Book Review :: How to Cook a Wolf

I discovered How to Cook a Wolf by M.F.K. Fisher through a New York Times article titled “The 25 Most Influential Cookbooks From the Last 100 Years.” Before reading this, I had never approached a cookbook as one might read a novel—cover to cover. Now, I’ve done it twice. (The other was Jubilee: Recipes from Two Centuries of African American Cooking by Toni Tipton-Martin, which I also highly recommend.)

I’ve often written about the joy of uncovering books written decades ago. These treasures remind me of the vast literary gems still waiting to be found. This hope is especially heartening when I’m slogging through a contemporary read that’s falling short of expectations (a topic I’ll tackle in a future post).

How to Cook a Wolf was first published in 1942, during a time of wartime rations and shortages. I read the 1951 edition, which includes Fisher’s marginal notes from the original edition as well as new recipes. The titular “wolf” refers to hunger, and in this context, Fisher offers practical advice and inspiration to those trying to make do with less in the kitchen.

While How to Cook a Wolf is ostensibly a cookbook, it doubles as a primer in basic cooking techniques. For example, the chapter on soup, “How to Boil Water,” starts with the simplest task and progresses methodically: if you can boil water, you can make consommé; if you can make consommé, you can make onion soup; and so on, until you find yourself confidently preparing hearty vegetable soups. Fisher employs this progression throughout the book, with chapters like “How Not to Boil an Egg” (covering omelets, frittatas, and similar dishes) and “How to Rise Up Like New Bread” (naturally, breads). Her chapter titles alone will make you smile, with “How to Make a Pigeon Cry” standing out as a personal favorite.

Beyond the recipes, Fisher’s commentary is where her personality truly shines. Some chapters contain no recipes at all, such as “How to Be Cheerful Through Starving,” while others feature extensive, witty introductions. Her sharp sense of humor is on full display in passages like this:

One way to horrify at least eight out of ten Anglo-Saxons is to suggest their [sic] eating anything but the actual red fibrous meat of a beast. A heart or a kidney or even a sweetbread is anathema. It is too bad, since there are so many nutritious and entertaining ways to prepare the various livers and lights. They can become gastronomic pleasures instead of dogged voodoo, so that when you eat a stuffed baked bull’s heart, or a grilled lamb’s brain or a “mountains oyster,” you need not choke them down with the nauseated resolve to be braver or wiser or more potent, but with plain delight.

Reading How to Cook a Wolf was one of the highlights of late 2024 for me. It had me laughing out loud, and as someone who loves to cook, I gained insight into the “why” behind basic techniques and learned to perfect others. The book also offers a fascinating historical perspective, enriched by Fisher’s experiences living in various countries and regions.

This richness makes How to Cook a Wolf a fantastic choice for book club discussions—and it even provides a menu for such gatherings (though perhaps not the dishes mentioned in the quote above). I’m eager to pitch it to my book club and test my theory. (Spoiler alert for my SOC Sistas!)

PS – Fisher’s obit (linked to her name in the first paragraph) is a delight in an of itself. Do read.