In my continued effort to use up the 30 pounds-plus of tomatoes that are currently languishing in my mud room, I made this tomato tart for dinner last night.

While Jake and I agreed it was delicious — how can you go wrong with mini heirloom tomatoes, herbes de provence, melted cheese with a smear of Dijon mustard on homemade dough?— we both thought the crust was a bit much.

It called for a stick and a half of butter, plus 3 tablespoons of shortening, which made it taste more like shortbread than crust.  Then it called for rolling the dough to 9 inches in diameter, resulting in what we considered an excessively thick base. Too much flaky, cake-y goodness in each bite, which detracted from the simplicity of the toppings. If I ever make it again, I’ll roll it out to 11-12 inches, not 9.

Had to share my thoughts on this pressing issue.

I hereby eradicate the word “ketchup” from my vocabulary. Henceforth, it shall be known in my household as catsup, the way God intended it.

I don’t know the etymology of the word “ketchup,” but to me it’s synonomous with the achingly sweet stuff from Heinz.

Ketchup is probably the most widely used condiment in America, yet it’s never been fully embraced by foodies or considered on par with mustard or mayonnaise. Think about it: Mustard-philes and mayo-fans have multiple gourmet  options to choose from. Ketchup fans? They get Hunts or Heinz, both of which bastardize this most perfect of condiments.

How did what began as a lively, concentrated tomato sauce become so dull? So insipid? So jejune?

I’m on a mission to reclaim this awesome condiment. And it starts with the White House Cookbook, my new favorite cooking guide published in 1926. Check out their selections of ketchups, I mean, catsups:

Tomato catsup

Green tomato catsup

Walnut catsup  (I make this first!)

Osyter catsup

Mushroom catsup

Gooseberry catsup

Cucumber catsup

Currant catsup

Apple catsup

And yeah, one of these days I’m going to get a life.

My neighbors The Watkins were kind enough to lend me this incredible cookbook published in 1926.  It was published when Calvin Coolidge was in the White House—the roaring 20s, an era when Americans were flush with cash…you know, like it was back in 2003.

The careful inscription on the inside jacket

I have fallen in love with this book because it covers absolutely everything. There are chapters on butter and cheese, carving, pickles, ice cream and ices, dumplings and puddings, meats and mutton and pork, soups without meat (the shock!), even toast. The catsup chapter alone encompasses 13 recipes.

My favorite chapter is called For the Sick.  ”Dishes for invalids should be served in the daintiest and most attractive way.”  I can’t figure how a recipe for “egg gruel” fits into this dictum, but what do I know?

The most striking thing about the White House Cookbook is that the authors don’t spend much time giving precise amounts or temperatures, which is completely antithetical to the way non-chefs like me think about cooking today. In Coolidge’s day, it was just assumed cooks knew how to make dough from scratch and bake it at the correct temperature—that is, “in a hot oven.” Further explanation would have come across like telling readers how to properly toast Pop Tarts today.

This is an alien concept to me since I am an apple-polishing recipe follower to the core. I can barely make toast without a recipe. Some may say this shows a lack of risk-taking in the kitchen, and I suppose there is truth to that. But I do it this way because I’m obsessed with technique—I want to know how to make a roux, a roast, a French fry, even a quesadilla correctly. Otherwise, it just feels like I’m inculcating bad habits—like putting a cold piece of meat in a cold pan then turning on the burner.

But The White House Cookbook has inspired me!  It has challenged me.  I want to see if I can make one of their bare-bones recipes relying primarily on my cook’s intuition.

First up:  Walnut catsup.

My squash-heavy gratin before adding the tomatoes

So my tomatoes aren’t exactly flying off the vines, but my garden is producing superior squash.

My favorite recipe for using up reams of squash is summer vegetable gratin courtesy of an old issue of Cook’s Illustrated.  For those of you not familiar with this magazine, Cook’s Illustrated is like that self-righteous, fastidious, type-A co-worker you hate working with because she’s so anal and annoying but who you have to admit is also right most of the time.  A typical recipe in Cook’s Illustrated starts out by saying something completely sanctimonious and ridiculous like:  ”The history of rocky road ice-cream in this country has not been a kind one.”  (Say that sentence using lock-jaw and you get the idea.)

I love CI and hate it in equal measure because it is so smug and tone-deaf, yet completely dead-on in their culinary science. They know what they’re talking about!  They actually show how to make french fries that aren’t soggy or flacid (no small feat, people!); pizza dough that is light yet sturdy; bread that is spongey, not airy; vegetable gratin that is bright and flavorful, not mushy.

Cook’s Illustrated secret for perfecting a vegetable gratin? Pre-salting individual slices of squash and tomatoes to draw out moisture before baking. This way, pool of water doesn’t collect at the bottom of the pan. Is this step time consuming and anal? Heck, yes—it takes a full 45 minutes of “salt-time.” Is it worth it? If you’re as concerned about good food as I am (and have the luxury of working from home where you actually have time to ponder such trivial matters), then definitely.

The finished dish features a lightly-toasted bread crumb and parmesan cheese crust

See? Bright and concentrated, not soggy

Find the recipe here.