rock out in the kitchen

New music up today! Download here. Happy March....

tom's

I've finally figured something out about me and hot dogs. All these road food adventures are leading me to some deep processed meat induced soul searching.


This is Tom's in Whately, MA. Hop off 91 as you are heading north towards Greenfield, and the wildly friendly counter woman at Tom's is ready to feed you. This is no snobby hotdog joint- Tom's aims to please everyone. Far beyond the length of my lifetime, they have been posting their motto, "If you can think it, we can make it."

Unfortunately, they don't seem to be able to make the hot dog I'm thinking of. The one I really want. There is no seating at Tom's, so on a cold and snowy day, the car is your fancy table in the corner. A dog each for the girls and I, two for Joey, side of fries, and lunch was served. Tootsie pops were on the house.

Tom's is famous around these parts for their special dog with tomato sauce and cheese. Joey ordered one of these, alongside a more traditional kraut dog.
He deemed the hot dogs superior to most, although the fries were a disappointment. He said definitively, "This is a great hot dog."


But I had to disagree. Not on the fries- those disappointed me too, but on the whole dog experience. I agree that the the dog itself was excellent. It had a very satisfying snap with every bite. But the tomato sauce, although innovative, tasted downright old to me. The bun was soft as wonderbread, but I wanted a little more heft to it. The kraut was sad and flavorless, and I was left wanting.
The truth is, I love a good hot dog. It needn't be nitrate free or made of chicken- I just like a good hot dog. But a great hot dog? My great hot dog is different from Joey's great hot dog, and I'm certainly not going to find it at Tom's.
In Ghent, NY, there is a farm store that makes their own hot dogs from their own meat. They bake hefty rolls in which to lay the dogs, and they offer their own lacto-fermented sauerkraut along with grainy mustards. Joey may call this an imitation of the ideal hot dog, but for me, it is bliss. Joey loves the dirty road food, and I love the road food that has been taken and recreated with good ingredients and new flavors. We enjoy the tastes of the other, but our opinions differ on what is truly great. We are finally finding peace in this, and someday maybe he'll even stop saying that broccoli pizza is an abomination. At least maybe he'll stop saying it, but I know he'll never stop thinking it. That stuff runs deep, real deep.

So, depending on your definition of great, Tom's is maybe worth the drive. It's worth it for the hot dogs, the tootsie pops, or maybe just the deep introspection it may inspire.

rosie

Today, Rosie is five.

A few days before Rosie was born, we had an ultrasound. She was a solid ten days late, and my midwife just wanted to have a peek in there to make sure she was okay.

She was big and ready, and her form was so much clearer than what we had seen in the ultrasound 5 months earlier.

"Awwww," we said to each other. "Look at her butt!"
"Um, actually," the technician interrupted. "That would be her face."

Please forgive me if you've heard this story before. I tell it a lot. But only because we get stopped on the street all the time, and all that we hear is, "those cheeks!" I know that this is a food blog and everything, but if you've met my Rose, you know that I'm not straying so far off topic here. Since she was born, somehow everyone around her has had the desire to eat her. Doesn't that sound horrible? But I understand the urge. It's like there is a light inside her, and it draws people in. I can't even tell you how many times I have gone in to kiss one of her cheeks, only to end up with the whole thing in my mouth. Delicious things, those cheeks.


My grandfather died when I was pregnant with Rose, and we decided that we would name her Ida if she was a girl. Ida was my grandfather's mother, and she was a tough little Jewish woman from New York. But when she was born, she had those cheeks, and they were as red as apples. The midwife swooped her onto my chest, and I couldn't help myself.
"Look how-"
Joey joined me, and we finished the sentence together..."rosey she is."
And that's how Rosie was born. She came out and introduced herself.
After her grand entrance, she nursed for a few minutes, and then she slept for three months. We started to refer to her as the potato, and she slept everywhere we put her- on the table, on the floor- we often forgot she was there. She nursed and she slept, but mostly she slept.
But then she woke up. She woke up laughing, and she hasn't stopped since.
I think it was a good day for Rose, but then, most days are. She got to walk around the sun five times at school, and I picked her up early. We sloshed around on the wet and snowy sidewalks, and I took her out for lunch, where she ate her favorite lunch of bread while she made silly faces at me and kept me laughing for an entire hour. She got her own library card, and then she had her favorite dinner of bread. And throughout the whole day, she laughed, and with every moment, she thanked me, or whoever was closest to her.
If only every day could be Rosie's birthday. Until next year, then.

oreos

Over the last couple of days, something has become very clear to me.
I live in a part of the world where people are conscious about the food they eat. The Co-op gets as much business as the Price Chopper, and each of our many CSA's have long wait lists, full of people just begging for celeriac and spinach. To put it mildly, this town eats a lot of sprouts.
But I knew all of that. What I did not know is that there is also a deep passion in the hearts of my friends and neighbors for the oreo cookie.

You see, I've been working on this cookie lately. I've had a few homemade oreos in my day, and although I'm never one to refuse a cookie, they don't tend to do the trick. So often, the cookie part is downright chewy, and that is just wrong, all wrong.
And there's another thing. For an oreo to really be an oreo, the cookie must be black. It must be crunchy, and it must get stuck in the teeth. For the joy of the oreo is that it cannot be secretly consumed; the moment the mouth opens to deny the eating of the cookie, the black lined teeth tell the whole story. And oreo must be eaten proudly, and in the open air. This is not a shame cookie.


I'm good at keeping secrets when it matters, but at other times, I'm a bit of a talker. And as I've immersed myself in this oreo adventure, I've mentioned it here and there, just that this is what I'm working on this week. Every time, I get the same reaction.

"Can I come over?"

I'm thinking I could make a lot of friends with these cookies.

