maple oatmeal steamed pudding

I know it's October and everything, but New England's got me, and I'm starting to think I might be set in my ways. There was controlled rebellion for so long, trial separations in the Southwest and California and even Europe. In the past, New England just was never other enough for me, essentially for that reason- it was not other at all. But I think I just might be older.
I'm starting to call myself a New Englander, even when it's unnecessary. All of these red and orange trees reaching into the crispest blue October sky, and three people this week have said to me, "If we go over to the tea party-ers, let's go to Canada."

Hell no. I love Canada, but I'll fight for Massachusetts. There's spirit in the ground of this place, I swear it. If things go poorly this week, I'm sticking around anyway.

I'm not saying it's easy. If there's one thing I'm learning as a local politician, it's that when it comes to money and property, the word "victim" gets thrown about a little too loosely, and the compassion and empathy are the first to go. I wrote a play about a small town selectboard meeting when I was in sixth grade, and it won a contest and actors put it on. The characters shook their fists at each other with silly threats. I thought it was probably an exaggeration--but it wasn't. Turns out I was dead on.

Sometimes all I can do is say, "eesh. I hope you're happier in other moments." I go home and I recommit to optimism. I read Amos and Boris to my children. I insist on believing in altruism.

New England will live on. We'll help each other through the winter--we'll share our last meal with our neighbor. We can make anything grow in the rockiest of soil. We can.

There is a New England thing called a steamed pudding. There are all sorts of them, but I must admit I'm often scared off by the descriptions of molds that need to be made involving coffee cans and wires. A steamed pudding is made in a mold which must be slightly submerged in a vessel of water where it mustn't touch the bottom. Easy, I think, when you have some special pot hanging over the hearth, but I just couldn't figure out how to do it.

But then I took another look at my canning pot. And I realized that it was more than just a canning pot. It was a steamed pudding pot. Reason number 47 to love your canning pot.


Sadie woke me up last weekend by gently hitting me over the head with Marion Cunningham's Breakfast Book, which incidentally is one of those books that makes me happy just to hold it in my hands.
"What are we making for breakfast?"
I grumbled something about how she should figure it out and I would join her as soon as I finished my dream.
And that is how we came to make maple oatmeal steamed pudding.

If you like oatmeal but don't like how sticky and glutinous it is, this is a revelation. It is steamed oats, really, so every oat holds its shape, and the maple syrup blends into the fiber of every single oat. It's a little custardy, and really quite wonderful and simple.

I can take these late night meetings filled with fist shaking. I can take them, as long as there's an optimistic breakfast the next day.

Maple Oatmeal Steamed Pudding
from Marion Cunningham, The Breakfast Book

4 cups rolled oats
3 cups milk
1/2 cup maple syrup
1 teaspoon salt

Butter a 1 1/2 quart souffle dish or mold or even a small cast iron dutch oven. Set the wire rack in your canning pot, and fill with enough water so that it will come up about halfway up the sides of the interior dish. Bring to a boil.
Meanwhile, combine the oats, milk, maple syrup and salt in the dish and stir well. Cover with a lid or a piece of foil. Put the dish on the wire rack in the canning pot, and lower the heat to a simmer. Cover the canning pot and cook for 1 hour.

on the chest freezer

No fall musings here--I'm all business today. It's seventy degrees out, and I've got that uncomfortable sweaty feeling when it's supposed to be colder. It might be warm today, but it will be winter very very soon. It's mad stash week for Fall Fest and so we're going to get right to the point.

Still thinking about that chest freezer? You know, that one that you eye at Sears every September when you just packed your freezer with so much tomato sauce that it's all going to fall on you the next time you need an ice cube?

Perhaps you have never thought about that chest freezer. Perhaps you're living space is filled with couches and beds and other nonessential furniture. "I have no space!" you say. "How can I get a chest freezer!" You have space, I tell you. Your children don't need a bedroom--they will gladly sleep on the couch in exchange for the fifty pounds of frozen strawberries they get to eat all winter. Do you put your cars in the garage? Let them rust. Make way for the freezer.

Okay, so the chest freezer isn't for everyone. But if you've been contemplating the purchase of one, I thought I'd get a little conversation going over here, a little dialogue on the freezer, if you will. House tours around here always end up in basement in front of our great white, and so I'll take this moment to answer some commonly asked questions.

What kind of freezer do you have?
I'm pretty sure that this is the one.

Wow! That's really big!
Yes, we share it with our friends Jen and Pete. They're farmers, and they fill their side up with frozen corn and spinach, and we fill up our side with lots and lots of meat. They're vegetarians, but it works out okay.

