oh the year is over...

and the new year is upon us!
The year to come holds treats that we cannot even imagine, I'm sure.
Here's to it all- hope you're all celebrating in your way tonight.

breakfast tata

I've got to be honest with you- things are crazy here this week. I haven't given you the details of of the house adventure, and I will, trust me, I will, but I will tell you that right now, we are moving. Yes, for all of you who have been asking us for years when we are moving next door, the answer is now. You didn't believe it, but it's really happening. We're only moving about 30 feet, but the state of my books are pretty indicative of the state of my soul right now.


Decisions are flying around- all of the sudden we have a blue floor, and we spontaneously cut a door in a wall today. There is no telling what will happen tomorrow.


It's chaos, but it's fun chaos. Chaos, however, is not my chosen mode of operation. I cling to the routine and the plan with all my might as the world swirls around me. So for my own sanity, I need to tell you about a recipe that brings security, a safe, lovely, and reliably delicious way to start the day. This is not the moment for me to try something new to tell you about- I just might lose it completely. And although that might be entertaining for you, I'd rather not go there right now.

I'd say fifty percent of all breakfasts in this house are breakfast tata, and if you come to stay, Joey will make it for you before you even wake up, and he'll wait impatiently in the kitchen for you to stumble out, so that he can present your tata to you.


If you feel too silly saying "breakfast tata," you are welcome to say "breakfast quesadilla," but I don't think that it will taste as good.
Why tata? Well, this tasty little dish is deeply embedded in our family mythology. Joey has been filling tortillas with eggs and cheese and chile since Sadie was tiny. She created the word "tata" for pizza, and she made the decision that quesadillas are the twin sisters to pizzas- so when served a quesadilla for breakfast, she proclaimed it breakfast tata.

For years we ordered this green chile by the case. It sustained us, kept us happy and hopeful, and prevented us from absolutely needing to move back to Santa Fe.
But out of nowhere, the company increased their shipping prices to such a point that we had to pare down. It was a hard decision, but when faced with green chile or the electric bill, the girls' sweet faces made us feel too guilty to choose green chile, even though we were tempted.

Now, it's Chi Chi's.

But I'm not complaining, I've got a blue floor, a door in the wall, and a husband who makes me breakfast tata whenever I want.

Breakfast Tata
serves 4

4 8-inch flour tortillas
6 eggs
1/2 cup grated jack or cheddar
1-2 small cans green chile, or about 1/2 cup
optional: cooked bacon, two slices per person
butter

Note: It is really, really late right now. I am trying to explain Joey's method of tata creation here, but it's seeming a bit more complicated than it is as I explain it, so refer to pictures above, and I apologize if I'm making less than perfect sense.

In a small bowl, beat the eggs. Heat a small nonstick pan, add a touch of butter, and pour the eggs into the pan. Let them cook on medium high heat without agitation until they solidify, then scramble them in large pieces. Put on a plate and set aside.
In a large cast iron skillet, melt enough butter on low to medium heat to cover the surface of the pan. You are going to be cooking two tatas at a time- put one tortilla in the pan and shuffle it around so that it is covered with butter. Spread a layer of the scrambled eggs on one half of the tortilla, then fold the other half over. Put the second tortilla in the pan, shuffle, filling it with eggs and folding it over. One at a time, lift up the lop layer, spread grated cheese over the egg, spoon green chile, add bacon if using, and put the top layer down again. After two minutes or so, flip both tatas. Let cook for a few minutes more, then move to a plate. Cut in half and serve hot.

butternut squash lasagne with fried sage leaves

How is everyone doing? Did you all make it through?

I'm guessing you're here for a recipe today, that perhaps you have had enough of the whimsical holiday posts and are ready to get to business?

Let me paint the scene- tell me if I'm on target here. You have friends passing through- those friends who are around this time of year, who you only see once a year. They live in California now, or France or Detroit. They have come from their Grandma's in New York, and are on on their way to Aunt Mary's in Rochester. They will be here tonight, and you are tired of the holiday, but excited to see them and the bonus is that you get to see their new baby.
Of course they are vegetarians, and even if they weren't you wouldn't cook meat for them. That roast goose yesterday really did you in, and you're ready for a few meat free meals. It needs to be comforting and lovely, but not too hard.

What on earth are you going to make?

Oh, don't worry, I've got you covered.
In fact, I've got you covered even if none of the above is true. You should just go ahead and make this anyway. It's just what you want- trust me on this one.

When you made roasted butternut squash soup, did you freeze some extra squash puree like I told you to? Yes? Take it out of the freezer!
Oh, but you didn't have any left over? You need to start from scratch? No problem. Roast your squash like this, throw it in the blender, and there you have it. You will need at least 2 squash for this recipe.


