The oysters have arrived, sparkling; drawn, the chef explains, from the Chesapeake, where the Chincoteague, the Rappahannock and the York rivers meet. "So they're from the northern neck of Virginia!" Johnny Apple happily exclaims, relieved at having placed the source of his lunch. Provenance matters to this political journalist turned food writer whose just-published book, "Apple's America," is a cultivated, quirky guide for the curious traveler. Its T-shirt motto could be: PEOPLE CAN AND SHOULD BE A LITTLE INTERESTED IN EVERYTHING.

advertisement Apple's everything includes knowing the names of the country's hottest conductors and an appreciation of the edgiest new museum architects. Opera matters, as does such social reality as the recent parking-lot clubbing of an African-American in Cincinnati, or that "the rivers of asphalt that Detroit laid down to handle the cars it built ... turned out to be the exit ramps for most of the city's white population." Not the stuff of ordinary travel guides, but deft cultural portraits that bring 40 cities to life under his fond scrutiny. Essays tie together deep history, ethnic distinctiveness and cultural differences with the genius of synthesis that made R. W. Apple for decades The New York Times's go-to guy for news analysis. Now enjoying favored-nation status at the Times as a roving food journalist, Apple opened his little black books to write this one. Out spilled notes made over 40 years of shoulder-rubbing and elbow-bending with local politicos from coast to coast. When a man's got to cover the country, a man's gotta eat. And eat well. So the recommendations and observations that tumble from his pages are to be heeded. And while he eagerly seeks out the funky in food, he obviously believes life's too short for a bad bed: hotel listings have a high ratio of Four Seasons.

Apple's assessments are, in a snarky world, surprisingly generous. "That goes back to my antipathy towards 'gotcha' journalism," he says. "I made my reputation at the Times during the Vietnam War by opposing the conventional wisdom. I wasn't writing opinion pieces. I love food, and I thought food writing was very long on opinion and very short on reporting." Something else entered the equation: disillusionment. "Politicians are now free to posture more and think less. One of the great props of journalism, that makes it fun and make people read it, is the people. There are wonderful people in food. Intellectually and emotionally, it's a window into ways of life, national traditions. Got to be careful, though," he edits himself. "It can sound incredibly heavy, like a sociology professor ruining a good poem." And then he's back on the road for his book tour, clearly relishing the ceremony, loving the opportunity to stir the pot as well as lick the spoon.

© 2005 Newsweek, Inc.