In this oreo, the cookie that sandwiches the cream is adapted from Alice Medrich's cocoa wafer from that book that I adore, Pure Dessert. I lowered the sugar in the cookie quite a bit to keep the bitter cocoa quality that the store- bought oreo has, although in that case, the bitterness might be all those odd ingredients in there. The cookies themselves can also be used to replace store bought chocolate wafers in treats like ice box cake and chocolate cookie crusts. This is a cookie you want to know- it will come in handy. The filling is simple, butter, earth balance vegetable shortening, vanilla, milk and salt. I'm pretty sure the other version has a whole lot more ingredients, but somehow, these few seem to capture it.


Due to some serious sweet eating last week, Joey and the girls decided to take the week off from sugar this week. Well, actually, I decided that the girls would take a week off and Joey decided to join them. I was very supportive of his sweet-free week, until he refused to try my oreos. "This is work!" I said. "I need you to see if they're the real deal!"
He held off for two days, and then I did something I am not proud of. I begged.
Tonight, he consented. After Sadie was safely in bed where she could not witness his betrayal, he ate one, and then he ate another to be sure.
"I need milk. And I need more cookies."

Oh yes. The real deal.


Oreos

The Cookie:
adapted from Alice Medrich, Pure Dessert

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
14 tablespoons unsalted butter, slightly softened
3 tablespoons whole milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

The Filling:

2 ounces unsalted butter, softened
2 ounces Earth Balance brand vegetable shortening, softened
1 cup confectioners sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon whole milk
1 tablespoon vanilla

For the cookies: Combine the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, salt and baking soda in the bowl of a food processor and pulse several times until completely combined. Cut the butter into tablespoon sized chunks and throw them into the food processor. Again, pulse several times. Combine the milk and vanilla in a small cup. With the food processor running, slowly add the milk mixture to the batter, continuing to process until the batter clumps around the blade. Lay a large piece of wax paper on the counter and put the batter onto it. Gently press the batter into a log about 2 inches in diameter. The batter will be soft, and this will be a messy moment. I wrapped the batter in the wax paper and then shaped it, which worked pretty well. Put the log in the refrigerator for at least an hour.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees, and make sure that your racks are in the upper and lower thirds of the oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Remove the log from the fridge, and unwrap it on a cutting board. With your sharpest knife, cut the log into 1/4 to 1/2 inch slices, catching each slice as you go and laying it on the baking sheet. If the dough breaks, give it a few minutes to warm up and then start again. Give at least 2 inches between cookies- they will spread a bit. Bake the cookies for 15 minutes, rotating the pans and switching their location halfway through baking. The cookies will cook up and deflate- they are done about a minute after they deflate. Place the pans on a cooling rack and cool completely before filling.

For the filling: Combine all ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer or mixing bowl. With the mixer or by hand, beat together until all elements are thoroughly combined and the mixture is smooth and creamy.

To fill the cookies: You have two options. You can go the lazy route and get these into your belly faster, or you can go a bit more Martha. It's totally up to you. Lazy is definitely my style, but I like to give you choices, because someone's got to make the pretty food out there.
Lazy route: Spread about 1/2 inch layer of filling on one cookie. Put another cookie on top. Eat.
More work for style points: Refrigerate the filling for at least an hour. Put about a cup at a time of the filling between two pieces of wax paper, and roll it out to 1/2 inch. With a 2-inch biscuit cutter, cut circles in the filling. Use a butter knife or metal spatula to transfer each circle to a cookie. You have to work fast, as the filling warms quickly. Admire, then eat.

These cookies are good at room temperature for at least 5 days, and great out of the freezer indefinitely.

Molly's Crackers

Remember Molly? She's around here quite a bit, I mean, not here, but here. Although she's over the oceans in Istanbul, her celeriac salad is here, and even her underwear is here. She's always living somewhere else and saving the world, but we never let her stay away for long.
As I've mentioned before, Molly is a little, well, sensitive in the food department. Her lovely and tiny self has very specific dietary needs, and her habit of living in faraway places makes meeting those needs difficult. A few months ago, I packed a priority mail box with bags of gluten free flours, millet, and flax seeds so that she could make her very own Molly bread.

The bread didn't work out so well, but somewhere along the way, she found crackers. Not just any crackers, but the ones I have been looking for. Light and wheaty, easy to make; I'm pretty sure that these crackers are what the poor lady who sold the wheat thin to Nabisco for a few bucks (just guessing here) started out with.

Molly has been making these crackers for a while now, and every week or so she asks me if I have made them yet.

"I'm getting to it! I'm working on the oreo!" (more on that later)

She insists that these are the crackers that I am looking for- that I have to make them today!
Well, Molly, you were right. I'm sorry I waited so long. Don't you do that too. Trust Molly, and trust me. These are the crackers you are looking for. Make them today!

Molly's Crackers

(note: Molly makes this gluten free for herself as well as gluten filled for her sweetie. I'm giving you the gluten filled version here, but if anyone needs the gf version, I'm sure Molly will be happy to oblige.)

1 cup white flour
1 cup spelt flour (or whole wheat- just make it something other than white)
½ teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup whole, uncooked millet
1/3 cup ground flax seed
½ teaspoon sea salt
½ cup olive oil
1/3-1/2 cup water, as needed
kosher salt
fresh ground pepper
5 cloves garlic, chopped fine
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, chopped fine

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a medium mixing bowl, combine the flours, baking powder, millet, flax, sea salt, and garlic and rosemary, if using. Add the olive oil and combine with a fork. Then add the water slowly, mixing with your hands or a wooden spoon as you go. The dough should be soft but not sticky. When all of the ingredients are thoroughly combined, turn out on a floured surface. Press into a flat disk, then roll with a rolling pin until the dough is about ¼ inch thick. Sprinkle kosher salt and pepper over the dough, then with a butter knife, cut the dough into 2-inch squares. Any dough left over from the cutting can be re-rolled for more crackers. Transfer the squares to a parchment lined baking sheet with a metal spatula and bake for 15 to 20 minutes, switching the position of the racks midway through. The crackers are done when they are hard and beginning to brown. Transfer to a cooling rack. Crackers will keep in an airtight container for up to 5 days, but you will never be able to make them last that long.