Butternut Squash Lasagne with Fried Sage Leaves
adapted from the Gould Farm Kitchen


4 cups butternut squash puree
4 cups ricotta cheese
3 teaspoons nutmeg
1 pound pasta, or 1 batch homemade pasta
1 stick butter
15 sage leaves
1 1/2 cups grated parmesan cheese
2 cups crushed tomatoes
fresh basil (I roasted and froze my crushed tomatoes with basil, or if you're using canned, sometimes you can find them canned with basil)
salt and pepper to taste

Make the sage butter:
Melt the butter with the sage leaves over medium heat. Let it cook until slightly browned. Drain the sage leaves and set aside.

Mix together the squash puree, ricotta, nutmeg, salt and pepper.

If you are using store bought pasta, cook until just underdone. If you are rolling the pasta at home, it can go right in the pan.

Assemble the lasagne:
In a 9x13 pan, put a layer of squash filling. Then noodles. Then brush the noodles with sage butter. Then parmesan, then more filling.
Repeat as many times as you like, but don't go too crazy. A lasagne with too many layers is not as good as you'd think.
The top layer is noodles, brushed with butter, then topped with tomatoes, parmesan, and the basil if you have it. Lay the crispy sage leaves on top, and tent it with foil. Bake in a 350 oven for 30 minutes. Take off the foil, and bake for another ten minutes.

how we do it around here

Every Christmas morning, we wake up and go into the woods.


It is a tradition that we created for ourselves, and we hold on to it.


Driving home from the year's designated spot, we see everyone going to church, and we know that we have been somewhere too,

celebrating the day and all that it holds. After our walk, we come back to the fireplace and open presents. Then later, there's always Chinese food. I'm not sure why, but that's just how we do it around here.

I hope you all have had a good day, filled with time, and the things you do on this day, whatever they may be.

screaming santa

Tonight, like so many parents out there, Joey and I got to some wrapping.
For me, this entails sloppy bunched tissue paper tied with yarn. For Joey, the process looks more like hand painted cards and french graphic novel characters with speech bubbles that contain the names of our children. We're a good team, he and I.

We've had some struggles in our family around the whole Santa thing. When Sadie was smaller, she would ask about Santa, and we would tell the truth, that he was made up (sorry to by busting it up for any of you out there). But when she hit four or five, she informed us that we were wrong and that he was very real. As those of you who have met Sadie know, she is not a girl you want to argue with on matters like this.

Over the last few years, we have tried to find our own rituals in Christmas. We talk about Christmas as a time of giving, and about the light returning with the solstice, and all of those other nice things. And when it comes to Santa, we've come to some sort of explanation, that Santa is the spirit of giving. And different people do Santa's work, and that we can all be part of Santa.

"Whatever Mom," is basically the reaction to that one.

But the girls seem to get it. They talk about Santa as a real person and wonder what he'll bring. Even with these conversations, they know that it is Joey and I who play the role of Santa, and they tell us so.

We've come to some sort of peace on the matter.

At least, the girls have.

Back to the wrapping. Tonight. About 10:30. We're playing music too loud. It's okay- the kids never come out of their room.
But all of a sudden, there are footsteps.
And there is Sadie.
And Joey and I are working at a table that looks like a wrapping paper bomb went off.

And without looking at each other, Joey and I have the same reaction.
We run towards her, screaming at the top of our lungs.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Yeah, I know. Sometimes we're not so bright. But you have to understand- at first we were screaming because we didn't know what else to do. We just needed to get her out of the room. But as we realized the truth, that our daughter had caught us wrapping on Christmas eve, we just kept yelling at the horribleness of it all.

I tried to recover myself. I took her to pee. I tucked her back in to the top bunk.
"Why did I scare you? Why did you scream?" she asks me, already falling back asleep.
"We're doing Santa work," I tell her. "It's secret."
"Okay, Mom."
And she's okay, although Joey is still visibly shaking from the experience. But I know that in twenty years, Sadie's going to be telling her therapist about the Christmas Eve that her parents scared the hell out of her.
Oh, well.

I wish you all a very lovely and childhood trauma free holiday.

ruggala

Oh, holiday baking at last. I am so happy to spend my afternoon with you after all of this time.

This is my grandmother's ruggala recipe. This is the version that she typed out on her typewriter when she was a teacher in New Jersey, before she moved up to the Berkshires and started a vegetarian Bed and Breakfast. She mimeographed it and had it at the ready for when friends would say,
"Oh, Shirl, you must give me the recipe."