What about the energy use?
It uses about 500 kwh per year, which costs us about 50 bucks.

And why chest instead of upright?
To each her own. Chest freezers are more efficient, whereas upright freezers are easier to organize.

Speaking of organization, how does that work?
Joey made a beautiful diagram with all the different compartments of the freezer so that we could keep track of what was in there. Jen uses it--I never do. My side is a mess, but I still seem to be able to find what I'm looking for.

Why would I want a chest freezer?
Well, if you're a meat eater, start here. And vegetarian? How about here? Or here?

So, yes, defrosting takes a bit of foresight. But a bit of menu planning is good for us all, right? And should the world collapse around you, can feel sure that there will always be food in the house for dinner.

Yes! It's fall fest, so let's get talking! Anyone want to weigh in on the freezer question? How are you preserving all these fabulous foods for the long, cold, winter ahead?

Here's the line up....I'll add as the breaking mad stash news comes in!

Alison at Food2: Break Out the Stash

Kirsten at Food Network: Roasting Pumpkin Seeds


Liz at Healthy Eats: Mad Squash Stash


Michelle at Cooking Channel: Save Em' While You Can

tomato pie

This is the last time I'm writing about tomatoes this year.
I'm serious. It's snowing, and it's time to move on--I get it.

This week I'm thinking about books.
Remember books?

I think in all this wild and crazy change, it's good to remember books.
Sure, I've been plugging away at my own, and as I get deeper into the thick of it, I can't help but imaging the physical feeling of what that book will entail. I like the feel of a book in my hands.

I had a dream last night. It was the first one I remembered in a while. It was a pregnancy dream, which I must admit I've had a few of since I started writing this baby, I mean book. It was my due date, and I looked at myself in the mirror and I thought, "well, I don't really look pregnant! That just looks like I ate too much for dinner!" (And anyone who has been around me when I'm nine months pregnant knows that that there is no mistaking my pregnancies--I am a watermelon with legs) So I looked a little closer, and I lifted up my shirt, and at that moment, the light came into the room in a certain way that I could see through the skin of my belly, that I could see a clear and beautiful face of a baby right there. It was actually pretty awesome. And I felt calm, and I said to myself, "Okay, let's do this then."

This week I was fortunate enough to get to have my editor from Clarkson Potter in my very own kitchen. I hardly got to feed her at all because we were so busy taking pictures, but I snuck in a homemade graham cracker here and a little bowl of soup there, and she indulged my Jewish mother instincts by eating everything I put in front of her in between shots. There I am, in the kitchen with my editor and my photographer, and I cannot stop marveling at this team of people who are working on this book--I have no idea how I became so fortunate to be part of a team like this one. These two women who just love food and love books and do what they do so well... and there are more too--the people putting their love and work into this book just blow me away. I could just sit in a room with these fabulous people forever--just loving food and books. But of course, I need to sneak away and write the thing so that we've got something to work on.

I dropped my editor off at the train, and on the way home, driving through the changing-every-five-minute outrageous October weather, I wrote a love song in my head to the book itself--I mean every book that's been bound and hangs out for someone to find it. I was thinking about older food books that are still around that I love, that I am so thankful to be able to hold in my hands. Julia Child and MFK Fisher and Calvin Trillin. Elizabeth David. My friend Andrew just insisted that I pick up Patience Gray, and I am so thankful. I love to think about the teams behind these books--editors and illustrators and testers and everyone who put their mark on those pages. All of these books have been handed to me at one point or another--usually stained, old paperback versions. I know we'll all be on kindles and ipads someday, but I don't know if I can live in a world without old beat-up books.

So I'm driving back from the train station, and it's a funny drive that takes you through three states in 45 minutes--first New York, then Connecticut, then Massachusetts. And I'm driving through Salisbury, CT, and I pass by a little place I've never been called Chaiwalla. I have meant to go 100 times for many reasons, but of course the main reason is that Laurie Colwin writes about Chaiwalla in More Home Cooking, and of the famed tomato pie from that little tea shop. I am always hurrying here or there from the train, or I have stopped at the other lovely tea shop, and I still have not gone. As I came into Salisbury, and the wind was blowing and there was the slightest bit of hail I thought that this would be the day, I would taste the tomato pie, because of course it would be there and it would be wonderful. I don't get so excited about celebrities, but I have a serious dorkiness about places where writers wrote or wrote about--I've been to Melville's house and Edith Wharton's house and many others where Joey and I were the youngest people on the tour by forty years.
Alas, I tore my eyes from the blustering leaf swept road, and a glance a the clock revealed that today wouldn't be the day. There were children to gather from school, dance classes to make it to on time, and of course a list on from there. I drove on, and I think that really I was a little happy to still have it to look forward to, someday.