Makes about 60 crackers.

mocha custard

Whoosh.
Joey caught a bit of the women's olympic skeleton course the other day. I've never even heard of the sport before now, but apparently what he saw were women flying face first on tiny metal sleds down a death defying track. With each new athlete, the announcer revealed that yet another mother was hopping on the sled. Speeding down the ice face first with a force of 5g? Sounds like a good time to me, and sounds a bit like this past week.
I don't aspire to be cryptic, but you understand that sometimes I have to keep a few details to myself, right? This week is one of those moments. But I'll tell you one thing, I have made a whole lot of cake this week, cake that requires so many thick and protective egg whites to be torn from their nurturing yolks. I have been thankful to have so many bright yolks looking for a home. When I take a break from my skeleton course, I better have something damn comforting to eat, and twice now, in the midst of this week, I have made mocha custard.

Mocha Custard. The pinnacle of all things comforting for me. You know I'm a pudding person, and a jello person, and a panna cotta person. That's no mystery by now. If it can slide from a spoon down my throat, I am a happy girl. In my experience, comfort food is such because of memory, and mocha custard might just have been the seed of my love of pudding.

There is a restaurant in Northampton, MA called Paul and Elizabeth's. It is large and cavernous, and filled with shiny old wood and large rectangles of sunlight. It has been there forever, and the fish lunch might just be the most reliable $7.95 that you can spend in Western MA. They always have the same desserts, at least they have for the 30-ish years I've been sitting at their tables. Pear crunch, Indian Pudding, some sort of cream pie, maybe a fruit pie, and mocha custard.

The mocha custard comes in a white cereal bowl. It has been baked right in there, and the dimply surface skin is topped with a little bit of maple sweetened whipped cream. It is not very sweet. It is egg-y. It has the perfect consistency, and it is not rich at all, so there is no issue with eating the whole bowl.

When I was very little, after my parents split, we lived near Boston in the very eastern part of Massachusetts. My grandparents lived out here where I am now, in the Berkshires, which is as far west as one can be in the state. On many weekends, my mother would drive me out to Northampton, which is something like half way between the two, and we would meet my grandparents at Paul and Elizabeth's. They would take us out to lunch, and then they would scoop me into their car, and take me home with them. My mother would set back off to Eastern MA to live her life for a few days, and I would come to my grandparent's bed and breakfast to help my grandmother make whole grain coffee cake and empty the little garbage cans in each guest room.

I was a picky kid, and I ate the same thing every time at these lunches. Fish Chowder, one of Paul and Elizabeth's brown puffball mushroom-like rolls, and mocha custard. There have been long stretches of time between my bowls of mocha custard, but never more than a week between the times that I dreamed about it, and let my imagination create the velvet texture in my mouth.

In all these years, I have never asked them for the recipe. I am shyer than I should be about these things. Joey's been nudging me lately to talk to chefs and ask them questions, and I am always happy for that. But I know a few things about the mocha custard at Paul and Elizabeth's. I know that they make it with grain coffee and maple syrup, milk and eggs. Last week, feeling the ever growing heft of the tupperware containing abandoned egg yolks, I knew it was time. My friend Hedley was in my kitchen, and she agreed to whisk those yolks with love and support while I poured in the hot milk. I added espresso instead of grain coffee, maple syrup, a touch of cocoa powder, and that was that. It must of been a lucky day, because with 30 minutes later, I had real mocha custard in my kitchen.

I think that when it comes to good, simple food, there are no secrets. I love this more than I can express. If I focus on food in my memory, I can taste it, and if I can taste it, I can recreate it. How great is that! I don't think that this is a special talent that I have. I'm pretty sure that most taste buds are up for the challenge.

So here we are, with my very own homemade mocha custard. Here's to things tasting even better now than they ever did before.

Mocha Custard

7 egg yolks
4 cups whole milk
1/3 cup maple syrup
1 tablespoon cocoa powder
1 1/2 tablespoons instant espresso

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter 6 one-cup ramekins or other oven proof cups.
In a medium saucepan, bring the milk just barely to a boil. Meanwhile, whisk the egg yolks together in a large heatproof bowl until slightly frothy. When the milk is hot, you want to pour it in a very small, slow and steady stream into the egg yolks while continuing to whisk. If you have a friend to whisk while you pour, this is helpful, but if not, transfer the milk to a large measuring cup so that you can pour with one hand while whisking with the other. The key is to pour slowly enough so that you don't scramble your eggs. When the milk and eggs are entirely combined, continue to whisk for another minute, until you have a very smooth and frothy mixture. If you have scrambled your eggs a bit, all is not lost, just pour the mixture through a strainer at this point. Whisk in the maple syrup, espresso, and chocolate. Pour the mixture into the prepared ramekins. Place the ramekins into a large baking dish and pour hot water into the large dish about half way up the side of the ramekins. (For an image of a water bath, go here). Put the baking dish in the oven and bake for 30-40 minutes, until the center of the custard is set. Eat warm (for breakfast!) or chill in the fridge, where the custards will continue to firm up.

michele's maple popcorn

Everyone has that thing they make. It might be simple, or it might be crazy, but it is entirely theirs.

Finding out that thing- oh, that is the absolute best. It's like a secret that they share. And when I'm eating that thing that they make, it's a shaking of hands, a swearing of pinkies, a pressing together of tiny cuts on thumbs.

This is Michele. She makes maple popcorn.

I showed up at her house a few weeks ago and she offered me a little bowl of the stuff. She said that she'd worked on the recipe for years.

It was fantastic. Not caramel corn. Not at all. Maple popcorn.

I've known Michele for years, just a little bit. This town is so small that you know everyone if you've been around long enough, which we both have. But now I know about the maple popcorn. Oh, the joy of new friends.