I never asked for a copy. I was fourteen when my grandmother died in a car accident, and I had no interest in ever learning how to make ruggala.


Little did I know.

This copy was tucked into a cookbook that I ended up with- I don't know where it came from,
but now I claim it for my own.

I think about my grandmother taking the time to type out this recipe, her quiet cussing over the ink spots, the stained folder in which she kept the copies. For every baker, there is at least one recipe that belongs to them, one that merits the joining of that recipe with their very own name.
These are Shirley's ruggala.


The last time I spoke to my grandmother, I was sarcastic and sour, I was very fourteen. She was more of a mother to me than a grandmother, and in the years before she died, she bore the brunt of my early teens. I remember that conversation so clearly. She and my grandfather stopped by and stood lingering awkwardly in the darkened kitchen for a few minutes, just to check in on my mother and I. I think that we were watching a movie, and I remember thinking that I just wanted them to go away. I probably said no more than five words to them that night, and for years it tortured me. I felt like the relationship was over, and nothing could change the last time we spoke.

A recipe, however, holds some magic in it. I find that rolling out the ruggala, I cannot make Shirley's ruggala without Shirley. I go back to the paper that she copied so many years ago, checking to see to what temperature I need to preheat the oven (350), and how much jam I should spread on the discs ("not so much as it will ooze out while baking"), and I have to tell you that the kitchen feels a little...fuller, like a large breasted, slightly insecure, blue-eyed, wonderfully lovely Pagan Jewish woman with quite a sense of humor is dictating the recipe to me.


Ruggala are a messy business. There is no reason to make a single batch when you could double the recipe, and before you know it, there is sugar and cinnamon on the floor, crunching under your slippers. There is jam on your nose, but it's okay. Your circles of dough might not be really circular. Some of them might roll up funny, and you'll have to give special care to your shaping on those. In the end, through all their faults, they will all look beautiful, and they will taste even better.

Shirley made hundreds of these every year. She rolled and rolled, baked them up, and then filled bags for the freezer. These ruggala, like most things, will be best for the day or two after they are made, but after that, freeze them and take them out for a party. They lose a touch of their flake, but none of their flavor.


Shirley's Ruggala (in her own words, with occasional commentary from me)

(note: these little Jewish pastries are spelled many different ways, but as far as I can tell, this is not one of them. But this is how my Grandmother spelled it, so ruggala it is)

3 cups flour
1 package dry yeast
1/2 pound butter
3 egg yolks
1/2 pint sour cream

Mix flour and dry yeast together and cut in butter until butter is about the size of large peas.

Mix egg yolks with sour cream in another bowl and add to first mixture. Blend in thoroughly. Gather together the dough and form a flattened circle with it.

Chill overnight, or longer of shorter, as convenient. (wonderfully specific, isn't she?)

Divide into 8 parts (as you would cut a pie). Roll each part (keep the remaining pieces in the refrigerator else they will be too soft to work with) over the following mixture.

1 1/4 cups chopped nuts- walnuts or pecans
1 cup sugar (I used 3/4 cup)
cinnamon, to taste (I used 1 1/2 tablespoons)

(she adds here... note: you may vary this to suit your own taste, i.e. add more nuts, sugar, etc.)

Spread some of this mixture on a pastry sheet (I used a silpat here, but you could also tape a length of parchment to the counter and that would work too) and roll, with rolling pin one part of the dough. Turn and roll again so that it will not stick. Do not use flour, but use enough of the nut mixture so the dough will not stick.

(just to clarify here, she tells us to use the nut and sugar mixture as we would normally use flour when rolling- this way the mixture gets rolled into the dough)

Roll into a circle about 6-7 inches in diameter and shape the circle not only with the rolling pin, but with your fingers. Try to get as round a circle as you can, without spending too much time handling it. Cut this circle into eight parts, spread your favorite jam or jelly (not too much as it will ooze out while baking). Roll each part from the outside of the circle on towards the center, the wide part to the narrow. Tuck under the narrow end so that it is closed fairly tightly. Shape into crescents.

Use tin foil (I used parchment) on your baking tins as this makes cleaning up much easier. It is not necessary to leave too much room between tge oastries as they do not rise much. Do not grease pan.

Bake at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes, or until the tops are nicely lightly browned and flaky. You might find it might need a little more or less baking time- go by the color and flakiness you desire.

Take them off the tin foil with a metal spatula IMMEDIATELY else you will not be able to remove them. Turn them out onto wax paper, upside down, so that the bottoms are exposed to air and are able to dry out. They are very stick from the jam and need to dry thoroughly before you put them away- if not, they will all stick together.