And of course when I got home, I had the book in my hands, and I could still have tomato pie.


This is the last of the tomatoes, really. I picked them a few weeks ago from the farm on the day that the frost was threatening to kill them all. I walked through the plants, looking for any fruit with a hint of red, and Elizabeth cheered me on. Take them! Fill buckets! We're done!
It was a good tomato year.

And so these tomatoes have been ripening in the closet, and I nearly forgot about them. Laurie Colwin uses canned tomatoes for this recipe, and I nearly opened a can of my precious tomatoes before the thought of these red and lonely fruits in the closet struck me. Blanched to remove the skins, sliced thin...it was a good end to a good season.

How do I describe this pie? I ate two slices for lunch, and I'll have more for dinner. The crust is like a biscuit, and so, slicing through a piece with your fork, a bite is really the best of bread and cheese and tomato--it is grilled cheese and tomato soup without all the extra dishes. It's a keeper, and with canned tomatoes? All winter long, baby.

Bring it on, snow. I've got pie, and tea, and a stack of books to get me through.


Tomato Pie
adapted from Laurie Colwin, More Home Cooking

2 cups all purpose flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 stick of butter, cut into 1-inch cubes
pinch of salt
3/4 cup buttermilk (milk will work too, if that's all you've got)
2 28-ounce cans whole tomatoes, drained, or 2 1/2 pounds fresh tomatoes, blanched and dunked in ice water to remove skins
1/3 cup mayonnaise (homemade or storebought)
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 1/2 cups (about 6 ounces) grated cheddar cheese
fresh herbs, whatever is available, but chives, basil, and parsley are especially good here

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Combine the flour, baking powder and salt in the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add the butter and pulse a few more times. Add the buttermilk slowly, pulsing until the dough comes together. It will be fairly wet. This dough also comes together well by hand if you prefer. Rub a 9-inch pie dish with a bit of butter and sprinkle it with flour. Roll out half the dough on a floured surface, adding additional flour to prevent your rolling pin from sticking. Lay it into the prepared pan. Slice the tomatoes thinly and layer them in the crust. Scatter with chopped fresh herbs, then 1 cup of the cheese. Combine the mayonnaise with the lemon juice, and pour over the cheese. Top with the rest of the cheese, roll out the remaining crust, and lay over the cheese. Pinch shut and cut steam vents. Bake for 25 minutes, or until crust starts to brown. Let cool a bit before cutting, or, as Laurie Colwin recommends--cook in the morning, refrigerate, and then reheat for dinner.

pear and cheese

I'm not cooking today.
I've been thinking about damp gingerbread with pears all week, thinking that that would be the dish I brought to fall fest. I made it last year just about this time, but some things just bear talking about twice, don't you think?

All week, I keep coming across the most beautiful pears. At the store and the farmer's market. On the counter and windowsill of every house. Curved like the shape of a woman who enjoys life. In fact, I don't think I saw one ugly pear.


The other day, I got to can with the ladies. It was an applesauce day, and we couldn't keep it simple no matter how much we tried. Saffron applesauce, mint applesauce, plum applesauce, grape applesauce. My shelf is a testament to the ever possible adaptability of applesauce. Golden, fuschia, purple. And there were pears, a dainty 1/2 bushel. We turned them all into juice, melded in the steam juicer with ginger. Ginger pear juice.

All but one. The last pear we sliced thin. Naomi had brought the most exquisite tiny and precious wedge of aged gouda, the kind with a bit of crunch to it. We sat in the midst of our many hued applesauces, and we ate that snack like queens.

Every time I eat a pear with cheese, I think,
"How did I forget that this is the most wonderful thing?"

Although I didn't get my oven going, my fall fest compatriots managed to give me some fabulous ideas as to what to do when I get around to it. Oh, lovely pear, you are a lucky one this week.


