30-minute mozzarella

A supermarket is quite an amazing thing.
You can walk in with a list clutched in your hand with the security that you will walk out with every item on that list. Not only that, but there will be choices among choices involved. You know you must buy cereal, but what color will it be? Shall it be based in corn or wheat, puffed or shredded, or perhaps shaped like Dora?
So many choices!
So why, with the wonders of the supermarket available to you, would you want to try to make food at home that you usually buy at the store?
I love that question!
Depending on your circumstance, patience level, and personality, the answer can take a very different shape. But I'll try to cover all the possibilities here, and if you need convincing, hopefully one will resonate.

Why make it yourself?

1. Most of the time, it costs less money to make something at home.
2. Food made at home is better for you. It is fresher and you know where your ingredients come from. There are usually no ingredients in your own food that you can't pronounce, unless they are in another language.
3. Food made at home usually tastes better.
4. Making food at home that you usually buy at the store can have the effect of making you feel like a superhero. For example, "Would you like some butter on your toast? I churned it this morning."
5. Making a specific food at home will connect you to the source and production of that food in a new way, even if you never make it yourself again. After you make ricotta at home, I guarantee that you will think of that ricotta every time you take a bite of any ricotta. You will wonder what was used to separate the curds from the whey, and you might even think critically on the texture of the curd. The way I see it, any way that we can get a little closer to the source of our food is a good idea.
6. The alchemy involved in some of these products is incredible. Watching the butter separate from the buttermilk, witnessing milk turning into yogurt or cabbage into sauerkraut; these are some fascinating science experiments.

I've gotten more curious about making normal everyday foods in this last year. Together we've made fresh pasta, puff pastry, ice cream, pudding, granola, yogurt, bread, salad dressing, ricotta, tomato sauce, applesauce, pickles, sauerkraut, hamburger buns, chai- whew, we could start to fill a supermarket of our own here.

Although if you really want to know, I'm just getting started.

Today, we add mozzarella to the list.

I've been wanting to make mozzarella for a long time. I had heard how easy and fabulous it was, and I felt a little silly for waiting so long.

And was it worth it? Definitely. I had a few friends over, and I think we all cheered when those curds turn stretchy. So in the science experiment and super hero categories, this one is a real winner. Taste-wise, it was a little bland and a little tougher than I'm expected, but it was my first time after all. I forgot to add the salt in the whey until later, and that probably explains the blandness, and as for the texture, I'll work on that as I get more used to the recipe. In terms of cost, it does fairly well, depending what kind of milk you are using. I used raw milk, which runs about $4.00 a half gallon, so I'd say with the other ingredients the whole recipe cost me about $9.00, which is definitely a bit less than fresh mozzarella in the supermarket. Less expensive milk will obviously lower the cost, but either way, it's pretty good. Curds will definitely be stretched again in my kitchen, and soon.

If you are new to making cheese at home (and most of us are, right?), there is a name that you should be familiar with. Yes, I'm talking about that queen of home cheesemaking, Ricki Carroll.
Ricki Carroll opened up New England Cheesemaking Supply Company in Ashfield, MA the year I was born. She wrote the bible on making cheese at home, and she has every material that you might need to culture, curdle or harden a gallon of milk.
She has a recipe for 30-minute mozzarella, and this is so popular that she even sells a little kit with the ingredients. As far as cheeses go, this one is pretty simple. You do, however, need a few ingredients that might not be on your shelf.

The first is citric acid. It is what will separate your curds from your whey.

The second is rennet. You can get it in liquid form or in tablets, from a vegetable base or animal base. I used liquid animal rennet.

The materials that you will need are a large non-aluminum pot and a cheesemaking or candy thermometer. A candy thermometer doesn't go quite low enough, but it helped me to approximate the temperature, and that seemed to be okay.

If you have a microwave, it will come in handy. If you don't, you will also need heavy rubber gloves and a small strainer. I don't have a microwave, so that will be the process that you will see here.

You also will need one gallon of milk. I'd use whole milk if I were you. I used raw whole milk. You'll get about a pound of mozzarella.

30 Minute Mozzarella
from Ricki Carroll, Home Cheese Making

1 gallon whole milk
1 1/2 teaspoons citric acid dissolved in 1/2 cup non chlorinated cool water (use 2 teaspoons if you are using raw milk)
1/4 teaspoon liquid rennet or 1/4 rennet tablet, diluted in 1/4 cup non chlorinated cool water
1 teaspoon cheese salt (optional)

In a large, heavy non aluminum pot, heat the milk to 55 degrees. Stir in the diluted citric acid.

Heat the milk to 90 degrees over medium low heat. It will start to curdle.


Gently stir in the diluted rennet with a scooping motion. While you are stirring, continue to heat the milk to 100 to 105 degrees. The curds will start to pull away from the pot, and the mixture will thicken dramatically.

The curds will be shiny and the consistency of yogurt. Once you see this, remove the curds with a slotted spoon to a bowl.

Here is where the nukers diverge from the microwave free folks.

If you have a microwave:
Scoop the curds into a microwavable bowl. Pour off as much of the whey as possible and set it aside. Press on the curds to try to squeeze as much whey out as you can.

Microwave the curds on high for a minute. Drain off all the excess whey. With a wooden spoon or your hands, fold the curds over on themselves several times to distribute the heat.

Microwave on High for 35 seconds two more times, pausing to kneed in between heatings. You can add salt after the second time if you like.

When the cheese is stretchy and doesn't break, it's ready. If the curds break, reheat again.

If you don't have a microwave:
Heat the whey (without the curds) to 175 degrees. Add about 1/4 cup non-iodized salt to the whey. Keep the pot on a low burner to maintain that temperature. Divide the curds into two balls. Put one ball in the small strainer and dunk into the hot whey for about 5 seconds.