One recipe makes 64 ruggala- eight parts, each one divided into eight parts. The ruggala freeze very successfully in a tightly covered container.

of winter, and sadie, and potatoes

Let's hear it for those potatoes. They have grown all sorts of amazing little appendages, yet they retain their exquisite texture, their fresh earth taste. Tonight we cooked the last of the potatoes, and oh the dish that they made. I can't wait to tell you about this one.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Today was the first day of winter. And there were wonderful potatoes. But yesterday, the last day of Autumn, that was a really hard day. It was the kind of day that I think if I had more of, the worst part of me might run away. I don't mean that metaphorically- I mean me, gone. At the end of yesterday, when the girls finally went to sleep, all I could do was watch movie trailers on the internet for an hour. I went through the entire Apple Trailers line up. When Joey caught me finishing up with the Hot Tub Time Machine preview, he cut me off. And I went to sleep with the hope that today would be better.

Yesterday, Sadie screamed for the better (or let's call it worse) part of the day. She screamed at me, she screamed at Joey, she screamed at Rosie, and she screamed at herself. She cried and whined and complained. She clung and demanded and needed. And we couldn't figure out what to give her. And we felt exhausted and deflated and not always much like helping her anyway. There have been many days like this lately.

I don't always live up to who I think I should be on these days. My patience fails, I sigh, I shrug her off, I send her to her room. I feel bad.

When Sadie was born she stared at me over a huge regal nose, and I knew I was in for it. She was the most peaceful baby, a master of communication, and her whole self seemed so formed from the very beginning. I think that she has always felt in control. That seems to get her in trouble. As she nears seven, maybe the world is getting bigger for her, and she's holding on the best she can. But she's leaving claw marks in the rest of us as she clings to her control.

Last night, I felt like I couldn't face another day like that. Lucky for us all I didn't have to. Sadie and I decided to make dinner together tonight, a special meal for the solstice. She cried through dinner last night, hating the food and the company, and this seemed like a good alternative. She picked up a new book that friends had sent to me for my birthday, and chose a recipe. I offered pork chops, she agreed and added kale. And today, while the sun set earlier than any other day of the year, she trekked into the icy world to forage for greens.


I felt that we were always on the verge of a meltdown, but as long as we moved slowly and kept taking good breaths, we held it together, she and I.

I don't share the kitchen with the girls as much as I would like to. No matter how hard I try, I am not the mom who kneads bread with her children. Maybe someday. It seems that my girl might have possibly learned a bit of that controlling stuff from her momma. But today, it felt good to share.

We talked about eyes of potatoes, and how they are trying to make new potatoes.

I tried to show Sadie how to peel a potato. She said that she had her own way.

She chose a recipe called "Greek Island Potatoes".


We had our meal by candlelight, and the potatoes were truly phenomenal. I had the thought that this are the kind of potatoes that make you want to open a diner, so that you can be the place that serves those potatoes, and people travel for from all over just so they can order a side of those potatoes. These are amazing potatoes.
And then we read this book.


I've talked about these books before. They are very hard to find, but so worth the search. There are four perfect books in this series, one for each season. And in the hopeful creation of our own family traditions, we read one on the first day of each season, and the girls get it, and they listen to the reverent ways of the fourteen forest mice with utter solemnity. I think that the winter book is my favorite of the four.

The wind howled outside, and we talked about Persephone, and we ate pomegranates to create winter just like she did.

Sometimes being a mother feels too hard. It just does. But it seems like there is a system to it all, that just when it's getting to be too much, there is a day like today, and I can sit, and reset, and take my girls into my lap with a whole heart.


Greek Island Potatoes

adapted from Barbara Kafka, Vegetable Love
(serves 5-6 as a side dish)

3 pounds pounds potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/3-inch slices
3/4 cups olive oil
3 tablespoons paprika
2 tablespoons dried oregano
2 tablespoons kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Put one oven rack in the bottom position, and one at the top. Preheat the oven to 350. In a large bowl combine the potatoes, olive oil, paprika, oregano, and salt. Stir until the potatoes are thoroughly coated. Place in a single layer on a baking sheet. Cook for thirty minutes on the bottom rack.
Move the pans to the top rack and turn the heat to broil. Cook for 10 minutes, or until the potatoes are crispy but not burned. Shuffle them once or twice during this time.
Remove the potatoes to a platter. Sprinkle with pepper and lemon juice. Let stand for 5 minutes and serve hot.

if you're not giving cookies

A friend of mine asked me this morning, and rightly so, "Where is the holiday baking around here?" Well, the week has just begun, and although Hanukkah is over, we have a few more holidays left. But I did have a few answers for her, and I'll give them to you too.