Caroline at the Wright Recipes: Three Favorite Pear Recipes

Caron at San Diego Foodstuff: Pear, Pecan, Parmesan Scones

Paige at The Sister Project: A Gingery Pear Crisp

Nicole at Pinch My Salt: Sour Cream Pear Cake/

Todd and Diane at White on Rice Couple: Making Pear Galette

Gilded Fork: Harvest Risotto with Caramelized Pears

Margaret at A Way to Garden: Of Pears and Cookbooks, a Delicious Giveaway

Roberto at Food2: 5 Ways to Warm Up to Pears

Michelle at Cooking Channel: What to Pair With Pears

Kirsten at Food Network: Baking Up Pear Desserts

Liz at Healthy Eats: Vanilla Poached Pears, With Variations

And you? How are you paying tribute to the pear this week?

buttermilk corn cakes

Last Sunday, I woke up early. Joey had been up half the night making art.

I think it's time to get him a desk. I didn't know where we would eat breakfast. But the light was coming in just so on all the paints and papers, and so I ignored his mess and made my own. I knew that we had the whole day to clean up, and in our pajamas.

I'm always game for a new pancake recipe. You?

This one is a keeper...puffed up clouds with the slightest crunch of cornmeal. I chopped up apples and cooked them in apple cider. And with maple yogurt? Who needs a table? These are so good--eat them on the floor.

Just in time for the weekend... Hope it's a slow one, friends.


Buttermilk Corn Cakes
from Millie Katzen, Sunset Cafe

serves 3-4, but easily doubled (and batter keeps great in the fridge for a few days)

1/2 cup cornmeal
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon sugar
1 cup buttermilk
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon unsalted butter, melted
butter for the pan

Combine the dry ingredients in a mixing bowl. Combine the buttermilk and the eggs in a liquid measure and beat together. Beat in vanilla. Pour wet into dry and combine with a few swift strokes. A few lumps are fine. Heat your griddle or skillet over medium heat. Melt the butter. With a 1/4 cup measure, pour circles of batter into the pan. Let cook for 2-3 minutes, then flip and cook for 1-2 minutes, or until golden on each side.

fall vegetable chicken pot pie

This might be my favorite dinner to bring to people who need it.
Birthed a child lately? Dealing with illness? The world just conspiring in a way that could be fixed by a warm dinner whisked into your kitchen?

I'm bringing you chicken pot pie.

I have a lovely friend who's husband is dealing with a serious illness. She's parenting her girls and keeping it all together. Everyone wants to help, and so a friend created a dinner schedule to feed them into next year.
Food trees saved us after both the girls were born. Whenever someone asks me what to get for a friend about to have a baby, I say get on the phone and make a dinner schedule. Four weeks of dinners every other night might be thing that saves a family from post baby overwhelm. These are amazing for new parents, but sometimes even more helpful for families who are dealing with illness or stressful transitions. Sometimes just taking the question of what's for dinner out of the equation makes all the difference.
Yesterday, it was my time to cook. I structured the day around this chicken pot pie. The girls were home for the holiday and I was determined to get that dinner out the door by 5:30.
Then we went canoeing.
We have, recently, come into temporary inheritance of a perfect family canoe. It was one of those days yesterday--blue sky, orange leaves, sweater. Joey looked at me with big eyes, like a man who was raised in the high desert of Colorado. "Family canoe ride!" That was all it took.
Cider in the thermos, crackers and cheese. We paddled our way around that lake, directed all the while by the girls in the middle, grabbing lily pads and pointing us toward the tiny and uninhibited islands in the center of the lake. When we finally got home it was almost 4, and near tears, I handed Joey a knife and a nubby globe of celeriac.

I ran out the door at 6:15, ashamed of my inability to do anything on time. I swore to myself that I would get more organized, that I would stop rushing yet still do everything peacefully and exactly when I should. I swore that I would be more perfect.

It takes about 15 minutes to get to Tonya's house. The light was just petering out, and the gold and red of the trees gave the image of the loveliest flame lining the road. The chill had come in, and as I got into the car I could smell someone's wood stove. I turned on the tail end of All things Considered on NPR, and I drove at a rational speed. I hoped that the bubbling chicken pot pie wouldn't melt my rubber floor mat, and the scent of that pie filled every inch of the car.

It was an amazing drive.

When I got there, Tonya and her girls were already dancing around in their pjs. This woman is amazing--I had called to say I would be late, and still profusely apologizing as I walked in, I got laughs and hugs and nearly dropped the pan on the floor. Tonya shoved some of yesterday's leftovers in my arms--her refrigerator is overflowing with friends' generosity, and I was back off into the coming blue night, heading towards my own little plate of pot pie.

Someday, I will be better. I'll get dinner out on time, and that will be good for us all. I'll be a calm center of speed without a moment of rush or panic--I'll think back on this time when I was always late, always attempting too much in too little time.

Someday.