Remove it from the whey and knead the ball folding it over on itself. Try to get as much liquid out as you can. If you have sensitive hands, you might need rubber gloves at this point. Or like me, you might opt to burn yourself a bit so that you can experience the very exciting sensation of kneading cheese curds.


Repeat this process 3 or 4 times with each ball. When the cheese stretches without breaking, it's ready.


At this point you can roll it into little balls and eat warm, or you can add fresh herbs. If you are going to store it, submerge it in ice water for 30 minutes to bring the temperature down. After that, you can take it out of the water and place it in a covered container in the refrigerator. It will keep for a week.

Don't dump out the pot full of whey! It's great for making bread, or as a base for soups or smoothies. It will last for a few weeks in the refrigerator.

nibby buckwheat cookies

I am a sucker for feeding people. I can't help it.
Sometimes my desire to fill the bellies of friends who come into the house feels a little bit beyond my control. Come by to drop off a book. Leave with granola. I don't even know how it happened. I just slip you a bag, even as I'm saying to myself, "Control yourself! They don't need food! This person is not hungry!"
But for the time being, my visitors put up with it, and I am thankful.

Because my compulsion to feed my guests overwhelms the desire to feed them something fabulous, I have been known to provide strange offerings when the pantry is low. Canned olives. Cheese sticks. Carrots. To avoid this predicament, I bake.

Because wouldn't you rather I offer you a cookie than a cheese stick?

I thought so.

These cookies might be my favorite ones to have around. They get better with age, and they last a month (theoretically, if they didn't get eaten so fast). But more importantly, they are wonderful, and they seem to please everyone. They are, you might say, a crowd pleaser.

The cookies in question are Alice Medrich's nibby buckwheat cookies. They have been written about many times, most specifically here and here, because they really are a wonder. They are shortbread-y and complicated but kid friendly and not too sweet and filled with flavors that you can't quite pin down. They make a good snack with tea, maybe the best I can think of.

These are some good cookies.

The first time I had them was a ways back, a few years ago even. It was winter, and I was visiting my friend Meg. If I remember correctly she was a bit weary and possibly quite pregnant, and she roused herself from her chair to offer me a cookie.

"Cookie?"

It was not a pretty cookie. Brown and square. Funny little nibs scattered throughout. But I'm always up for a cookie, so down it went.

"Oh, my god. What is that?"

She wrote down the recipe then and there.

And now I'm writing it down for you.



Nibby Buckwheat Cookies (or Buckwheat Cocoa Nib Shortbread, if you need a better name for them, which I think that I do)
from Alice Medrich, Pure Dessert

makes about 45-50 cookies

1 1/4 cups (5.6 ounces) all-purpose flour
3/4 cup (3 ounces) buckwheat flour
1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup cacao nibs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Whisk the flours together in a medium bowl and set aside. Beat the butter with the sugar and salt for about 1 minute in an electric mixer until smooth and creamy but not fluffy. Mix in the cocoa nibs and vanilla. Add the flours and mix just until barely incorporated. Knead the dough with your hands a few times, just until the batter is smooth.

Form the dough into a 12 by 2 inch log. Wrap and refrigerate overnight.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Position the racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven. Line the baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone liners.

Take the dough out of the refrigerator about two hours before you want to bake it. When it is slightly soft, it is ready to cut. Use a very sharp knife and cut into 1/4 inch slices. Lay them on the cookie sheet, leaving a bit of space for the cookies to spread. You will get about 15 cookies to a sheet, and you may have to bake in more than one batch.

Bake until the cookies are just starting to color at the edges, about 12-15 minutes. Place the pans on racks to cool, or if you need the pans to bake another batch, you can slide the parchment onto the racks. Just be careful with cookies until they are completely cool. If you can, wait at least a day to eat them, as their taste improves greatly with one days age. They will keep in an airtight container for up to 30 days.

bread with butter, radishes, and salt

I'm lamenting the fact that I have no radishes. I'm hoping that maybe you have some radishes.
If you do, will you help me out here?

Will you cut a few slices of bread and slather them with a little too much butter? Will you slice up those radishes and spread them on top, and then give them just a little sprinkle of coarse salt?
As long as someone's eating this, I'll feel better, even if it's not me.

I need some fancy food, and this would do just the trick.
I am not having a fancy day. I am too in my head, achy in my body, and not quite up for it. This morning I arose ten minutes later than I should have, and the world just about fell apart. No one had what they needed, hairbrushes were flying through the air, and I spilled tuna juice all over myself. That's right, tuna juice.
But they got into the car, survived the snowy drive to school, and I went about trying to prove to myself that I was, actually, up for it.
I cleaned the house. I matched up the girls socks so that they would actually have pairs to choose from. I called the humidifier company to find out what that whirring sound is. I did three loads of laundry, including one of wool things. I thought about the possibilities that life holds, about some other slower existence where I sip coffee and I eat radishes and bread and butter, and I actually chew.
So why bread with butter and radishes and salt? Well, as I said, fancy. And French. And crunchy and salty and wonderful. And beautiful even. Does that answer your question?
The other day I put a plateful in front of my sister. "I don't know what they're feeding you over there," I said to her. "But eat this." She was having a day that she wasn't quite up for either, and I like to think that the radishes helped.
It's the little things, I think.
I hope so, because now I don't have any, and that brings us back to our current predicament.
Report back. Tell me about how they were. Tell me everything, as it might be days before I get to the store again.

teo's

This past weekend, we had one of those days when no matter how young or crazy or artistic or different I attempt to think of myself, there was no denying my absolute American mom-ness. There were play dates and birthday parties, and we existed for the sake of the transport of our children from pool to friend's house to play date at the mall bouncy castle and, well, you get the idea. As ordinary and nuclear family-ish as Joey and I felt, the girls saw the day as extraordinary, and I think it was all a success.

