By the time GOURMET's 50th anniversary rolled around, in 1991, some observers thought it was time for the magazine to do likewise—but what new concept? No new fashion as dominant as the nouvelle and minceur vogues had been certified by the leaders of taste, who were starting to look a bit clueless. Instead, a plethora of superstar chefs with a dizzying spectrum of individual styles commanded eager followings for food that—notwithstanding much talk of simplicity and directness—kept becoming more remote from feasible home cooking.
The flip side of the coin was that the great ingredients available to American chefs—artisanal breads and cheeses, organic produce, exotic fish—started to go mainstream. There was a virtual explosion of fresh herbs in supermarkets across the land—one good example of why it became easier than ever to make a simple meal taste really good. Television lent a helping hand by making cooking more accessible: Julia Child first drew home cooks to the medium in the '60s, but by the '90s food TV ran the gamut from slapstick to serious. The Internet began to fill in the service gap with reams of recipes online. People could print out an ingredient list at the office and swing by the supermarket on the way home.
It is also true, however, that while home cooking was more exciting and more varied, people in general were doing less of it. More Americans could use words like confit, bruschetta, or wasabi, but few of them actually cooked breakfast, lunch, or dinner on a regular basis. And although it was clear that GOURMET's readers were passionate about cooking (it was something they made time for) and loved to entertain on weekends, the magazine decided to make more of an effort to showcase real-life food—easy recipes that could be quickly put together after a day's work.
By now there was a dependable mainstream audience for vegetarian (meatless, anyhow) meals and low-fat cooking. The sustainable-agriculture and farmers-market movements were being championed by many prominent chefs; with a strong early-'90s shove from columnists Barbara Kafka and Laurie Colwin, GOURMET began paying more attention to products like free-range eggs and organically raised produce. Another gap was filled with Jane and Michael Stern's Two for the Road (now Roadfood), a monthly report on unsung and far-from-haute neighborhood American restaurants.
The magazine's pages began to hint at some awareness of the New American cooking that was the cooking of new Americans. That the opportunity begged to be explored in depth is touchingly shown by a 1997 Sugar and Spice letter from a second-generation Vietnamese immigrant who planned to use a GOURMET article to begin learning something about Vietnamese cooking. But with a few exceptions—notably a 1998 Letter from the Editor (Gail Zweigenthal) presenting a Cuban pork dish served for Thanksgiving in the family of the magazine's photographer, Romulo Yanes—this scene went largely unreported. Instead, GOURMET was spending time experimenting with new streamlined travel features (for example, a one-page once-over of weekend getaways, or a "little black book" listing of useful addresses and phone numbers at a travel destination). The Cook's Corner (a question-and-answer column about ingredients and techniques that had a short run in the mid-'60s) was also revived as an aid to new readers who were ill at ease in their gleaming designer kitchens.
In 1999, a major change occurred: Condé Nast, the parent company, announced the appointment of the first editor in chief of GOURMET ever recruited from outside the magazine's own staff. Ruth Reichl's debut issue (September 1999) at once signaled some sharply rearranged perspectives marked by a provocative visual style, unexpected pairings of subject and author (the novelist Pat Conroy on Umbria, for instance), and as powerful an emphasis on the subjective experience of food as on food itself. In some ways this approach mirrored those early days back in the '40s, when the world of gourmet was wide and its boundaries few. It was, anyway, a leap into the unknown that might have boggled the imagination of Earle MacAusland—but then, he also knew a thing or two about leaps into the unknown.
Sound Bites
The dog's position in English life was indicated by the observation of Lord Carrington, former Secretary-General of NATO and distinguished British cabinet minister, who said, "Somehow a house does not seem fully furnished without dogs." —John Bainbridge,
"A Nation of Dog Lovers," May 1991
Nai-nai's gathering instincts strayed to the grassy islands that divided the Henry Hudson Parkway. How she divined that these oblong oases were fertile ground for her gow-gay soup greens is something I'll never know. —Leslie Li,
"A Walk Through Nai-nai's Garden," September 1991
With the improvisational genius that gave the world jazz, we have cooked our way into the hearts, minds, and stomachs of a country. —Jessica B. Harris,
"The Welcome Table: African-American Heritage Cooking," February 1995
With the improvisational genius that gave the world jazz, we have cooked our way into the hearts, minds, and stomachs of a country. —Jessica B. Harris,
"The Welcome Table: African-American Heritage Cooking," February 1995
Floating like a rough-cut gem in the lapis waters of the Bay of Naples, Capri has proved as tough a survivor in the resort world as the shrubs and trees on its precipitous cliffs. —Doone Beal,
"Capri," June 1990
No takeout for this solo diner, but truffled viands and pinging crystal. Yet starring as William Powell opposite Myrna Loy in absentia left something or someone to be desired. I forked blanquette de veau straight from the pot while the candles guttered onto the linen and All in the Family flickered on the tube.—Jay Jacobs,
"Tales of a Bachelor Cook," October 1995
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