You remember it well, the first time you were introduced to the New England palate. You had never been aware of its existence before, never had any reason to suspect that there even was such a culinary predilection. But then you saw it. You were walking with your parents in the supermarket, you were eight years old, maybe nine; innocent. You had been tasked with tracking down a jug of Cran-Apple, or perhaps it was Cran-Grape, from the juice aisle. So you set out on your own, solo, away from the guidance and loving shelter your parents had provided you with up until now. The excitement of an assigned task falling to you propelled you away from their loving graces and down the length of the aisle. You passed the organic farm cranberry juices, the Hi-C Ectocooler, the (oddly) aesthetically pleasing bags of Capri Sun. Soon you passed by the jugs of V8, your eyes were pulled to the thick red miasma contained within, wondering with budding consumerist glee just how did they squash vegetables into a juice? That sure seemed odd but you...

And then you saw it.

Right there, right next to the benign V8, was a container of something so shocking, so foul, that it shook your virgin palate to its core. Could it exist? Was it real? Was God dead? You knew the answer to all three was "yes". Yet you still had to look closer, bringing your newly corrupted eyes right up against the label. Yes, there it was in big bold block letters:

CLAMATO JUICE

And you were never the same. From that moment on you knew there were other tastes out there, other palates. No longer was the world homogenized. No, instead you knew the more cynical truth, when it comes to palates there is us and them.

In reality, there is not just "us" and "them," but a multitude of diverse, strange and unfamiliar palates from one end of the world to the other. But let us pause for a moment and examine the palate that originates from the cradle of American democracy: New England. For some reason, the old salts around here have a palate that both boggles the mind and leaves an odor capable of stunning a bison.

The palate itself is hard to describe. It would appear that it consists of several sub-tastes which, rolled up together, give one a pretty clear picture of the types of foods a Yankee would enjoy. You basically start with the "savory" taste, a hard-to-define amalgamation of spicy, smoky, pungent and vegetable tastes (think Worcestershire sauce). Once you have this deep, meditative base, you begin to add the more familiar, stronger tastes. Here you will find the salt flavors manifesting themselves. Not just a liberal coating of table salt, but usually a good soaking in vinegar or brine. You will also notice the prominent featuring of fishy flavors. While most people prefer their fish to hide or at least de-emphasize the naturally intense fish odor, Yankees seem to gravitate toward the smellier fishes, those which will cause maximum breath-impact. On top of these you will also notice chalky flavors alongside sour flavors. Indeed, much of the New England palate seems to be determined by the noticeable lack of sweet, buttery flavors from all aspects of dining, except, of course, desert, which is where Yankees seem to make up for their sugar deficit by favoring shockingly sweet chocolates, caramels and maple syrups.

But rather than dissect the discrete flavors contained within this foul yet intriguing palate, let us look at some examples of the confounding concoctions enjoyed by our Yankee friends.

Clamato Juice
What better place to start than with the beverage that keeps you up nights thinking "Why? Why did they have to invent clam juice?" Actually, in commercial settings, Clamato is a relatively young drink, being invented in 1969. Its roots go back further, however, as any salty fishman will tell you. New Englanders have been enjoying clam juice for centuries. Perhaps the 'round-the-clock odor of fish and clams became so commonplace in fishing villages that eventually the smell became unnoticeable. Obviously, drinking the extract of clams did not offend the palate, but merely comforted it, akin to growing up on an orange farm, drinking orange juice, and having fond thoughts of home; just much more perverse.

You can still buy straight clam juice in most supermarkets in the Northeast. It's right there next to the Clamato, a murky grey liquid that doesn't attempt in the least to hide the fact that it is made from blended clams and other seafoods. In many ways, Clamato is less offensive than clam juice. The savory flavor of tomato juice does tend to cover up some of the initial shocking smells that come out of the bottle, although there is no mistaking the fact that you are drinking semi-sweetened tomatoes with clams. And really, with a name like Clamato, how could you expect to taste anything else?

Kippers and Sardines in Oil
The time tested "delicacy" of canned fish in oil on a Saltine cracker has withstood the test of time. While many of the food items featured prominently on the Yankee palate have faded into relative obscurity over the years, the ol' fish-on-cracker continues its stranglehold on lunch-pail palates. Even the newer generations of construction workers, fishermen, firemen and other blue-collar pros continue to crack open a tin of sardines, anchovies or kippers during their lunch breaks. "I was raised on them because they're a cheap source of protein," says one Maine boat worker. There really is no truer test of the Yankee palate than the ability to consciously crave dipping into a pool of slick oil to pull out a thin, salty fish sliver; placing the strongly smelling slab on a cracker, tastless save for more salt; savoring the taste as it slides along your tongue; and going back for more.