We had the opportunity to drive across the county a few times, and somewhere in the middle of it, we went to Teo's.

See that face up there? That's the look of a happy man. A man at a place that serves tiny hot dogs.

Joey has a bit of an obsession these days that it's probably time to share with you. In his spiritual quest for a true mentor, Joey has found not one, but two leaders of what he calls, "the pork eating faith." Jane and Michael Stern, writers for the now deceased Gourmet magazine and the alive and kicking book Road Food, have won the heart of my husband. I think if it weren't for his undying loyalty and devotion to his family, Joey would follow those Sterns anywhere. Call him a roadie, call him a foodie, but I think we might be talking about a new term here, the roadie foodie.

For those of you who know Joey, this will come as no surprise. Some of you may remember his high school project on barbecue, which included a school trip around the south?

The Sterns are also associated with a website, something of a Yelp of road food, and it is not only a source of endless inspiration from the Sterns themselves, but also from anyone who chooses to share the gems of their road food walkabouts.

As you can imagine, Joey spends a bit of time on this website. He is especially excited when he finds a highly rated road food destination in our very own county, and then there is much talking about it and offering to vacuum and fold laundry until we get the opportunity to go.

Teo's is one such destination. Tucked off route 8, or 9, or 7, or one of those crisscrossing roads that pass by the old and hulking GE building, this is not the kind of place that you stop by on your own. Oh no, it takes the Sterns to get you to Teo's.

Teo's is a bar that serves very small hot dogs. There were a lot of people skipping the hot dogs in favor of just beer on Saturday afternoon. They were all sitting at the bar, wearing camouflage canvas coats. We walked in, Rosie skipping ahead of us, and everybody gave us a look. Joey was totally up for it, though. He took a deep breath to pump up his shoulders and he pushed my grandfather's newsboy hat up as if it were the most authentic of trucker hats. We went ahead and found a seat, Joey swaggering ahead of us.

Joey went about showing Rosie how to drip water and her straw to make it wiggle. She jumped out of her seat, held it to her dress and shouted, "Look! I have a penis!" Yeah, I know. Classic.

We ordered our tiny dogs- one for Rose, two for me, two for Joe (he's Joe here, or maybe even Jerry, his fast food alter ego when he introduces himself and people refuse to believe that his name is actually Joey), plus a burger for Joe. And fries for all.
"Do you want cheese on your burger?" the waitress asked, already starting to walk away.
"Do you recommend it?"" Joey asked.
"Um, okay." she answered.
"Cheese it is, then!"
I love my husband.

Joey and I ordered our hot dogs "with everything", which at Teo's is onions and chili. Just a few speedy minutes of trying to quell Rosie's penis making announcements later, the meat arrived.


Before I go any further, I'm just going to get this out of the way. Do not order your hot dogs with everything. Stick with ketchup and I think you will be pleased. At a dollar a piece, you can order these hot dogs all day, as long as you don't eat any of that chili on them. But although the hot dogs are the star, Joey suggests that you order the cheeseburger instead. Thin and perfect, if you like that sort of thing. (and you know you do!)

So, for you Berkshire roadie foodies out there, closet and public, stop by Teo's on your way up to the mall on your next nuclear family type of day. Little hot dogs might just make your day more
interesting, and the cheeseburger will fortify you for the miles ahead.

broccoli with burrata, pine nuts, and warm anchovy vinaigrette- ish

I had a post all written up for you tonight. I was almost ready to publish it.
And then I made dinner. And I changed my mind. Because although you may not have known it, you were here tonight too. So I figured I better tell you about it, just to keep you up to speed on your whereabouts this evening.

I've been spending some time with a cookbook that I got out of the Library, Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques. A friend of mine had passed along this recipe from the book, and although she kindly typed it out in an email, I figured I should take a look at the source. It's a stunning book, a little manual that would become my handbook were I a wealthy childless Californian.
I am many things, but a wealthy childless Californian is certainly not one of them. Ah, well.

Suzanne Goin's book is packed with ingredients that I don't have, but it is so lovely that I stick with it anyway. So far as I can tell, many of her recipes are based on an excellent formula: good olive oil, butter, chiles, thyme, anchovies. I had my eye on this recipe for broccoli with burrata, pine nuts, and warm anchovy vinaigrette. Because I am not a wealthy childless Californian, by burrata I mean mozzarella, by broccoli I really mean broccolli and not broccolini or sprouting broccoli, and by any of the other ingredients I mean whatever you can muster. But I feel that this is the mark of a excellent cookbook- that even if I cannot make what is in it, I can be inspired enough to sally forth anyway. This book absolutely succeeds in this regard. I don't want you to think I have anything against wealthy childless Californians- I certainly don't. Who knows? Maybe Suzanne Goin is actually from New Jersey and has four children? If so, she puts on a very good show.

Joey and the girls went to a birthday party this afternoon, and I stayed home so that I could make this luscious sounding thing and photograph it while there was still some light coming through the windows. Of course, I got sidetracked with granola, and laundry, and pointless pantry organization. And that is how I found myself at 6:00, chopping anchovies, trying to convince Sadie and Joey to clean up the living room, running up and down the stairs and soaping up a very stubborn Rosie (who would not have anyone but Mama) in stages so as not to stay away from my toasting pine nuts for too long. I started this process quite grumpy, and I had the good sense to open up a bottle of wine. The phone was ringing, and Rosie was hollering and I was creating quite a mess.


As I poured myself another glass of wine, I went from grumpy, to amused, to actually laughing. I was ten minutes from the girls' bedtime, and I stopped measuring. I decided to put the whole thing over pasta, and before I knew it, ingredients were everywhere. I slipped into my bad habits of crowding counters, stacking cutting boards on top of cutting boards, and making a terrible ruckus. And although there were anchovies and shouting naked kids and it was already bedtime, I realized that you were there, and I felt okay.


People often tell me that they appreciate that I don't gloss over things, that I show a messy kitchen and crazy children. And I do, at least I try, but to be honest, I don't always show you how wild things truly get in those twenty minutes before dinner time.


But you know right? You know what it's like to try to cook something beautiful, even when what you really should be doing (if you had any sense, that is) is heating up a frozen lasagna from Costco? You've discarded the recipe because you only really have time to cut up one shallot, and who knows how many tablespoons it is, right? And as the storm kicks up, and you holler at your kids to set the damn table (okay, maybe you don't swear, I support you in that) I want you to know that I'm there too, just like you've been there for me, and I'm drinking your wine, and most of all, I'm laughing.



Because sometimes this is all just too much to take. It has got to be funny, or else we might just give up altogether. And when you finally get dinner on the table and your children march around the kitchen holding their noses saying that it smells like cat food and that dinner is Ew-mungous. (I don't make this stuff up!), we'll laugh together, okay?


Whatever happened before, I'll tell you right now that this dinner was fantastic. You should try it. Perhaps chaos was a vital ingredient, and I'm sure that you'll be able to add lots of that too.


James's Broccoli with Burrata, Pine Nuts, and Warm Anchovy Vinaigrette (or Pasta with Mozzarella, Broccoli and Anchovy Butter)

Adapted from Suzanne Goin and Terry Gelber, Sunday Suppers at Lucques

1 lb penne or pasta shape of your choice
1 lb broccoli, cut into florets
3/4 cup fresh breadcrumbs
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup pine nuts
1 tablespoon flat leaf parsley
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 teaspoons minced anchovy
1 arbol chile, sliced thinly
2 teaspoons minced garlic
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 pound fresh mozzarella, sliced into bite-sized pieces
1 teaspoon thyme leaves
1 medium shallot, sliced
salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Toast the pine nuts and the breadcrumbs on a tray for about 5 minutes, or until toasty.
Bring two large pots of heavily salted water to boil. In one pot, cook the pasta, in the other, blanch the broccoli for three minutes. Drain pasta and set aside. Drain broccoli and set out to cool.
In a small bowl, crush half of the pine nuts. Combine the crushed pine nuts with the whole pine nuts, the bread crumbs and the parsley. Season with salt and pepper
Heat olive oil and butter in a large sautee pan. Add the anchovy and cook, stirring, until the anchovy begins to dissolve, about 5 minutes. Add the chile, garlic, thyme, and lemon. Turn off the heat. Season with a pinch of salt. Allow to sit for a minute.
Turn on the heat again to medium. Add the shallots, broccoli, and pasta if your pot is large enough (otherwise toss with pasta in a bowl). Cook for a minute or so, coating the broccoli and pasta in the sauce. Taste for seasoning.
Pour into a large bowl and top with mozzarella.

seeds

Every year, I get so excited about ordering seeds.
I pour over the catalogs and I make pretty charts of my back yard.
Then I get overwhelmed, and I don't order seeds.
Although I don't order them, I still desire them. So I end up at the garden store down the street in late May, learning that they just sold the last packet of beets, or getting a talking to about how butternut squash seeds are in short supply this year.
Every year, I say, next year I'm ordering my damn seeds.

This year is different. I've been studying the Johnny's and Fedco catalogs, and I'm getting my order together. I am not overwhelmed. And to ease me along, I thought we could work on this together.

I'll tell you right now that I only buy seeds that I can put directly in the ground. I know that someday soon I will start seeds inside in February and March, but I haven't done it yet. Although I'd like to think I can conquer the world in one fell swoop, I'm more a conquering in stages kind of girl. And I have a few friends with big greenhouses and lovely farm stands, and I am happy to buy my tomatoes and brussels sprouts from them for now.

So what am I most excited about this year?

I'm so glad you ask!

I've never grown potatoes, and I'm going for it this time. I'm thinking about Austrian Crescent Fingerlings and Red Gold potatoes. I'm especially in love with radishes right now, and I'm going to grow Easter Egg and French Breakfast varieties. And my new found addiction to radicchio, which Sadie has caught as well, is driving me to Palla di Fuoco Rossa radicchio and treviso, which I think will probably never make it inside because I'll eat it right out of the ground.

I've gotten a lot of questions about seed ordering, as if I have any idea what I'm doing, but the answer to the main question is that I am ordering my seeds from Fedco. If you've never seen their catalog, it is absolutely worth it just for the descriptions. Listen to what they say about their "olympia" variety of spinach:

"Olympia our Senator loves to keep us in suspense. Will she support the public option or not? How will she vote on the final health care bill? Olympia our spinach never keeps us in
suspense. No Snowe job here, Olympia spinach is an outstanding performer for the fall crop. She grows fast, producing enormous yields of mostly smooth leaves up to 5x6" almost entirely lacking in oxalic acid taste so her mild flavor goes down easily. But like our Senator, Olympia can’t stand the heat, and bolts quickly when planted in spring. Both the spinach and the
politician survive just fine through November and over the winter. But we prefer the spinach as the more straightforward of the two."

You can see why the Fedco catalog seems always to live in our bathroom. Endless reading. They're a pretty amazing resource though, and although the order form is a bit confusing, I think I can make it through this year. And I love that Fedco gives the option of buying very small amounts of seed. For the home gardener, a pound of lettuce seeds is, well, just a few too many.

Any one else out there addicted to garden porn? What am I missing? Is there anything that you can hardly wait to get in the ground?

turkish celeriac remoulade

I am grateful for the inner beauty of the celeriac. I'm not fooled by that leather jacket- I know that inside it is delicate and silky, fancy and French, scented like heaven. In the fall, I made soups and stews, and I admired the sensual topography of the noble root on my counter top. But now, under the cover of icy snow, I am beginning to feel like a root vegetable myself. In the cold cave of winter, I yearn for the the fresh crunch of rawness. It tastes like sun and ground, neither of which are here with me now. Do you want this too?
I thought maybe you would. I've been wanting to tell you about this salad for so long, and finally today is the day.


My friend Molly is in Turkey. She searched for celery for her soup in the market and found only this strange root. A new Turkish friend came to her rescue and showed her how to make this, and then she told me. Now it is all I want to eat (along with a brownie now and then). I have changed her recipe ever so slightly, but I'm hoping not so much that I have distanced this glorious dish from its Turkish roots.

Molly is allergic to so many things. I pride myself in finding treats for her when she is in my kitchen. So, in honor of the Turkish friend who was there for my Molly when I could not be, I give you:

Turkish Celeriac Remoulade

1 medium celeriac (celery root), peeled and grated (If you have a food processor with a grating disk, this will be done in a flash)
1 cup whole milk yogurt
juice of 1 medium lime
1 cup pecans, toasted and chopped roughly
3 tablespoons fresh parsley, roughly chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients. Serve cold or at room temperature

maple cornbread

I told myself I was going to talk about vegetables today. I'm sure that you need them as much as I do right now, but in the end, I just couldn't do it.

Today, it's got to be cornbread.

Sadie stayed home today. She was coughing this morning and I knew she would be that kid at school, you know, the coughing one. So she stayed home and the coughing miraculously subsided. Whatever it takes, I guess.

We had a day, and I was a good mom and I was a bad mom, and she was a good kid and a difficult kid.

It depended on the moment.

We picked up my sister and took her to her piano lesson, and Sadie and I took a walk in the woods to pass the time. It was snowing and raining and sleeting depending on where you were standing, but the end result was more pleasant than you might imagine.

With every icy step, there was a new metaphor.

I guess I was in that kind of mood. I wouldn't say that's necessarily a good thing.

I mean, can't a bridge just be a bridge?
Even when it expands between the plowed road and the wild forest?

Can't train tracks just be there?
What is it about train tracks that makes me think of where I've been and where I'm going?

And Sadie. If I could only just let her be a child, a child taking a walk.
It's just that Sadie, my careful, slow child who struggles with her bike for fear of tipping, who didn't jump until she was four, was galloping down the icy mountain.

She skidded to a stop every few seconds to look up at me. I was moving at a very different pace. I don't like falling.

"Come on Mom!"

And when she finally did fall, sliding butt-first into the slushy ground, she looked surprised, and then she burst into laughter.

She looked up at me. "I never imagined that I would fall!"

I know, don't take everything as a lesson, Alana. Get out of that strange metaphor mood.

I'm doing my best to run, but I can't help but dig my heels into the snow a little bit. It's habit, you know?

And sometimes it's a good thing to be a little safe. I'm trying, I'm trying. But if life is getting a little riskier, I want good, safe food.

Which brings me to cornbread.

Cornbread, just out of the pan with butter, is safety in a pan. You can make cornbread in half an hour, and you know that it will be good, at least as long as it stays warm.

This is my favorite cornbread recipe. It is a little bit sweet and more moist than most. It is light and it is good for breakfast and good with chili. Unlike nearly every other cornbread I have tried, it is even edible the next day if you toast it a bit.

For the brave days there are strudels. There are chili rellenos and fleur de sel caramels. But for safe days, there is cornbread.



Maple Cornbread
adapted from the King Arthur Flour Baker's Companion

1 cup (4 1/4 ounces) all-purpose flour
1 cup (4 3/4 ounces) yellow cornmeal
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup maple syrup
4 tablespoons butter, melted
2 large eggs

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Lightly grease an 8x8 inch square or 9-inch round baking pan.

In a medium-sized bowl, mix together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, and salt until thoroughly combined. In a large measuring cup, whisk together the buttermilk, maple syrup, melted butter, and eggs. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir until barely incorporated.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until the cornbread is lightly browned and a knife comes out clean from the center.

butterscotch budino with caramel sauce

I'm not feeling particularly triumphant today. I keep trying to rally, to throw my fist in the air and say "Wahoo!" but it's just not coming.
Although I must say, typing it helped a little bit. Let's try that again.
"Wahoo!"
Nope, lost it that second time. Oh, well.

I'm a little aimless. A little hand-wring-y. Maybe it's the election up here tomorrow. Maybe it's Sadie's tummy hurting again. (seems that eggs are the culprit) But whatever it is, I find myself relating to the world with a bit of a chill.

I don't give in easily to moods that I don't enjoy. I'm going to keep fighting this one. As a start, I'm going to tell you about something I made the other day, something that was truly triumphant.

In fact, I was throwing my fist in the air and wahoo!-ing all over my kitchen.

Do you remember my disappointing pudding afternoon last week? Very little about that whole thing was triumphant, with the exception of the mason jars.

In reaction to that pudding gone wrong, my kind and talented friend Paige sent me her favorite pudding recipe, a butterscotch budino with caramel sauce.


At that moment, I was done with pudding. And as a rule, I don't do the caramel thing unless I absolutely have to.

So I saw the recipe, and although I was eternally grateful to Paige, I didn't forsee any butterscotch budino happening, at least not this week.

But then my friend Amy was in my kitchen. She and her family were coming over for dinner a few days later, and somehow butterscotch pudding came up in conversation. It was, it turns out, the favorite of her whole family. So of course, the budino was our destiny, both her's and mine.