Until then, I'm still bringing you chicken pot pie. Just have a snack first...I'll be there soon.


Fall Vegetable Chicken Pot Pie
(with thanks to Joey for vegetable cutting and for peaceful and loving response to panicked requests of "will you photograph this? And well? It will be dark when I get back!")

1 whole chicken, 4-5 pounds
2 bay leaves
1 onion, diced
3 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
1 leek, trimmed and cut into 1-inch slices
1 small celeriac root, peeled and cut into chunks (cut into discs first, then cut off peel)
2 cups cubed winter squash (anything will do!)
1 pound potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
1/4 cup chopped parsley
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
salt and pepper to taste

For the biscuits:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 stick butter, cubed
1 egg
2/3 cup buttermilk

Put the chicken and the bay leaves in a stock pot. Just cover with water, cover, and bring to a boil. Skim off any foam on the surface. Reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Then, add the all of the vegetables except for the winter squash. Cook for 20 minutes more, then add the squash. Cook the mixture until the chicken is cooked through and beginning to fall apart a bit. Remove the chicken and let it cool on a plate.
Uncover the broth a vegetables and cook for 30 minutes, or until reduced by about a quarter. Meanwhile, when the chicken is cool enough to touch, pick off all of the meat and shred into bite-sized pieces. Set aside for a moment.
Melt the butter in a large saucepan. Skim off 1/4 cup of chicken fat from the top of your broth and whisk into the butter. Add the flour and continue to whisk until it starts to go slightly golden. Dip a measuring cup into your broth and scoop 3 1/2 cups of broth into the pot. Keep whisking until the sauce begins to thicken and it is not lumpy. Add the chicken and stir in the sauce to coat. Strain the vegetables out of the broth with a slotted spoon and add those as well. Stir in the parsley and thyme and a bit of salt and pepper. Taste and adjust seasonings to your preference. Turn off the heat.
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Combine the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a mixing bowl. Rub the butter into the flour mixture with a pastry blender or your fingers. Beat the buttermilk and egg together in a liquid measure or small bowl. Stir wet into dry with a few strokes. The mixture will be wet and sticky.
Pour the chicken vegetable mixture into a 9x13 casserole dish. Scoop the biscuit mixture onto the chicken in eight rounds (imagine biscuit on each piece). Bake for 18-20 minutes, or until the biscuits are golden.

Serves 8

And yes! It's fall fest day! This week we're cooking up pumpkin and winter squash, and it looks like it will be a warm and toasty table. Squashes lining up on your counter? Here are a few things to do with 'em...

• Gilded Fork: Butternut Squash Bisque with Nutmeg Crème Fraîche



• Caroline at the Wright Recipes: Roasted Pumpkin and Winter Squash with Labneh and Skhug



• Alison at Food2: Pumpkin Donuts



• Toby at Healthy Eats: Pumpkin 5 Ways (Including Seed-Studded Pumpkin Bread)



• Kirsten at Food Network: Best Pumpkin Recipes



• Michelle at Cooking Channel: Pumpkin and Squash Recipes



• Food Network UK: Praise the Gourd



• Cate at Sweetnicks: Baked Acorn Squash with Brown Sugar and Butter



• Caron at San Diego Foodstuff: Clay Pot Winter Squash



• Paige at The Sister Project: Pumpkin, Roasted, Stuffed and All Grown Up
  

umm ali

So, today, Cea's the winner.

You didn't think I'd forget about all your lovely cravings, did you?

When I asked what she yearned for, what flavors answered the longing of all her being, this was her answer:

"Ohh this is easy...I always crave the food of my childhood, good old Lebanese food. Luckily there are lots of places that now make the classics like hummus, tabouleh and shwarmas (although the hummus is never creamy enough, the tabouleh never has enough parsley and the shawarmas are never as delish as they are in saudi, carved by a sweaty man at a road side stand for about $1 each)....anyway so some of my cravings are met however there is a dessert called Umm Ali (or something like that)that I would die for. It is kind of a bread pudding that is made with puff pastry (sometimes day old croissants) and pistachios and goodness. There was a beautiful hotel called the Meridian that we used to go to for brunch all the time and they had vats of the stuff..warm and bubbly with crunchy sides and mushy, runny, buttery, coconuty wonder in the middle....ahhhh.. "

Fantastic, isn't it? Can't you just taste the stuff?

Now, I've had the great fortune to know Cea for years and years, and I want nothing more to make her her own little bowl of umm ali. But she's down there in the concrete and alligator jungles of Florida, and so...Cea? