'The Texas Cowboy Cookbook: A History in Recipes and Photos'

by Robb Walsh
Broadway Books, 256 pp., $17.95

The cowboys of the "great trail drives" were a beat-up gang of undesirables who had been displaced in various ways by the Civil War. Typically, they were fed the cheapest possible provisions, and they counted themselves lucky if their grub was "clean" (not infested with insects or spoiled). In setting out to write a historical cookbook based on what these hardworking men actually ate, I suspect author Robb Walsh may have painted himself into a corner somewhat: The cowboy chuck-wagon diet consisted of only a handful of items. Making his job harder, many staples of the cowboy diet, such as "Son-of-a-Bitch" (a concoction of tongue, marrow guts, kidney, liver, heart, and brains) are unlikely to be prepared anywhere, by anyone, ever again.

Walsh skillfully gets himself out of this predicament by expanding his concept of cowboy fare to include basic recipes likely to have been enjoyed by cowboys when they weren't dining en masse at the chuck wagon. In this way, Walsh manages to work in a nice amount of simple Mexican food, as well as Creole recipes from the Louisiana border and the culinary contributions of Texas' black cowboys (which are substantial: A full quarter of Texas cowboys were of African descent). Walsh then broadens his concept of "cowboy" to include 1950s Texas housewives (King Ranch Casserole made with cream-of-mushroom soup, for instance, as well as ranch dressing), modern-day chuck-wagon cook-off competitors, 1970s urban cowboys (onion rings, Ro-Tel-and-Velveeta queso), and regional chefs with a bent toward "nouveau-cowboy cuisine" (Dr Pepper-marinated tenderloin, lime crème fraîche[!]).

The result is an engaging book with lots of fun photographs, surprising historical facts, and deeply funny examples of cowboy lingo. Walsh does a terrific job re-creating historical trail recipes (particularly authentic sourdough cooking in all of its permutations) and provides definitive versions of chicken-fried steak and chili con carne. Although my eyebrow raises skeptically at the inclusion of vanilla ice cream, fresh oysters, and chili-cheeseburgers in the realm of cowboy cookery, if you redefine "cowboy" as "dyed-in-the-wool Texan," it works. Walsh works up a breezily informative cookbook that sheds light on both the history of Texas and the history of standard Texas fare.