And wahoo indeed.
If this wasn't one of the most delicious, triumphant, and utterly fabulous desserts I have ever had the opportunity to make, I will eat my hat.
As long as it has some of that caramel sauce poured on it.
And don't forget that little sprinkle of fleur de sel.



Butterscotch Budino with Caramel Sauce

Adapted from the New York Times, who adapted it from Dahlia Narvaez of Pizzeria Mozza, original recipe here

For the Budino:
4 1/2 cups whole milk
1 large egg
3 large egg yolks
5 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/8 cups dark brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
5 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons dark rum

For the sauce and topping:
3/4 cup heavy cream
scrapings from one vanilla bean, or 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons Lyle's Golden Syrup (or light corn syrup)
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 teaspoons fleur de sel
1 teaspoon maple syrup

For the budino, pour milk in a large measuring cup and set aside. Whisk egg, egg yolks ad cornstarch in a medium bowl and set aside.

Combine brown sugar, kosher salt and 1/2 cup water in pot. Place over medium-high heat and let sit until edges start to brown. This will take 8-10 minutes. The color of the caramel will be deep brown, and it will just be starting to smoke.

Immediately whisk in milk. The mixture will steam and the caramel with seize. Don't panic- it will soften again. Bring the mixture to a boil and them reduce the heat to medium.

Whisk a cup of the warm mixture at a time into the egg mixture until half of it is incorporated. Remove from heat, and immediately whisk egg mixture back into the pot until custard is very thick, about 2 minutes.

Whisk in butter and rum. Pass through a strainer and divide among 10 ramekins. Cover with plastic wrap, allow to cool, and refrigerate until chilled, 3 hours to 3 days.

For the sauce, combine 1/2 cup cream and the vanilla in a medium saucepan. Heat until simmering. Add butter and remove from heat- set aside.

In a heavy bottomed saucepan, combine golden syrup, sugar, and 3 tablespoons of water. Cook over medium high heat until mixture is amber, about 7 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in cream mixture. Allow to cool slightly before serving.

Whisk remaining 1/4 cup cream with maple syrup until cream is light and fluffy.

To serve, spoon a tablespoon of warm caramel sauce over the budino. Sprinkle with fleur de sel, and top with cream.

braised pork roast, or meat part two

Did you get so excited about meat the other day? Did you befriend a kind farmer, and did you buy half of a lovely pig and unpack it into your freezer? Did you leave out one of those lovely roasts to defrost in your fridge? Are you having faith that I'll help you figure out what to do with it?

Thanks for trusting me. I really mean it. I won't let you down.

Perhaps all of these things haven't happened yet, and that's okay too. In time, in time. But to pass these chilly hours away, let's chat about braising for a few minutes. I've got a bottle of wine open in preparation, and we might as well drink some of it.

I'm starting to think that the cooking of meat might be something of a lost art. While our grandmothers seemed to know exactly how to cook a roast of some sort on an at least weekly basis, I find that the thought of cooking meat seems, most often, to inspire confusion. My own mother followed a path with her relationship to meat that was somewhat typical of many of her age. She began life as a chicken-fried-steak-eating-New Jersey Jew, was macrobiotic when I was born, then vegetarian, then "I eat meat only in restaurants," then began to ask me how to roast a chicken. So let's bring back the lost art of the meat meal that does not involve boneless, skinless chicken breasts, shall we?

Braising is the brilliant act of browning something delicious, and then cooking it in liquid for a long time at a low temperature. Everything can be braised, but today we're just talking about meat. It is fairly foolproof, and makes the meat fall apart in exactly the way you want it to. If you are squeamish about cooking meat, and if you feel like your not quite sure to do with it, braising is your friend. Also, if you are a meat expert and have raised and processed your own cow, braising is your friend too, although you already know that.

I find that braising is something that people feel pretty religious about. There are all sorts of phenomenal techniques and many books written on the subject. If you are a devourer of information who likes to know everything and doesn't get overwhelmed, consult the braising gods for more detail- you will certainly find it.

But today, you get a simple braising technique, one that you can apply to most cuts of meat with a decent amount of fat on them. If you have a day when you are home, and it is cold out, there is no need to fret over what to do with your day. Get that meat in the oven, make a second cup of coffee, and invite a few people over for later. The rest of the day is yours.


Braised Boston Butt Roast (or lamb shanks, or brisket, or most other things)

(The boston butt is not actually, as it sounds, from the butt of the pig. It is actually part of the shoulder of the front leg. It is the roast traditionally used for pulled pork. This is a general roast braising recipe, and can be used for any good roast with a fair amount of fat on it.)


1 Boston Butt Roast
olive oil
kosher salt
10 peppercorns
3 carrots, cut into chunks
1 onion, cut into boats (see picture below)
2 bay leaves
1/2 bottle dry red wine
stock or water

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.
Rinse the roast and pat it dry. With a mortar and pestle or the flat of a knife, crush the peppercorns, and mix them with about 2 tablespoons salt. Spread the mixture over the roast.

In a large cast iron dutch oven or roasting pan, heat the olive oil until barely smoking. You can also use a large cast iron skillet. Place the roast in the hot oil and brown on each side for about 5 minutes. Just get the front and the back- don't worry about the sides.



When it is good and browned, move it to a plate.


There will be lots of lovely brown bits in the pan. To the brown bits, add the onion and the carrots. Let those brown a bit too, but just for a few minutes.


