An Extra Helping of America

Do you want to learn the unvarnished truth about American food? Get a haircut.

Whether you are trying to ferret out a cafe that serves haystack hash browns in the Nebraska Midlands or want to debate saltines vs. white bread as the proper companion for Texas Hill Country barbecue, ease into a barber's chair, bring up the subject of eating and watch what happens.

It was in a barbershop in eastern North Carolina that a customer put down his Cabela's catalog to inform us about the annual herring run. He provided a short history of the old-time Roanoke River herring shacks and said we should be prepared to order our fish sunny-side up (fried only briefly) or cremated (well done). In Clarksdale, Miss., while stropping her razor, a barber told us where to get the best cream pies in the Mississippi Delta. As Michael got his nape shaved in northern Wisconsin, we were surrounded by three barbers who explained that in that part of the world, "hot dish" is no mere casserole; it is a way of life.

American food at its best is folk art, its traditions the woof and warp of people's lives. To know what it's all about, disregard cutting-edge food and celebrity chefs; ignore the nagging admonitions of the food police. Instead, sit at a bare Formica table in the Delgado family's Pico de Gallo in South Tucson and have a talk about tortilla-making. Eat soul food elbow-to-elbow with regulars at the counter of the District's Florida Avenue Grill, or join the morning crowd at the communal breakfast table at Mamie's Kitchen Biscuits in Conyers, Ga.

While nothing is more illuminating than a shared meal and conversation in the field, bibliographical resources are invaluable keys to opening the door on America's culinary personality. But some of the most telling reading -- about food as well as life in general -- is not bound or formally published. It is found on the bulletin board in a restaurant's vestibule or near the cash register. Here are tacked-up posters for harvest festivals, street fairs and meat processors ("Come in with kill; go home with sausage"). A few years ago in southern Vermont, we saw a notice posted by a citizen who claimed a particular patch of meadow on the outskirts of town as his for picking fiddlehead ferns in the spring. We once came upon a poster in South Carolina inviting one and all to an "Anti-Abortion and Fish Fry Rally (All You Can Eat)."

As to more official sources of insight into our American food culture, we have a five-foot shelf of masterpieces about specific places. These are the best of the best, providing a deep and true picture of local foodways:

"A Bowl of Red," by Frank X. Tolbert and Hallie Stillwell. The classic illumination of Texas food.

"Cafe Wisconsin," by Joanne Raetz Stuttgen. A glorious celebration of town cafes where people come to chat and chew.

"Fantastic Dives," by Elliott Koretz and Michael Nankin. Los Angeles's quirky gastronomy before it became a stylish restaurant town.

"Hog Heaven," by Allie Patricia Wall and Ron L. Layne. The one and only great barbecue book ever written -- just on South Carolina.

"Hoppin' John's Lowcountry Cooking," by John Martin Taylor. It defines low-country cuisine.

"Hot Dog Chicago," by Rich Bowen. A brilliant overview of Chicago's street food culture.