Michele came over a few days ago to show me how to make maple popcorn too. And of course, showing me means showing you. Don't you like it when I get to make new friends?

Michele's Maple Popcorn

1 cup un-popped popcorn
1 cup maple syrup
1 cup butter or earth balance
1 cup raw sugar or sucanat
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Butter two 9x13 casserole dishes. Pop the corn in the way the suits you. I've got an air popper, but you can also pop it on the stove top. Put the popped corn into a buttered bowl. In a medium saucepan, melt the butter, maple syrup, sugar and salt. Bring to a boil and boil without stirring for five minutes. Add the baking soda and vanilla and stir to combine. The mixture will foam up. Pour the sugar mixture over the popped corn and stir until entirely coated. Divide the coated popped corn between the two buttered dishes and bake for 1 hour, stirring and moving the dishes every fifteen minutes.

play this one loudly

New kitchen music up today! Download the mix here.

meat and the city

Well, we've been squeezing into tiny bathrooms again.

That can only mean one thing. The country mice have been back to the city. And we have had some very good sandwiches.


This week is a bit of a New England tornado around here. We are driving here and there, celebrating this and that, and not doing very much eating from the ground up. But I would never forgive myself if I didn't tell you about this roast beef sandwich I had in Cambridge the other day. In fact, if you are with 300 miles of Cambridge, MA, I think you should get one for lunch, now. And you can pick me up one too.

The joint is the All Star Sandwich Bar, another prize of roadfood.com. But unlike Teo's, this one was very worth the drive. We sat at the counter and people-watched out the window while our bellies growled. Three hours in the car, forty minutes trying to find a parking spot, and we were hung-a-ry. The girls filled up on lemonade and took it all in stride.
Like the equally American Duck Fat in Portland, the All American Sandwich Bar takes a stab at poutine, the sidewalk treat that is second only to universal healthcare in terms of the good things that Canada has to offer. Fries, soft cheese curds, and gravy. Turn your nose up if you will, but you know you'd love it, or at least I know you would. All American Sandwiches puts scallions on their poutine, a touch that complimented the mozzarella curds brilliantly. We finished the whole plate, and then my sandwich arrived.

This is called the "Beef on Weck". Apparently a Buffalo specialty, this sandwich is layered, perfectly cooked roast beef. That's all. Flanking the sandwich are two dainty sides, one of spicy horseradish, one of real au jus from the roast beef. The bun is light and brioch-y, and it is covered with a little snowfall of sea salt crystals. The sides go on the sandwich, the eyes close, the mind is blown. Done.
There are so many lovely looking sandwiches coming out of the friendly, shouting kitchen, but I don't know if I could ever bring myself to order anything other than this, the perfect roast beef sandwich.

We're home now for a day or two, and the fridge is a bit naked and sad. I'm going to go make some pb and j's for lunch, and I'm hoping if I close my eyes I'll be able to imagine a little bit of that perfect sandwich, all the way across the state. I have a pretty good imagination, but I don't think even I can turn peanut butter into perfect roast beef. But I will certainly try.

jello

The other night, we had a party. A little one. The girls stayed up until eleven, and went to sleep happy. For them, I think the night was a little magical. I had tucked them into bed with their friend who had come with her mother to the party at 9:30, but at 11:00, they were still up, cuddled together, Sadie reading to the younger girls. When I told them what time it was, they said, "eleven?" with a disbelief in their tired scruffy voices that seemed to say that they were utterly surprised that there was an eleven at night at all. After all, it was nothing they had ever experienced before.
When I was little, I stayed up late a lot. I'm sure that I had a reasonable bedtime, but as the only child of a single young working mom, I often tagged along to parties or wherever else my mother might be going. When she sang in little bars I would be there in the corner, munching my complimentary nachos, and I even have memories of loitering in the restaurant where she used to waitress. Even for me then, I remember the glittery quality of late night, the way people sounded different, smelled different. I remember knowing that I was awake when other people were asleep, and simultaneously loving it and craving my bed.
When it comes to taking my girls out into the dark world after 7:00, I definitely am more conservative than my mother was. They need their sleep, and I protect it like a mother bear.
But a few nights here and there, tromping through a grown up party with a little pack of kids, these are pleasures that I wouldn't keep from them for anything. I am a lover of parties, but as special as these nights are for me, I know that their memories of the night will last much longer than mine. These are the moments when they impress me with their self sufficiency. They are determined to show me that they are up for the evening, and most of the time, they really do come through.

I have been feeling grateful to them all weekend. It is okay when they are not up for it, but when they are, I feel like I can be a whole person and a mother at once, and this is a good thing.
Having started off on a good foot this weekend, we have been trading little acknowledgments of gratitude since then. Sadie made breakfast yesterday, and then after reading that you should bring the people you love breakfast in bed on Valentines Day, she and Rosie woke up Joey and I with toast and applesauce this morning. All weekend there have been more and more valentines arriving on the fridge, and in our pockets. And for my part, I have been putting every thing I can into my heart cake pan, because I know that it makes most food taste a lot better.


My lovely friend Paige wrote about jello this week, and that was a valentine in itself. What Paige didn't know was that I love jello above most things, and it is a treat in which I don't tend to indulge. The flavor is not of interest to me, red, green, purple; I don't care, as long as the texture is right. I can't remember the last time I have had the pleasure of a good bite of jello sliding down my throat, and it seems that I have also been keeping it from my children. As the jello set in the refrigerator, the girls ran around the kitchen chanting jello songs, and when Sadie paused to ask Rosie, "Do you even know what jello is?", Rosie answered, "Not exactly." It was time, I think. It was certainly time.
Now my girls have had the joy of jello, and at least for now they don't know that most jello is not made from juice. I'd like to think that when they have the other stuff, they'll say, "My mom's jello is so much better than this!" And it will have been, especially when it was shaped like a heart. Late glittery nights and a jello heart once in a while... these are the simple magical acts I can handle.