Pour the wine into the hot pan. It will smoke! Let the wine bubble for a minute, scraping off the brown bits with a spatula. Add the bay leaves. Then put the roast back into the pan. It should be half submerged in liquid. Add water or stock if you need more liquid. Cover up the pot. You can use tin foil if you have a pot with no cover. Put it in the center of the oven.
Get to drinking the second half of that bottle of wine. Leave your roast in the oven for 3-5 hours, checking it every so often to adore it and make sure that there is still liquid in the pan.
You will know that the roast is done when the meat falls away from the roast with no effort. Serve with braising liquid poured on top, and don't forget to eat those carrots. They taste like candy.

ricotta cake

I'm pretty sure that there was only one cookbook in my mother's kitchen when I was a child. Or at least only one that mattered.

I remember sitting on the floor with the cookbook on my lap, dressed in mini patchwork bell bottoms and lace up boots, perusing the handwritten recipes, the "mushroom strudel", the "cauliflower cheese pie," the "heavenly compotes".
I liked the cookbook. I liked the hand drawn pictures and the "apple- honey custard pie" the best.

I was pretty sure that my mother had written the book, although I wasn't certain. I was sure in the way that I knew that my mother and I being vegetarians had something to do with us also being Sagittarians. It was just the order of things.

In the first few pages of the lonely and beautiful cookbook, there was a picture of the author.
The book was written in her handwriting, a hand so familiar to me. I saw it on the sheets of paper that my mother wrote songs on, and the inspirational "breathe" notes taped in the bathroom. I looked at the author, and I was cheered by the thought of my mother and her daffodils.


Written just a year before my birth, it was obvious that my mother had been busy that year before I arrived- crafting recipes, writing out directions and creating whimsical illustrations of zucchinis and tostadas. She would have been 21, maybe 22 by the time it was finished and I was starting to grow in her belly.
Was I delusional?
You tell me.

The cover of the book was perfect and simple, the title arched across like a proud banner.
Moosewood Cookbook.

Underneath, rounding out the arch of the banner of the title,

By Mollie Katzen.

Did that dissuade me? Of course not. Look at me at nine months old! I was all knowing, or at least I thought I was. I was stubborn. I was already me.

And my mother was the queen of the tofu meatball. She knew everything there was to know about tamari, young as she was.

Somewhere along the way, I figured out that Mollie Katzen actually was not my mother, and my mother was not she. I continued to love and revere them both, and the cookbook remained an essential element on every kitchen shelf I have arranged since.

The Moosewood empire has grown over the years. Although I have never made the pilgrimage to Ithaca, I have cooked out of so many of the array Moosewood cookbooks with great success and much comfort. And while I always go to Alice Waters to get inspired on the alchemy of wine and meat and fresh herbs, it is Mollie Katzen who never fails to convince me to throw some eggs and maple syrup into a blender and make dessert. It works every time, and quickly.



You see, I really believe in dessert. I like that it is special, and I like that it is wonderful. I like that everyone hushes while they taste and enjoy. But when I was a kid, dessert wasn't chocolate cake. It was carob covered rice cakes. Remember those? Oh, those of you who are part of my tribe, you know you remember them. I bet you even think fondly on them every now and then.

I shun carob now, but what stayed in me was the sense that if you call it dessert, it is dessert. A little sweetness is all that is required. And although my kids have far more sugar at their disposal, they seem to share this sensibility.


Don't get me wrong, the girls love sweets, real sweets. They'll eat spoonfuls of sugar if permitted. But when I offer them a slice of cake made of ricotta, eggs, and a touch of maple syrup, they cheer. It's dessert. Who would say no?

This one, like most of Mollie Katzen's desserts, is not only unbelievably simple, but is also so so good.

This is for a day that might not being going so well, a day that you know that everyone could use a little extra boost. It will add about 10 minutes to your dinner prep time, and everyone will cheer.

Ricotta Cake
adapted from Mollie Katzen, The Moosewood Cookbook
(The Original Moosewood is no longer in print, now it's called "The New Moosewood Cookbook." But if you find an old copy at a bookstore, grab it up. It's a real find.)

3 cups skim or whole ricotta
3 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
scant 1/2 cup maple syrup
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
juice and grated rind on one lime or 1/2 lemon
1 cup plain yogurt
3 Tablespoons fruit preserves

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Put a pan (how about a metal one) filled with water in the oven. Combine the ricotta, eggs, buttermilk, maple syrup, vanilla, lime zest and lime juice in the blender. Puree until smooth and fluffy. Pour into a lightly buttered spring form pan (a 9-inch cake pan will do in a pinch). Bake for 45 minutes.
Allow cake ot cool completely. Combine the yogurt and preserves. Spread the mixture on the cake. Eat immediately or chill until dessert time.

this is the moment

I've got a nice little cake for you coming up later today. Get your ricotta going, and you'll be ready.

But this morning, I've got a request for you. There's quite a mess down there in Haiti, and they need a big pile of money to help all of the people who are stuck in that mess. Lucky for us, we've got what they need.
SO... donate now. Give what you can. Just think- if everyone who comes over here today donates 10 dollars, than collectively we make a pretty amazing donation.

Thanks, everyone. Sometimes there are moments that bring the gift of letting us help, and this is one of them.

Here are three organizations who are doing their best down there, but could do better with our bucks. Take your pick:

Doctors Without Borders
Red Cross
Heifer International

You guys are the best. Dessert later.

meat

Vegetarians, this post is not for you. Go elsewhere in your daily ritual web wanderings, and come back here tomorrow.

Today we're going to talk about meat.

We eat a fair amount of meat around here.
Hard as it may be to believe, I was a vegetarian from the ages of nine to seventeen. I sported a PETA button on my "too cool for school" vintage jean jacket that kept me exiled in junior high. I think the button said "Meat is dead". (I was never one for subtlety) When I was seventeen, my confronting and rebellious aunt (not to be confused with my gentle and vegetarian aunt) put a steak in front of me at the Clement Street Grill in San Francisco and my vegetarianism was quickly forgotten.

