enough. Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wonder if you are. Turn that flame down. This isn’t a race.
You can fit a lot more than a Dutchman in a Dutch oven. No guarantee you can keep him in there, of course.
A few years ago, we finished building our farmhouse back on the old Tikander place. One neighbor brought over a loaf of bread and a shaker of salt to ward off the spirit of old Tikander. We had a large fire that night, and old Tikander hasn’t been seen in these woods ever since. We still hear him, though. O, do we still hear him, shaking and a cursing and a tearing up a storm out there, but he can’t get in, and we sit over that buried bread and that buried salt and we laugh at him, and then we go to bed.
You have to learn to respect the mushroom before you can hunt for it, lest you anger the other things that live under roots and in between trees.
Funny, when you think about it, the way everything is wrapped in skin, and that this is the time of year that we unwrap things.
You can always pay a debt in apple pie.
If you’re not out haying, you’re not really living, my grandmother was fond of saying when she wasn’t begging us to kill her from her hiding place in the barn.
Most of the day, you’re never more than a few steps away from the kitchen. What else do you think is a few steps away from your kitchen? What do you think is a few steps away from your kitchen right now?
Someone finally went missing this winter. They always do. Young Paulsen swore it wouldn’t be him this year, but it was, sure enough. Never came back from plowing; horses running and foaming all up and down the field without him for hours. Miss Polly, the schoolteacher’s assistant who went missing the last winter back, showed up yesterday morning on the frozen edges of Fike’s Pond, but with green eyes instead of blue. She couldn’t speak and won’t answer to Polly any longer. We’ll see if she sleeps through the night. If she sleeps through the night, there’s no telling what she’ll do next.
There’s a secret to extra fudgey brownies, but I’ll never tell you what it is.
Have you got enough stones with you for Christmas, I wonder. Wouldn’t do to get caught without enough stones in your pocket, especially if you haven’t got a gift for Old Henry.
Have you seen Old Henry yet today? Old Henry says hello. I saw Old Henry out by the old apple cannery, and he was doing just fine. “Spry as a barrel in a cabbage patch,” he said with a low, rumbling laugh. He clacked his heels together and I bowed deeply, fingers braced firmly in my suspenders, as is my custom, before he rode off on a deer with no eyes.
Funniest thing happened to me today. I saw myself hanging from the chestnut tree in the middle of town, only I could swear I’m not dead. I waved at myself, and I waved back, which is hard to do with a broken neck.
Rabbit hunting is my favorite winter pastime. A friend, a beagle and a sandwich, and we are out in the fields and woods all day. You can hear the rabbits laughing a half a mile off on a clear day, if conditions are right.
The temperature in Vermont is 22º and holding steady. Been 22º for nigh on three weeks, day and night both, ever since the last boy tried to touch my bowtie. The sun sets a little differently here in Vermont. You’ll know what I mean, if you ever come to pay us a visit. You won’t be able to explain it, but you won’t be able to forget it, neither.
I don’t think spring will come this year. Something went wrong. There’ll be no spring this year.
Your car is rusting. Your car is rusting and falling apart out front, and it’s starting to snow. How will you get home this Christmas? Better find a place by sundown. Wouldn’t do for Old Henry to see you moving on his lands after sundown. After sundown, all land is Old Henry’s land. Everybody knows that.
Well, folks, that’s all from Vermont. Til next time – happy cookin’.
Chris Kimball
Tags: america’s test kitchen, chris kimball, cooks illustrated, letters from the editor
Do you think there is ever the slightest chance that he will find these sometime? (Or like, an enterprising young nephew would and then print them and show them to him or whatever.) Because if that happened, I worry that he would then be scared of himself.
He would never remove his bowtie ever again…
It is my dearest hope that he knows these exist and revels in them.
My first thought on seeing that damn blurry picture of Chris Kimball: Yay, a new letter!!! Second thought: (shudder)
I hope to move to Vermont one day, Mallory, and you’re kind of ruining that for me.
“Funny, when you think about it, the way everything is wrapped in skin, and that this is the time of year that we unwrap things.”
Well done; five screams out of five. Would shriek again.
That line made me squirm almost right out of my, er, wrapping. AUGHHHH
Was coming down here to talk about this. Congratulations, Ortberg, you have made Christmas the most beautifully horrifying holiday.
I don’t think Cook’s Illustrated holds the opinion that searing seals in juices.
…but I think that outside of that, this is 100% accurate.
Yeah, but what was I gonna do, NOT MAKE that joke? No.
This is the subtle danger in Chris Kimball, Prince of Lies. Next he’ll be telling us to make meringue with the freshest eggs possible, THAT MONSTER.
Hopefully it would appear in an article called “Greatest Hits: Albumen”.
The age of the whites isn’t so important though. You can always add a little bit of egg white powder if you’re really worried though.
CEASE YOUR IMPORTUNING, MINION OF THE PRINCE OF LIES.
Well, yeah, there are trade-offs depending upon the age of the eggs: loose egg whites whip slower but larger; older eggs make a fluffier mass but with less stable structure.
But in general, you don’t want to use the fresh-from-the-yard eggs in a meringue. The reasons are three-fold: it makes a tighter and slower-building meringue, it’s a waste of gorgeous fresh eggs that could be better showcased in a less complicated dish, and Chris Kimball will slip into your shadow and walk around with you forever, hidden in the dark at your shoulder or heel even on the brightest day.
This comment is amazing, and so are you.
Yeah, but separating old eggs? Nightmare. You must find the balance in the eggs.
Old Henry says he can balance the eggs if you give him a flat place to rest them and half an hour’s privacy in the hayrick with your chickens first. But has he ever? NOPE.
