The Sandpoint Eater: Food facts (or fiction)

By Marcia Pilgeram
Reader Columnist

Last week we were soaking up the late afternoon sun along the banks of the water flowing past our favorite table at the Pack River Store. We were there for an early dinner; and, as always, my creature-of-habit order was a Reuben sandwich with fries and a side of fry sauce. I have loved fry sauce since I was an unruly kid in Helena, Mont., hanging out at the Arctic Circle drive-in. Sharing a bit of food history with granddaughter Fern, I told her that fry sauce was invented in Utah by the founder of the Arctic Circle chain back in the ’40s.

“Mimi, you told me that you invented fry sauce,” declared Fern.

I explained that while it’s my favorite condiment and I often make up a little batch at home, I certainly did not invent it.

“Well,” she argued, “you told me you did.”

There was no convincing her that she had quite possibly overstated a comment I made years ago about whipping up a home batch of fry sauce. That’s how food lore (and lies and embellishments) begin, folks.

Take the margarita. On the popular podcast, The Sporkful, a woman grew up believing her aunt invented the margarita. She was so convinced that she set out to prove its provenance, only to discover it was nothing more than family lore.

Culinary legends can be traced to families, restaurants, towns and even countries. For instance, German chocolate cake is not German. That’s a fact! It was named after English-American chocolate maker Samuel German, who developed a baking chocolate that came to be used in the aforementioned cake.

County fairs love to lay claim to “The Original,” be it elephant ears, funnel cakes or deep-fried Oreos. The list of sweet, sticky, greasy originals is endless.

Closer to home, at the Davenport Hotel in Spokane, the menu declares that crab Louie was created for owner and hotelier Louie Davenport. Claims that it was created at the Olympic Club in Seattle and the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco also exist. The Davenport didn’t open until 1914, but there are crab Louie recipes dating to 1908. Often, communities want ownership of beloved foods, and local pride prevails. Judge for yourself.

Food lore isn’t necessarily false — it just tends to rise like a loaf of baking bread.

Two or three days after our early dinner at the Pack River Store, I was still trying to explain food lore and family legends to Fern. Ironically, one of her requests during her visit was to learn to make Pavlova, the fabulous meringue-based dessert created in honor of the celebrated ballerina Anna Pavlova.

Pavlova is perhaps the classic food custody battle. Both New Zealand and Australia claim to have invented the dessert. Historians have uncovered early recipes from both countries, but the evidence is murky enough that neither side has completely won the argument.

Our Pavlova turned out perfect, and Fern returned home to Moscow and whipped one up — entirely by her 11-year-old self — for Father’s Day.

As for Fern, I suspect the lesson about food lore may not have entirely stuck. Years from now, she may very well be telling her own grandchildren that her Mimi invented fry sauce, settled the Pavlova dispute and personally taught Anna Pavlova how to dance. That’s the thing about family stories — with every passing season, they have a way of picking up a little extra “seasoning.”

Perhaps that’s why we love food history so much. Food is more than recipes and ingredients; it’s memory served on a plate. The facts matter, but so do the stories. Somewhere between documented history and family legend is a sweet spot where the best tales live.

So, rather than debating who invented Pavlova, I encourage you to make one yourself. Gather a few simple ingredients, whip up a cloud of meringue, pile it high with cream and local ripe berries, and start a little food lore of your own. Years from now, someone in your family may be telling the story of the first Pavlova that came out of your kitchen.

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Pavlova

This classic dessert is easy and elegant. It requires more patience than ingredients. The toppings will only be limited by your culinary imagination. Serves 8-10 people.