Jello
thanks to Paige at The Sister Project

4 cups juice
2 envelopes Knox Gelatine
optional: 2 cups fresh, frozen or canned fruit (berries are great here, or peaches)

Bring 3 cups of the juice just to a boil. In a separate bowl or measuring cup, pour the last cup of juice. Sprinkle the gelatine over it. Let sit for five minutes. Pour the hot juice over the juice/ gelatine mixture and stir until gelatine is completely dissolved, 3-5 minutes. Spread the fruit, if using, along the bottom of the individual cups or larger (heart!) mold. Pour the hot mixture over the fruit. Refrigerate until set, 6-12 hours.

warm cabbage and apple slaw

And with that, cabbage week comes to a close.
I have learned a little bit about the cabbage this week.

That a few cabbages go a long way. With three cabbages, we have feasted like royalty. Three cabbages became a decadent and buttery stew, they twirled and whirled to become fancy stuffed cabbage, and they made the most lovely sagey potato gratin.

That the cabbage is a giving vegetable. Unlike some specimens of the vegetable kingdom that challenge you to brave their thorns and stems and skins, the cabbage offers a half here, a half tomorrow; it invites you to take a bit off of it's happy orb, to chop a bit finely or roughly if you prefer, and to do what you like.

That the cabbage is beautiful, and loves to be photographed, is pleasing to hold, to look at, and to prepare.

That the cabbage may need to be forced upon its eater. Its flavor is far superior to its reputation, and therefore we must ignore the forceful mumblings of those who profess not to be "cabbage people". When presented with such a guest, a gentle urging is necessary, such as one would give a child, "Just a bite. Just a quick try." And soon, the plate will be clear.

And with respect to the multitude of virtues that the cabbage holds, I think I will wait a week or two before my next cabbage. There is one more left in my refrigerator, and as (one more strength) the cabbage is quite a keeper, it will wait patiently until I am ready again.

Before the week ends, we will have on more little bowl of cabbage, a humble warm and wintery salad to eat along a bit of meat, or rice, or whatever pleases you.


Warm Cabbage and Apple Slaw
adapted from Alice Waters, Chez Panisse Vegetables
serves 4

1/2 red cabbage, cored and cut into thin ribbons
1 small onion, halved and cut into thin slices
1 crisp apple, peeled, cored, and cut into thin slices
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar
juice of 1/2 lemon
kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

In a large sautee pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring, until the onions turn translucent and start to brown, about 1 minute. Add the apple and cook for another minute. Add the cabbage and a bit of water, and cook until the cabbage starts to soften but is still crunchy, 3-5 minutes. Add the vinegar and lemon juice, and toss well. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve warm.

sauerkraut and eggs

Have you ever had sauerkraut and eggs? It is a revelation, I think.

I made sauerkraut this summer. I really did it. I grew a whole cabbage patch, chopped it up, and put it in a bucket with a whole lot of salt. Sometimes I start big.

It was okay. Too salty, but okay. But then it got a little mushy, and I composted a whole lot of sauerkraut. It will feed next years patch.

I can't wait to try again. But until then, someone else is making really good kraut nearby. I like the red kind the best. It is heaven with eggs. Absolute heaven.

cabbage and potato gratin with sage

Today was a snow day, theoretically. There was the threat of snow, which kept Joey and the girls home. I made great messes in the kitchen with not much to show for it, Joey made tiny valentines, and the girls held on to us both. It seemed that there was a rope linking them to us, and it never got longer than about six feet.


There is an old story that you might have heard, a section of Plato's Symposium that describes why two lovers always want to join together. According to the story, we were once double the people we are now. A punishment from the gods split us in two, and we are forever trying to rejoin our other half. It makes sense, don't you think?

The story has started to strike me differently lately Yes, there is a powerful drive to forget the boundaries of your body when you find another person who feels like they could be the lost half. Anyone who has been sixteen is familiar with that. But this is all based on a story, a philosophical creation myth of love, if you will. How about in that circumstance when two bodies really are connected, like in pregnancy? Although there are, of course, many differences between these two situations, I cannot but help to notice that my sometimes my children seem to be trying to, well, how do I put it? They are trying to get back in. On days like today, when they are just attached, to watch them, one would think that I have a magnet inside of me.


To be quite honest, this drives me absolutely batty. If there is one thing I miss about that long ago and far away before I was a parent, it is my physical space. I am a woman with a fairly large bubble around me. Being a human jungle gym doesn't suit me, and when the kids are under my feet in the kitchen because "I just want to be with you, Mama," I do not do the right thing and sit down on the floor and take them in my arms. I nursed and co-slept for many years, carrying my children around in slings and soft carriers. But when they hopped down and ran away, I stretched my arms and cheered.

Today I started thinking about that myth of the double person, trying to understand their physical need to touch me at all times through that lens. And I understand what they're trying to do, just a little. After all, I have been known to hold on to them too long when they are running off to school, to breathe in their hair when I am reading a book. I know what that feeling is too.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was feeling a little less annoyed. It was finally snowing, and Rosie was vacuuming the living room, pulling the vacuum around behind her. I wanted to scoop her up, but I let her go about her business, because who can interrupt a child from vacuuming the living room, really?


There were no tears at dinner, and we talked about Rosie's birthday coming up. I ate slowly, an absolutely rarity these days, and I had three helpings of cabbage and potato gratin with sage. This was my favorite cabbage week dish yet. I loved it. I think it was too sage-y for Joey, and Sadie couldn't eat it because of her egg allergy. Rosie wouldn't touch it because it contained a vegetable, so in the end, it was mine. If I have to share my body and my space all day, at least I get my gratin to myself.