The first is that I have a very emotional and gluten free almost seven year old tyrant stomping up and down the hall. I have, as you know, chosen not to become the master of gluten free baking (I leave that to others more capable), especially because, in exactly 11 days, the doctor has given us permission to try out the wheatiness again and see how the girl takes it. But in the mean time, sweets that the tyrant can't eat are met with tyrannical tantrums, and really who can blame her.

Of course there are many other sweets to create. For days I have been planning a repeat of last years treats in little white take-out boxes, a layer of these, and a layer of these, of which I was so very proud. And there's also this, which I dream of sending out in little mason jars. If you receive a little package from me, that is what it will contain, and the surprise is really whether I'll get it together to do it, and my sense from the two kids whining into either ear at the moment is...
maybe, possibly, no.
But perhaps I should do a January treats mailing this year. Don't you all have enough sweets coming to you now? Maybe we'll give it a few weeks, and then you will have deprived yourself of sugar because you went on overload, but now you're just about ready. We shall see, we shall see.

We all know that handmade gifts are the best, right? I'm sure you're all filling your tins as we speak, and hooray for you. But for those of you who, like me, are failing in the homemade department (shame!), I thought I would offer a second option- cookbooks.

I only bring this up because the Thanksgiving Hot line seems to have been replaced by the holiday gift cookbook hot line around here. I have given so many cookbook suggestions, I am confident in saying that the food publishing business is doing fine this year, as long as it's not in magazine form.

Cookbooks are a pretty fabulous gift to give. Beautiful, instructional, sometimes life changing, cookbooks are something most people covet, but refuse to buy themselves. So for you, I offer a brief list of cookbooks for all of your loved ones.

Before we start, I must make a heartfelt plea for your local independent bookstore. There are other options, I know, that cost less, but right now if we don't support our local independent bookstores they will be gone, and fast. So if you are buying books, buy them from your local bookstore, or if yours is gone already, feel free to support mine. It is quite lovely.

Let's get back to it then.



I Know How to Cook by Ginette Mathiot

I just mentioned this book, because it arrived on my doorstep on my birthday. My friend Alice thought it would make me happy, and she was so right. This is the French equivalent to The Joy of Cooking, a basic primer in French Cooking. It is huge, and satisfying, and it stays open to the page that you want. It also has the most oddly hip illustrations in this new printing.




Pure Dessert by Alice Medrich

Yes, I've told you about the caramels, the tangy lemon bars, the bittersweet citrus tart with jasmine cream and the sour cream ice cream. But I wish I could show you how beautiful this book is. Just the titles of the desserts read like poetry, and as you read through them one by one, I promise that you will commit to making the entire book.


The River Cottage Meat Book by Hugh Fearnly Whittingstall

I don't own this book, but I get it out of the library every few months, and one of these days I'm going to stop paying late fees and put that money into buying the book for my very own. For anyone who is interested in sustainably produced meat, or just good tasting meat in general, this is a fabulous gift. It goes through every cut of every animal, tells you what it is, and how to cook it. Although the cover is not kidding around, the interior of the book is filled with lovely photographs, and the thing reads like a novel.


Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin
I know, that meat book ain't cheap. But here's a good ten dollar paperback for you. If you've been around here this past fall, you've been a voyeur to my love affair with Laurie Colwin, and maybe you've had one with her too. These are the very best food essays peppered with with the very best recipes. And if you'd like to spring for them both, there's also,

More Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin
You don't want the first book to end, and so it doesn't have to. And this is the one with the gingerbread recipe.


The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters
I have sold every copy of this book off the shelves of my local bookstore. Whenever I'm there, drooling over the cookbooks, there is always someone asking the counter person for a good general gift cookbook. Usually they are led to The Joy of Cooking, or perhaps The Gourmet Cookbook. I have an endless amount of respect for the people who work at the bookstore, but usually I can't but add my own little tidbit (those of you who know me know that this is a bit of a habit for me, and I have to actually hold my mouth shut if I want to keep my two sense out of the conversation), and when the counter person walks away from the cookbook buyer, I say, "Have you seen this one?" I can't help but gush over it. It is just so beautiful, philosophical without being dogmatic, and the recipes are perfect. Last time I was at the bookstore, both copies were sold in my presence, and a third was ordered. If you know someone who doesn't have it, this is the one.