Lobster Roll
Another lunchtime seafood favorite for New Englanders, this treat cosists of low-grade, canned lobster meat, a leaf of chopped iceberg lettuce, all held in suspension by mayonnaise. This is then served on the cheapest, squishiest, white bun available. The thick mayo not only masks the flavor of the last of the lobster, but gives body to this concoction. Think about that: the body comes from the mayonnaise. Though, people run to the nearest D'Angelo's when they see the cartoon lobster with a surfboard saying: "Hey! For a limited time!"

Moxie Cola
First off, if you're a true Yankee, there is a decent chance that you'll call this beverage a "tonic" rather than a "soda." That little quirk of lexicon continues to persist in only a handful of New England households, being subsumed by the far more popular "soda." The disappearance of the word "tonic" likely has much to do with the emergence of quinine-laced tonic water in the early 20th-century, though any New Englander, young or old, still holds on to frappe [(] as opposed to milkshake[)] with a deathgrip.

So, what is Moxie Cola? Well at the most basic level, it is a true "cola," untainted by the high levels of fructose and sugar found in Coke, Pepsi and even R/C Cola. A glass of Moxie is truly a confounding experience. On one hand, the extremely tangy and root-based taste is alarming, causing one to think: "Damn, they forgot to put the sugar in." But the sugar is still there, just masked by a number of stronger spices like cloves and nutmeg and anise. All these spices make a Moxie extremely tasty, but not in the sugared way we think of soft drinks today. Much like vegetable juice, Moxie is one of those drinks where you shouldn't expect to have your thirst quenched, but instead drink it for the spicy complex flavors.

Moxie is -- believe it or not -- still available. Invented in 1876 in Lowell, MA (of course) the tonic was initially marketed, like all good colas, as "Moxie Nerve Food." Throughout the early part of the 20th century, Moxie actually outsold Coca Cola, but a series of bad business decisions combined with the fact that it doesn't taste all that good eventually drove Moxie into near-extinction. Today, you have to work pretty hard to find a six-pack of Moxie bottles. New England is the only region of the country that still sells Moxie and even so, you have to travel to a relatively "Yankee" store to find one. The next time you are out in the rural areas of Maine or New Hampshire, stop by a little market that also sells bait and has a wooden porch. They will have Moxie, and you would be well advised to try one. There isn't much time left.

Candies
While the old Yankees do supplement their self-imposed sugar deficiency with an inordinate love of sweets, they still have a place in their heart for two particular candies that would shrivel the taste buds of most folks. First on this list is black licorice. Take a quick survey of your friends. The vast majority of them will claim something to the effect of "Oh sure I love licorice, but only red licorice." Even those who do profess a liking for the black licorice are likely to only prefer the sugared-up version sold as Twizlers. A true Yankee, while enjoying the odd black Twizler from time to time, still takes their licorice in the far saltier, bitterer version sold at the counters of New England convenience stores.

The second candy that only a Yankee could love is the Necco Wafer. Whether you know it or not, you are intimately familiar with the New England Confectionary Company in the form of their Valentine's Day Sweethearts. You know, the ones that caused you much consternation and grief in the classroom every February 14th. Necco Wafers, about the size of a quarter and packaged in rolls, are similar in their taste to Sweethearts, yet they have less sugar and, although they come in various colors, have no discernable association with any particular fruit flavor. For some reason, Necco Wafers also have an inordinate amount of flour-like dust coating them. As they have no real flavor and taste similar to chalk, they hold a special place in Yankee palate.

Salted Everything
Perhaps it was the long winters and the need to salt-pack everything in order to keep it fresh, but Yankees have a strong and unrivaled desire to add salt to virtually every food that crosses their plates. As one local Dorchester family descendant puts it, "You pickle everything." So let's run down the list:

• Pickled Eggs: Obviously a very British invention, pickled eggs have been around almost as long as the pint of ale. Often occupying the dark dusty corners of old watering holes, the picked egg jar is a New England staple. In recent years, the younger drinkers have shunned the estimable pickled egg. They are missing out. The next time you see a semi-sanitary pickled egg jar, try ordering a good British ale, preferably a little warmer than you're used to. Grab a picked egg and, after a few quaffs of beer, take a bite. You will be shocked by how well the two go together, a symbiotic salt/beverage back-and-forth, both parching and satisfying you in a downward spiral toward a salinity hangover.
  