Cabbage and Potato Gratin with Sage
from Deborah Madison, Local Flavors

1 pound potatoes, peeled and sliced to 1/4 inch thick
1 1/2 pounds green cabbage, cut into 1-inch ribbons
sea salt and freshly ground pepper
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons chopped fresh sage
1 garlic clove, chopped
1 1/2 cups milk
3 eggs
1/2 cup freshly grated parmesan
1/3 cup all-purpose flour

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Lightly butter an 8x12 gratin or baking dish. Bring a gallon of water to boil.
Add one tablespoon of salt to the water, and add the potatoes. Cook until nearly tender, about 6 minutes, and remove with a slotted spoon, keeping the water boiling on the stove. Put the potatoes into a colander and set aside. Put the cabbage into the water, and cook for 5 minutes. Don't worry if the water doesn't return to a boil. Transfer the potatoes to a large bowl, and drain the cabbage in the colander, rinsing under cool water. Wrap the cabbage in a kitchen towel to absorb excess water, giving it a few twists. Put the cabbage in the bowl with the potatoes.
Melt the butter in a small skillet with the garlic and sage. Cook for about 1 minute, not letting the garlic brown. Pour it over the cabbage and potatoes. Toss well, taste, and season with salt and pepper. Transfer to the prepared baking dish.
Whisk the milk, eggs, flour and parmesan together, reserving a bit of parmesan for the top. Pour the mixture over the potatoes and cabbage and top with the bit of parmesan. Bake until firm and lightly browned, about 50 minutes. Let cool for at least 10 minutes before serving.

stuffed cabbage a la chatelaine

Do you ever find yourself in the kitchen, confused and full of questions? What is this that I'm making? Why did I start so late? How will I possibly finish making it before I have to go pick up the kids? Do I even want to? Shouldn't there be some liquid in here? 2 hours in the oven? Maybe we should just eat hummus for dinner? Who wrote this recipe? Why didn't they give me a picture? Am I lame to want a picture? If I were fabulous and French would I understand it? Should this cabbage be cooked all the way through? Maybe I should have cut it before I blanched it? Will my children touch this? Will Joey grumble about cabbage week all through dinner? Will I have to skip a day of cabbage week and keep this one to myself?

And then, even though I have about ten minutes to pull this together, I have to stop and take a picture. It turns out this whole cabbage week might just be an excuse to take a lot of pictures of cabbage, perhaps, I'm beginning to think, the most photogenic vegetable there is. Tell me this, have you ever seen anything more lovely than a whole blanched cabbage? I swear, I would make a dress out of the leaves if people wouldn't complain about my perfume. Look at that color, would you?

Like life itself, that color. Just gorgeous.

I wanted to make something new for you today, something I've never tried. I wanted something fancy and interesting involving whole cabbage leaves and meat and cognac. Today is stuffed cabbage.

I'm finding that to say you are making stuffed cabbage is as specific as saying that you are making a pasta dish. Sometimes the actual whole cabbage is stuffed. Sometimes the leaves are rolled around the stuffing and you have cabbage rolls. Or every so often, as in this confusing dish, the leaves are layered with the stuffing. Sometimes the stuffing is meat. Sometimes there is rice. Sometimes there are vegetables. I had to narrow down the category.

For stuffed cabbage inspiration, I kept wanting to come back to my new and satisfyingly hip book, I Know How to Cook. I've talked about this book a few times since my friend Alice sent it to me for my birthday, and it continues to make me feel fancy just by holding it in my hands. It's a new version of an old book of generally simple and classic French cooking, and it's one of those books that is a mix of useful and timeless recipes along with weird old recipes that you would never want to try but love to look at.
I know there are these two categories, because I heard it on NPR, but because everything usually sounds like a good idea to me, I can't really seem to tell the difference. I'm just as likely to attempt the "gayettes" (if only I could find the requisite pig's liver, lungs, kidneys, and caul) as I am to make the timeless "coq au vin".

As I layered cognac soaked meat onto whole cabbage leaves, I started to think that I might have made a mistake. But in my thirty-one years I have yet to abandon a recipe, so I soldiered on.

In the end, I'm really not sure if I made this the way it was intended. People must have been more intelligent in 1932 when the book was first published. They must have just inherently known whether one would cut a cabbage before blanching or not. My confusion continued to lead me through the whole process, and in the end, it seemed outstandingly simple. Cabbage, meat, breadcrumbs. I was instructed to top it off with tomato sauce, and I whipped up a batch of this, which would be good on absolutely anything. I know it's cabbage week and all, but make this tomato sauce, even if it's only to pour over your cabbage.

All was well in the end. I thought it was quite tasty, and enjoyed my small square of stuffed cabbage from the corner of the baking dish. Joey however, ate the entire rest of the contents of the pan, save for the few bites that Sadie sampled. He was quiet, and sighed a lot, and he closed his eyes for the greater part of the dinner. This is amazing, he said. And with that, Joey embraced cabbage week.


Stuffed Cabbage a la Chatelaine
loosely adapted (or perhaps we should just say inspired) from Ginette Mathiot, I Know How to Cook

serves 4

1 green cabbage (about 3 lbs)
12 ounces ground pork sausage
1 tablespoon cognac
1/2 cup roughly chopped fresh parsley
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup fresh breadcrumbs (stale bread toasted and chopped finely by hand or in the food processor)
salt and pepper
1/4 cup water or stock

about 3-4 cups tomato sauce

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Remove any of the damaged outer leaves from the cabbage and trim the bottom stem, removing as much as possible while keeping the cabbage together. (If you know a better way to prepare cabbage for blanching the whole leaves, by all means do it, and teach me how too). Submerge the cabbage in boiling water. It will float, so hold it down with a serving spoon. Cook it for about 5 minutes, and then submerge in ice water. Separate the leaves of the cabbage from the stem and set aside.
In a medium bowl, combine the ground sausage, cognac, parsley, salt and pepper. In an ovenproof casserole dish, lay out a layer of cabbage leaves. Then a layer of stuffing. Repeat until you have run out of stuffing. End with a layer of stuffing, and then all of the breadcrumbs. Pour the 1/4 cup water or stock over the whole thing. Cover with tin foil and put in the oven. Bake for one hour, then remove the tin foil and bake one hour more. Serve topped with tomato sauce.

italian bread and cabbage soup

We're finally here. Are you ready?