Well, there are a few for you. If you need more, give me a direction- you know I love a challenge. And I'm sure there will be some cookies around here too- they always seem to happen somehow. I'll let you know how it all comes out.

ricotta, again

Way back when, I made ricotta. I was working on a daring cooks challenge, at the last minute as usual, and I needed some ricotta fast. I followed that directions that Lisa Michele so lovingly passed along, and all I got was milk mixed with lemon juice.
I googled frantically. Ricotta! Homemade! Now!
I came to a new mixture, and google told me to use white vinegar, and to stir, stir, stir.
I did so, and was triumphant. I told you all about it.
Remember?
OK, fast forward to a day in our more recent past. I am making ricotta again, and a new friend walks into my kitchen and says,
Oh! You're the one with the blog. I made ricotta!
Oh, happiness. Any cheese making from which I have planted the seed is ecstasy for me.
But then she goes back and plants a new seed.
"So this ricotta, you make... it's drier than what you buy at the store."
She is very right. In fact, it's downright squeaky.
"Do you know how to make a creamier ricotta, more like store bought?"
And I did not. This ricotta was very good for several things, chocolate ricotta mousse, for example, and decent for lasagne. But she had a very good point; this is not a ricotta that you'd want to drizzle with honey and eat with a spoon.
Well, you know how I am when I get a challenge.
I'm a little nuts until I find the solution.
Remember that whole gingerbread thing?

So, a few weeks later, I've got it. I found the answer in a place I would have never looked had I not installed it on my counter this past week, The Splendid Table. Tucked in the midst of the Chestnut keeping cakes and semifreddos was a little page just for me. There it was, Fresh Ricotta. I have seen many recipes for ricotta, but Ms. Kasper seemed to have my number.
You see, the vinegar inspired ricotta has a very large curd, it is really more like straight cheese curds. But she told me something new, that "slowly heating the milk mixture develops a soft ricotta curd. Fast heating hardens the curd, producing a very different cheese."
That very different cheese would be the one in my refrigerator.
So, I followed her recipe, and there it was, creamy, sweet, small curd ricotta.
So no more waiting... here it is.

Fresh Ricotta
from Lynne Rossetto Kasper, The Splendid Table

makes about 1 pound
2 1/2 quarts whole milk
1/4 cup less 1 tablespoon heavy cream (not ultrapasteurized) (I left this out, as I was using cream on top raw milk)
5 Tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/8 teaspoon salt

Stir together all of the ingredients except the salt in a heavy saucepan with a nonreactive interior. Set the pan over low heat. Cook 40 minutes, or until the milk reaches 170 on a candy thermometer. (Use the thermometer! It's a really good idea) Keep the heat at low, and do not stir more than three or four times. As the milk comes closer to 170, the curds will be about the size of uncooked lentils. When the temperature reaches 170, turn the heat up to medium. Do not stir. Take six to eight minutes to bring the temperature up to 205 or 208. The liquid will be on the verge of boiling, with the surface looking like it about to erupt. Turn off the heat and let the pot stand for 10 minutes.
Line a colander with a double thickness of moistened cheesecloth. Turn the mixture into it, and let it drain for 15 minutes. Use the whey for bread or soups, and put the cheese into a storage container, adding salt at this point.

5 tips for somehow maybe pulling off a dinner party

I'm going to level with you.
I just wrote a nice and informative post about how to host a dinner party, just like I promised.
It was zippy. It was to the point. It was helpful.
But it also kind of was bullshit.
Because you and I both know that I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. And I am no dinner party expert.
And that's what makes it fun.
So, assuming you're no dinner party expert either, but that you might be looking for a tip or two, from someone who's not quite sure what she's doing, but who has thrown a dinner party or four, I have gathered together my...

5 tips for somehow maybe pulling off a dinner party

1. Cook something that can be completed hours before anyone arrives. For example, lasagne.
Do not cook something that you have to make the moment before it touches the plate, for example, fresh pasta with shrimp and garlic. You will spend your entire party panicking in your kitchen, and the table will go on without you.

2. Your table is your canvas. Do make place cards. Do use cloth napkins, and if they are stained and you have no napkin rings, tie them up creatively with yarn, or ribbon, or something from the toolbox. Do buy cheap flowers at the supermarket and cut them short and put them into jelly jars, or stuff the jars with pine twigs from your back yard.

3. Use lighting to your advantage. And I mean, make it dim. Everything and everyone looks better by candle light, and that includes food that doesn't quite look like you thought it would. On the whole, candles make people feel fancy, and that's a good thing.

4. Do allow and maybe even ask your guests to bring wine. This will make the whole affair financially possible for you, and it is a very nice thing to line up all the bottles of wine that people thought about and chose for the occasion. Then you can all drink them together.