When I read the actual letter from the most recent issue, I thought y’all had managed to sneak one of the Toast versions into the issue when it went to the printer. Clearly the creepy needed to go up a notch to top Actual Chris Kimball, and it did!
Deliciously terrifying.
Brrr! This one is so Lakeside.
Mallory, a new installment from Chris Kimball is exactly what I wanted for Christmas this year! Thank you! 🙂
OH MAN. I just looked up the actual editorial and this version is actually only slightly embellished.
“To a Vermonter, or any country person, common sense is what keeps you alive. Liars and cheats may not have been welcome, but you wouldn’t tolerate a man without common sense; he would most likely get you killed. A man who was not dependable might shoot another man’s dog when rabbit hunting. (Tom once hunted with a man who did just that and wrapped the offender’s 12-gauge around a maple. The dog recovered.) And you would be careless if you asked him to help out in the sugarhouse; he would be likely to burn your front pan every year. He might also siphon the diesel fuel out of your tractor, jack a deer off your land, or run off with your wife.”
Er…yeah.
“Common sense is just another way of saying you learn from your mistakes. Unfortunately, some people, and most animals, don’t. Take a horse. Some will shy away from a puddle of water in the road every time—they keep thinking that it might be 10 feet deep. Chickens don’t bother to look up at the sky, and that’s why they make a good source of protein for red-tailed hawks.”
“jack a deer off”
🙁 🙁 🙁
DO NOT MOW THAT WET CORNER OF THE LOWER FIELD.
TERRIFYINGLY VAGUE, KIMBALL
“When I was young, I didn’t learn from experience; I just kept trying. … And I would go hiking in strange woods without a compass, a flashlight, or something warm in case I had to stay out all night.”
Until Old Henry found him.
To translate: “He might abscond with some object or animal you value, like your gasoline, your deer, or your woman.”
He might not understand that these objects are yours.
This one is pretty terrifying too:
“When visitors come to our small Vermont town (population around 700 and most folks born in the house they live in), what they see is old pickups; two tiny post offices; Sherman’s General Store, which sells coffee, duct tape, doughnuts, and sandwich fixings; and people who walk around without coats in the winter. They don’t see what small towns are good at hiding.”
(He says they’re hiding the keen wit of their residents, but who knows what else they could be hiding.)
Mallory, it’s difficult to choose, but I think this is my favorite recurring feature of yours, and I’m not even familiar with the reference. “I waved back, which is hard to do with a broken neck.” Glorious!
cdive (just above you) posted a link to this month’s actual letter from the magazine, and it’s…not as far off as you’d like, really.
You can always pay a debt in apple pie.
Actually true. (That’s how we paid our neighbor for plowing our driveway in winter.)
“The greatest gift a man can get is a simple black-and-white line drawing of an antique garlic peeler.”
Wisdom for the ages. That’s what I’ve always given to the men in my life for Christmas. And we’ve not heard a peep from Old Henry for years.
I would ask for nothing more than this, for christmas and for all time.
“Most of the day, you’re never more than a few steps away from the kitchen. What else do you think is a few steps away from your kitchen? What do you think is a few steps away from your kitchen right now?”
*shudders*
I still am not fully cognizant of who this Chris Kimball person is, but I am now more terrified of him than I am of Leap Day Williams.
*shudder*
Mallory, do you secretly write for Welcome to Night Vale?
This is why the country terrifies me. I picture it to be exactly like this.
“You mustn’t ever touch this bowtie.”
That reminds me of a horror story I read when I was a kid. This girl had a ribbon around her neck and she told people to not touch it. But someone untied it and her head fell off.
The Green Ribbon! Yes!
Yes! As part of the Scary Stories series. I also remember the one where someone mixed blood in their oatmeal.
Yes! I thought that too and was really worried that’s where this is going.
I have never in my life read Cooks’ Illustrated and this is still easily my sixth-favourite thing Mallory does.
You know we aren’t going to let you get away with not telling us 1 through 5, right?
Texts From
Misandrist Lullabies
Put Wizards In It Somehow
The Celebrity
Femslash Fridays
I can never decide if I like this guy or not. He’s just so GRIM and SERIOUS. Like it offends him if someone were to find cooking fun, rather than a Matter of Great Import. Reading his actual letters always makes me want to throw extra spices into things without measuring them and burn my cookies slightly on purpose. SEE, CHRIS. THEY’RE STILL TOTALLY GOOD. THEY TASTE FINE. NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE SCIENCE. THEY’RE JUST RUSTIC. HAVE SOME.
Yeah, the most enjoyable part of America’s Test Kitchen/Cook’s Country is the cooks and testers rolling their eyes at Chris’s persnickety nonsense.
I like him on the show, he seems to have a good (albeit dry) sense of humor, and he laughs a lot and seems to be having fun.
Some unenlightened person once gave me a subscription to his OCD magazine; I would not be surprised to read the best way to cook children in it in a discussion of what the witch in Hansel and Gretel was doing wrong, and how to make bread crumbs that last so you can find your way back out of the woods.
Your car is rusting. Your car is rusting and falling apart out front, and it’s starting to snow.
I read that as “your cat is rusting.” o_O
I asked myself “The Egg Question” and now I feel bad.
I guess it’s a good thing I could never get my brownies to come out extra fudgy.
Oh god, I love the show, I love the podcast, I love this series, but I love it especially when Chris Kimball dresses up in costume. I have seen him dressed as a chicken, a mushroom, and as this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3qNyzjde2A
I bet if you emailed him about these, he’d have you on the show and then the circle would truly be squared.