I bet you are.

Cabbage week is starting off with a bang over here. My house smells...fabulous.
I am not getting rickets anytime soon.

My mother came over for lunch today. She's not a cabbage fan, but she knows it is cabbage week, so I was pretty sure she would understand. I made this cabbage and bread soup, layered with butter and topped with cheese. It was salty and lovely with a little bit of crunch to the cabbage. The cold wind hit the windows while we ate, and I felt warmer and warmer with every bite.


My mom wanted you to know that she had seconds.

I had seconds too.



This recipe belongs to the long list of wonderful things to make when you are lucky enough to have stale bread in your possession. Some people don't know what they've got when they have a good hard loaf of bread on their counter. You're not going to believe this but some people actually (are you sitting down here?) throw it away! I know! Think how much perfectly stale bread goes in the compost, or even more horribly, the garbage! Oy. Just think of all that panzanella, all that bread pudding. So many heavenly garlic croutons? Today that bread is going straight into the pot. And while the cold wind whips outside, you will be warm, warm, warm.


Italian Bread and Cabbage Soup
adapted from Moosewood New Classics

serves 2-3, but will double perfectly

3 cups cubed bread (any kind will do but a sourdough or a hearty rye will be especially nice)
3 tablespoons butter
3 cups thinly sliced cabbage (red or green or a mixture)
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt, or more to taste
3 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 cup grated havarti dill cheese (or fontina or gruyere if that is what you have)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Put a medium pot of salted water on to boil. While the oven is preheating, lay the cubed bread on a baking sheet and throw it in the oven for a few minutes so it can get a little harder. Take the bread out of the oven, and spread the cubes evenly in an ovenproof casserole dish. Melt two of the tablespoons of butter and drizzle it over the bread cubes.
When the water boils, blanch the cabbage until tender, about 3-5 minutes. Drain well, and spread the cabbage over the bread. Melt the remaining tablespoon of butter and stir in the nutmeg, pepper and salt. Pour the seasoned butter over the cabbage and bread. Pour the stock over everything and evenly spread the cheese on top.

Bake uncovered until the cheese starts to brown, 25 or 30 minutes, Serve immediately.

recipes

soups

potato leek soup with sorrel
turnip and turnip greens soup
cauliflower chick pea soup
chicken soup with dumplings
fish chowder
roasted butternut squash soup
fall minestrone
spicy summer squash soup with yogurt and mint
black bean pumpkin soup
roasted tomato soup
amaranth, quinoa, and corn chowder
chicken pho
black bean and roasted tomatillo soup with garlic yogurt
beef stew
fall vegetable stew
celeriac soup
butternut lentil dal
onion soup with garlic croutons
italian bread and cabbage soup
wild rice and leek soup
indian lentil soup with spinach
white bean soup with garlic, kale, and sausage
apple celeriac soup


salads

tomato and tomatillo panzanella
platter salad with garlic vinaigrette
summer slaw with poppy seed dressing
fried green tomatoes with leeks and goat cheese
frisee salad with bacon and egg
yogurt beets
potato salad
poached pear, caramelized onion and goat cheese salad
beet salad
warm lentil salad with corn and vinaigrette
quick pickled vegetables
leeks vinaigrette
turkish celeriac remoulade
warm cabbage and apple slaw
radish salad
russian potato salad
lawn salad
pre-frost panzanella
kale salad
carrot salad 
corn and nectarine salad with basil
pear, kale, and sorrel salad




appetizers

leek and sorrel custards
broccoli raab crostini
potstickers
caramelized onion, goat cheese and spinach strudel
roasted garlic, onion and potato galette
ricotta leek tart with fresh herbs
bagna cauda with a winter salad
bread with butter, radishes, and salt
jerusalem artichokes with ketchup


main dishes

tagliatelle with fresh tomatoes and balsamic vinegar
midsummer pasta
asparagus sausage bread pudding
chicken mole
quick spring pasta
caramelized onion, goat cheese and spinach strudel
ricotta gnocchi
bouchons au thon (tuna muffins)
green fritatta
mac and cheese
lasagne of emilia romagna
braised lamb shanks
millet pie
leg of lamb with garlic sauce
roasted garlic, onion and potato galette
stuffed winter squash
swiss chard pie
ricotta leek tart with fresh herbs
chicken soup with dumplings
saffron and pea shoot risotto
leek and sorrel custards
tomato and tomatillo pazanella
fried green tomatoes with leeks and goat cheese
warm lentil salad with corn and vinaigrette
chile rellenos with brebis blanche and tomatillo salsa
dosas with chick pea filling and coconut curry sauce
vols-au-vent with chicken and oyster mushrooms in sherry cream tarragon sauce
stuffed winter squash with warm beet salad
chicken pho
beef stew
green soup
fall vegetable stew
italian meatballs
balsamic glazed pork chops
peppery pasta carbonara with poached egg
butternut squash lasagne with fried sage leaves
braised pork roast
broccoli pasta with burrata, pine nuts, and anchovy vinaigrette
nori-wrapped salmon
italian bread and vegetable soup
stuffed cabbage a la chatelaine
orange soy braised pork ribs
baked salmon with herb butter
spinach ricotta pie
ricotta leek tart with fresh weeds
masa harina beef casserole
lemon balsamic chicken
pasta with greens and prosciutto
fish tacos
fall vegetable chicken pot pie 
tomato pie
green chile stew
pasta with lemon, sardines, and capers
pierogi
salmon fish cakes
perfect baked salmon
carnitas
vegetable tart