5. Do enjoy the mess of the thing. There might be an awkward silence or two (but probably not- you'd be surprised how happy people are at the chance to just sit and talk with each other!), the food might go wayward, I mean really, who knows what will happen. But try to just enjoy the fact that this dinner is special, that these people will probably never all be at the same table again, but tonight, here they are, and here you are, and how lovely it is that they accepted your invitation.

How absolutely lovely.

on dinner parties, ond oven explosions, and other matters

This is what my oven looked like, about an hour before people were supposed to show up the other night for the dinner party. Half of the meal had yet to go into the oven.

Yes, that is glass. Very hot glass.

Okay, so here is a word of advice to you. You decide to bake some crazy Italian mountain bread. Maybe you're not much of a bread baker, but you are intrigued by the concept of a bread that takes days to make, and you'd like to see what a sponge entails, and so you go for it.
You get that yeast bubbling, and the sponge becomes your new pet, if only for a few days.

It all seems to be going so well. You are going to make not one, but two of these majestic loaves, and it seems that the world is on your side. When it's time for the bread to rise, it does so in a way that has never occurred in your kitchen. You pamper it underneath a towel, and you watch it grow.

and grow.


You put the first loaf in the oven; you fill the pyrex on the bottom rack with water to caress the loaf with steam. It turns golden brown, and as you calmly pull the elements of your dinner for fourteen into perfect alignment, the bread bakes. It looks beautiful.
You will be done a whole half an hour before anyone arrives. You will even have time to change your clothes. The table has been set for hours.

You pull out the first loaf, and seamlessly slide the second onto the hot baking stone.
Oh, the pyrex on the bottom rack is empty- maybe you should put a little more water in there for the second loaf.
Okay, you ready for that advice now?
BOIL THE WATER FIRST!
Why? Well of course I already knew this. I have in fact shattered a pyrex before. It's just that I was getting ready for the party and I was... distracted.
But you know what happens when you put cold water into a very very hot glass pan?

Yes, I'm sure you do.

BOOM! CRASH!

I don't even know how to express the sound. I had my head in the oven to pour the water in, and the thing exploded. There was glass all over the kitchen.
It was 6:30.
We were having lasagne, and we hadn't even put it together yet.

But this is the thing. The pan exploded in my face, and there wasn't a piece of glass on me. Especially not in my eye, which is essentially what should have happened giving the positioning of the whole thing. I have no idea why I ended up okay in that moment, but man oh man am I thankful.
The only casualty of the whole affair, besides the pyrex of course, was that second loaf of bread. I admit to you that I thought about trying to pick the glass out of it, but then I realized that perhaps that wasn't the best of ideas. Oh how that loaf glittered in the light.

Joey spent the next 45 minutes picking hot glass out of the oven. We assembled two lasagnes (including rolling out the noodles) in about 10 minutes. I even got a minute to change my clothes, which Joey and I both did while singing the girls to sleep.
In the end there was one loaf of bread, which we at with this lasagne. The whole meal came out of the endlessly lovely cookbook, The Splendid Table by Lynne Rosetto Kasper. I have had this cookbook for ages, and have dreamed about making an entire meal from the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. I am not Italian at all, and if I were, I'm sure that I never would have exploded a glass pan in my oven.

This was how it went, culinary-wise.
We made cocktails by soaking a sugar cube in blood orange bitters and pouring Prosecco over the cube.
Then there were cured meats, and a cheese called squacquerone that I made from yogurt, buttermilk, sour cream, cream cheese and lemon. There were cauliflower and pearl onions pickled in balsamic vinegar. There was a heap of salad on a cutting board, a salad of bitter greens with a warm balsamic dressing. I'm going to give you the recipe for that one this week. Then there were the aforementioned lasagnes, and the solitary and triumphant loaf of Mountain Bread. And there was a lot of wine, and then there were cinnamon and clove custards and sweet cornmeal biscuits. And more wine.
It was a meal that did not require me to be in the kitchen at all during the dinner party, and that was a very good thing. After all, the table is a much better place to be.

This brings me to something that it is time to get into. I mean, let's get into it, really.
I can't even tell you how many people have told me how they would love to have a dinner party, but they are truly terrified. There are just so many questions.
For instance:
How can you afford to feed all of those people?
How do you choose a menu that you can actually accomplish and get out to the table?
How do the logistics work? Do you plate everyone's dinner, or do you put the food out on the table? Or do you make it a buffet?
Where do you get enough dishes?