What can I say? I'm the granddaughter of a woman who was a vegetarian for the majority of her adulthood except for when she had the chance to eat ribs. And when she had the chance, man did she take it.
Meat makes Joey happy, and that's pretty worth it to me too. A lamb shank will remedy any amount of bad day for him. But it's not just Joey who finds contentment in a meaty braise. Lately, meat nights are the only nights that Rosie will come off her "I'm not eating dinner" couch that I have installed in the new kitchen. She will eat as much meat as I can give her. She calls everything "pork chops." I let her, as labels hold a lot of meaning for that girl.

Way back when, I made a decision about meat. Because the majority of meat production and processing is grosser, more disrespectful to life, and more dangerous than we could ever imagine, we stopped buying meat at the store. Lucky for me, there are a whole lot of farmers in these environs raising animals on grass, giving them a good life and a humane death. Buying meat from these farmers is such a good idea, but before we go any further, I need to admit something to you.

I have a really, really big freezer. It is in my basement. I share it with my farmer friends, Jen and Pete, who fill their half with frozen corn and spinach. They are vegetarians, and they are very nice about the fact that there are several animals chopped up in my side of the freezer. It is a chest freezer, and no, it does not require a lot of electricity to run, and yes, if you have the space and you are interested in changing the source of your meat I suggest you get one if at all possible.

Logistically, there are pretty much two different ways to buy meat from small farms. The first is on a piece by piece basis, like you would buy at the supermarket. You can buy meat this way at farmers markets, sometimes in a farm stand freezer at a farm, and occasionally at a good health food store or coop market. This is a good way to buy local meat if you don't have a large freezer, or if you are very clear about the cuts that you are interested in. The downside of this is that it is often fairly expensive, as the farmer is offering the choicest cuts and packaging them for individual sale.
The second way is to purchase an entire animal, or at least part of one. In the case of chickens or smaller animals, you might purchase a certain quantity. Depending on the set up, this can be similar to hiring the farmer to raise an animal that you have purchased. Often you will commit to buying the animal while it is still alive, and this way the farmer knows that they won't lose money on the animal. This is how I purchase my meat, and the good things that come of it are numerous enough for a good old fashioned list. Here we go.

Why purchase an animal or part of an animal from a local farmer?

1. Usually, when you purchase an animal or part of an animal, you pay a flat fee per pound. For example, you might purchase half of a cow for five dollars a pound. You are paying five dollars a pound for ground beef, but you are also paying five dollars a pound for some pretty amazing steaks and roasts. It saves you a lot of money.

2. You are supporting local farmers, as well as your own local economy.

3. You can go visit the animals at the farm where you buy your meat. You can see exactly what conditions the animals live in before they are processed. Most farmers really love visits from their customers.

4. I have never had a piece of locally raised meat that did not taste exponentially better than its store bought equivalent. Especially in the case of pork- some of this meat will amaze you.

5. In the commercial meat system, animals are being bred for meat production. Chickens with oversized breasts are just one example. Usually farmers are raising breeds of animals that are just gone from the commercial meat system, and by supporting their work, we keep certain breeds around.

6. For any of you who have belonged to an agricultural csa, you know how great it can be to be forced to welcome a new vegetable into your home. Maybe you've never had a rutabaga, but you got two in this week's share and you better figure out what to do with them. The same is true for the purchase of an animal. You will get all sorts of cuts that you have never thought to be at the store, many that are not even available. I would never buy a boston butt pork roast at the store, but this has become one of my favorite cuts of pork. I feel like I have begun to learn where cuts come from, and this deepens my appreciation of the meat in general. When I bought a half of a pig this fall, the boxes included pork chops, shoulder roasts, butt roasts, ribs, sausage, bacon for breakfast, bacon for soups, ham steaks, a larger ham, sausage, and pork loin. You the idea, right? Endless meal opportunities.

There are also a few challenges to buying meat this way, and in the interest of fairness, let's talk about those too.

1. Although it is often less expensive in the long run to purchase meat in this way, it requires that you have a bunch of money all at once. You might buy a half of a pig which lasts you all year. It could cost 400 dollars, which stretched out on a meal by meal basis is pretty great. But when you go to pick up your pig, you need 400 dollars, and this certainly requires some planning.

2. Space is certainly an issue. But you've been wanting to buy that chest freezer for a while now, right?

3. Having a freezer full of meat requires meal planning, as it takes time for meat to thaw. But I think that this is also a plus. When I get it together to plan my meals at the start of the week, I buy less groceries, and I feel less panicky about what we're going to eat all week.

4. Sometimes, it can be hard to find a farmer. Farmers who are putting their lives into their small farms are often so busy that they don't put their energy into advertising, so you often have to go looking for them. Around here, the information of who is selling good meat is traded around like a guarded secret. It may feel like some people have the in, but there are easy ways for everyone to join the club. More about this in a minute.

I know, even the cons make you want to buy meat from small farms! So how do you start?

Start at the Farmers Market! There are probably farmers there selling meat. Talk to them about their farm, what they are raising, and whether they offer the option of purchasing sections of animals. Also, you can try their meat at the market and see if you are interested in more.

If you don't have a farmers market or you're not sure where to start, there are several websites that can set you in the right direction.

Local Harvest can direct you to farms, csa's, and grocery stores where you can purchase good produce and meat. There are even some meat csa's, and you can find them through this site.

The Eat Well Guide is a similar site that I really love. Their search feature is very graceful, and they have a great blog on their site as well.

For those of you over in my neck of the woods, Berkshire Grown is the best place to start. Our local Co-op market also carries meat from a lot of local farms.

I know, it's all so exciting. What are you waiting for? Go!