  
• Salted Cod: A true Yankee staple. You will find salted cod most often packed in a small wooden box. The cod slivers are salt-crusted and firm to the touch, almost at the jerky stage. Surprisingly, even the strong fish taste is covered by the tang of salt on one's tongue. While the adventurous non-native might enjoy a bite or two, a real Yankee will have an open box on the bedroom dresser.
  
  
• Salted Beer: What's that you say? Who would dare put salt in their beer? Well, believe it or not, this is a fairly common practice, again, likely coming over from old England. The next time you happen to find yourself in an American Legion or V.F.W. hall around two in the afternoon, take a look around, those old guys are putting salt in their beer. "Why," you ask? Well, tradition first of all, but the salt does its time-tested duty by bringing out the flavor of beer. As everyone knows, salt doesn't "taste" so much as it enhances the taste of what it is added to. If you're enjoying a good mellow beer, like an ale (none of that pilsner or lager), a pinch or two of salt actually sharpens up the flavor considerably.
  
  An interesting aside on the topic of beer: Yankees will sometimes make their own beer (much like southerners make their own moonshine, Yankees enjoy making their own beer and fruit-wine) and harvest the muck at the bottom of the glass called "the mother." This malty paste can then be added as a condiment to many foods. Or, just eaten with a spoon.
  
  
• Salted Scallions: Yes this may be a bit of an oddity, but old Yankees occasionally will snack on scallions wetted and dipped in salt. How this tastes, well you will just have to find out on your own.
  
  
• Rapi Pie: A creation initially developed by the Acadians in Canada, Rapi pie consists of salted fish or salted clams baked together with potatoes that have been soaked in salt water and wrung out. It is unknown at this time where you could ever find Rapi pie in a restaurant.
  

So, as you can see, you were right to be confounded by the bottle of Clamato in the supermarket. There is indeed a different, unspoken world of tastes that permeates New England. Going far beyond just clam juice in a can, the Yankee palate is a strange and scary place, dominated by salt and savory and spice and stink. Much of these taste bud adaptations likely came over from the Yankee's ancestors in the British Isles and Scandanavia. The fact that this palate has persisted through time, despite modern advances in flavor and cross-cultural influences, speaks to the impressive resiliency of cuisine throughout generations. Much has been made in recent years of the world's disappearing languages. A whole field of study has been created, sending eager young Ph.D. candidates into the field dedicated to classifying and preserving endangered dialects. But perhaps the wonders of regional tastes are under fire as well. Legions of young Yankees, having been subjected to tacos, lo mein, hamburgers, lamb vindaloo and other diverse cuisines have strayed from the tried and true path of salt-crusted, gray, fishy-tasting, pasty foods. Should not a field of study be opened into preserving the heritage of those who first came to America and called it home? Should not the Yankee palate be brought to the rest of America in the pre-packaged fast food format that we have all grown accustomed to, a version of McDonalds if you will: McMcGillicuddys?

Perhaps if you continue to scoff at such an idea, consider trying some of these foods. Some will disgust you for certain, but others may surprise you in their rather palatable taste. Put salt in your beer. Eat a pickled egg. Open a tin of sardines. Find a Moxie. Who knows, you may even discover that the Clamato that haunted your youth is just the first step in a journey to developing your own Yankee palate.

A Recipe for Classic Finnan Haddie:

1 pound finnan haddie (smoked salted haddock)
1 1/2 cups light cream
2 hard-cooked eggs
salt and black pepper
dash of Cayenne pepper, or to taste

1. Cut the fish into serving-size pieces. In a skillet, place the fish with water to cover it completely. Set it over medium heat and when it begins to simmer, remove it from the heat and let stand for 15 minutes.

2. Drain the fish and, if necessary, remove the skin, pour the cream over it, and put it back over a low heat until the cream is hot. Do not let boil.

3. Stir or shake the fish gently in the cream. Chop the eggs and add them to the mixture. Add liberal amount of salt, black pepper, and cayenne pepper to taste.

4. Ladle the finnan haddie over buttered toast, or baked or broiled potato.

Written by Orion Smith on Nov 01, 2003 | Profile | Print This Page | Tell a Friend

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