And that's just the beginning.
I am absolutely totally not a dinner party expert. But I do seem to be learning a few things in this process. And because I'm hoping that I'm not the only one delving into the dinner party world, I am very happy to share. I would also be thrilled to hear the tricks that are working for you in your soirees as well.
Tomorrow, I'm going to organize these thoughts a bit, so before I do, if you have any specific questions on dinner party methods and logistics, leave them here and I'll see what I can do.

See you then.

Menu For Hope VI

It's time for the Menu For Hope Campaign, and luckily I get to help out this year. Pim of Chez Pim started this fundraiser five years ago after the tsunami in Southeast Asia, and in the years since, she and other food bloggers around the world have raised nearly a quarter of a million dollars. This year will be the fourth year working with the UN Food Program.
Here's how it works- it's pretty great...
Food Bloggers pair up with restaurants, food producers, and people who make or sell other food related goodies. Each blogger offers a bid item which is added to the master list. You peruse the list, find the things that you cannot live without, and for 10 dollars, you can bid on one specific item. All of the bidders will be entered in a drawing for that specific prize. You can, of course, buy as many tickets as you like, for as many prizes as you like. It's all going to a good place. So hop over to Chez Pim and prepare yourself for deep enticement. There are some fabulous things over there. She'll also tell you more about the Menu For Hope, how it works, and the history behind it.

But of course you're dying to know what I'm offering, aren't you?
Well, you know how I feel about Barrington Coffee Roasting Company. I certainly have been guilty of going on and on about how great they are over there, how inspiring their business practices are, and most of all, how damn fine their coffee is. I am truly lucky to have them in my neck of the woods.
They have so generously offered to send the lucky winner of this item an Organic/Fair trade sampler. That's three 12 oz. bags of coffee, people. They're going to send you the Sumatra Aceh, Berkshire Blend, and French Roast Mexican Chiapas. This auction is only for people within the US, due to customs rules about coffee.

I know, you're raring to go, right? So here's what you do:


1. Choose a bid item or bid items of your choice from our Menu for Hope main bid item list.
2. Go to the donation site at Firstgiving and make a donation.
3. Please specify which bid item you'd like in the 'Personal Message' section in the donation form when confirming your donation. You must write-in how many tickets per bid item, and please use the bid item code.
Each $10 you donate will give you one raffle ticket toward a bid item of your choice. For example, a donation of $50 can be 2 tickets for EU01 and 3 tickets for EU02 - 2xEU01, 3xEU02.
4. If your company matches your charity donation, please check the box and fill in the information so we could claim the corporate match.
5. Please check the box to allow us to see your email address so that we can contact you in case you win. Your email address will not be shared with anyone.

Bidding is open from December 14-December 25.

Check back on Chez Pim on Monday, January 18 for the results of the raffle.

the table in the morning

This morning, the girls woke me up really, really early.

In fact, it was only a few hours after I had gone to bed. I figured that since they dragged me out of bed, I had better take a few pictures of what was left of the dinner party.

Usually, Joey and I make it a habit to stay up for hours after everyone has gone home, doing the dishes and going over the party for ourselves. We don't have a dishwasher, and this process takes hours.
But last night, we went straight to bed. It was late, I mean, really late, and before he could finish his sentence, "Let's just wait till..." I was stumbling down the hallway. The girls were totally entertained to find me in my pajamas this morning that were fully inside out.

But this morning, through my, well let's just call it a haze, the morning-after table made me feel happy. I could almost hear the sound of everyone still talking, and it felt great to have them there.

Tomorrow I'll tell you what I made, and about the crazy dramatic moment in my dinner preparation where I was almost blinded (I swear I don't make these things up!). But tonight I'd just really like to thank the people who came last night, and the people who have come to the previous dinner parties. It's not easy to walk into a room and sit at a table with people you don't know, and I have deep gratitude that you all are willing to take a risk and go with it, even if the looming possibility of an evening of stagnant conversation and horrible food seemed too much to bear. I hope that you were glad you came, and that I sat you next to someone you liked, and that you're belly was full and happy when you left. I am so happy to know you.

On to the next party? I'm going to change things a bit. In the spirit of the essay that got me started on this whole thing, I'm going to start asking you to invite (or reinviting) yourselves. If you live around here, or you might be passing through, let me know and I'll try to get something together if it's not already happening. You can contact me up there in the Nav bar, or just leave a comment. Just tell me you want in, and the seat is yours.

And as usual, I'd love it if you want to share any salon dinner parties that you are hosting. Tell us about them in the comments, or send me pictures and I'll show them off.

It's a slow revolution, but a revolution nonetheless. If you haven't tried it, go for it. Let's get everyone to come sit down and eat.