on the side

swiss chard with parmesan
saffron and pea shoot risotto
creamed broccoli with parmesan
golden brussels sprouts
potatoes with horseradish and cream
seedy wheaty biscuits
yogurt beets
beet salad
quick pickled vegetables
roasted vegetables
roasted cauliflower
delicata chips
red wine and maple glazed carrots
whipped mashed potatoes with celery root
buttered cabbage
greek island potatoes
roasted buttercup squash with chili oil
maple cornbread
turkish celeriac remoulade
broccoli with burrata, pine nuts, and anchovy vinaigrette
stir-fried green cabbage with fennel seeds
cabbage and potato gratin with sage
warm cabbage and apple slaw
yogurt and herb bread
herb dumplings
your own frozen spinach
kohlrabi fries
roasted baby vegetables
street corn on the kabob
fried chickpeas with sage
brussels sprouts gratin
sauteed spinach with garlic
white beans with sage
vegetable tart
grilled beets
corn and nectarine salad with basil
jerusalem artichokes with ketchup

sweets

bittersweet citrus tart with jasmine cream
dobos torte
plum coffee cake
milano cookies
tangy frozen greek yogurt
fruit tart
strawberry ice cream
bakewell tart
banana bread
blueberry popovers
rhubarb custard tart
chocolate cake to eat all day
limoncello cheesecake cupcakes
raw milk panna cotta
very tangy lemon bars
black bottom cupcakes
winter strawberry shortcake
anise ice cream
chocolate valentino
orange poppyseed muffins
sour cream ice cream
salt and pepper tuiles
caramel cake
blueberry ricotta coffee cake
lavender fleur de sel caramels
chocolate blocks with giner and cranberries
buche de noel
lemon verbena sugar
apple bread
beignets
blueberries and cream muffins
nectarine buttermilk cake with lemon verbena sugar
pear pie
vols-au-vent with nectarines and lemon verbena whipped cream
caramel applesauce
apple crisp
quince poached in cardamom vanilla syrup
macaroons
buttermilk spice cake
lemon rice pudding
pear gingerbread upside down cake
damp gingerbread with pears
pumpkin Mexican hot chocolate
indian pudding
chocolate ricotta mousse
sweet cormeal biscuits
currant scones
vanilla pudding
ricotta cake
butterscotch budino with caramel sauce
nibby buckwheat cookies
graham crackers
jello
michele's maple popcorn
mocha custard
oreos
egg-free-not-so-sweet birthday cake
car snack 1
apple rhubarb pandowdy
car snack 2
pie crust in the Kitchen Aid
rice cooker tapioca
rhubarb cake
rhubarb blueberry compote
strawberries with balsamic vinegar and mint
gooseberry fool
creme fraiche peach cinnamon ice cream
malabi
blackberry nectarine crumble tart
cucumber mint sorbet with lime shortbread
mint jello with basil cream
stone fruit slump
apple pie
umm ali
quince rosemary polenta bread
skibo castle ginger crunch
saffron and cardamom panna cotta
olive oil and sherry pound cake
chocolate birthday cake
chocolate meringue pie
black bottom cupcakes, revised
rhubarb pop-tarts
rhubarb clafoutis
deep dish strawberry rhubarb pie
mint ice cream
blueberry peach cobbler with cornmeal biscuit
stone fruit tea cake
car snack 4 (the banana oat bar)

breakfast

plum coffee cake
blueberry ricotta coffee cake
orange poppyseed muffins
green frittata
apple puffy pancake
apple bread
granola
the new granola
raw milk yogurt
english muffin bread with whey
blueberry popovers
beignets
banana bread
slow cooker porridge
chocolate cake to eat all day
seedy wheaty biscuits
blueberries and cream muffins
three-cheese baked eggs with roasted peppers
pear chocolate muffins
quince poached in cardamom vanilla syrup
apple crisp
butter toasted oatmeal with sticky apple topping
breakfast tata
creamy wheat berries with honey
currant scones
maple cornbread
egg-free pancakes
ham and cheese strata
turkish breakfast
apple honey oat snack
"pop tarts"
buttermilk popovers
pannekaker
bacon hash with breakfast salad
ginger peach muffins
shirred eggs with fresh herbs
buttermilk corn cakes
maple oatmeal steamed pudding
quince rosemary polenta bread
buttery polenta with parmesan and olive-oil friend eggs
scones
sweet irish oatmeal
custard filled cornbread
dandelion greens with dill and a crispy egg
scrambled eggs with morels and violets
rhubarb pop-tarts



sauces, dressings, spreads and flavorings

ume scallion dressing
garlic vinaigrette
tomato sauce
pickles
sauerkraut
quince chutney
cranberry sauce
bagna cauda
carrot dill spread
vanilla extract
radish dip
roasted green salsa
roasted tomatoes for the freezer
hot sauce
daily pate 
radish butter
gooseberry elderflower jam
peach cinnamon butter

breads and crackers
molly's crackers
pizza dough in your food processor
maple cornbread
beignets
banana bread
english muffin bread with whey
apple bread
yogurt and herb bread
brioche hamburger buns
seedy wheaty biscuits
laurie colwin's flatbread
custard filled cornbread 
challah
millet muffins

snacks

michele's maple popcorn
graham crackers
car snack 1
car snack 2
granola
the new granola
delicata chips
rhubarb pop-tarts
car snack 4 (the banana oat bar) 




cheeses and other homemade dairy
homemade ricotta
homemade ricotta- small curd
herb butter
30-minute mozzarella
butter
butter lambs
raw milk yogurt

pickles and preservation

cucumber pickles
saurkraut
quick pickled vegetables
pickled snow peas
pickled garlic
pickled beets
pickled daikon with lemon 
frozen corn
roasted tomatoes for the freezer
gooseberry elderflower jam
sauerkraut
quince chutney
peach cinnamon butter
apple mint syrup




drinks

garlic lemonade
chai
pumpkin Mexican hot chocolate
rhubarb ginger soda
elderflower vodka
melon cucumber aqua fresca
pimm's cup 
watermelon licuado
agua de jamaica
apple mint syrup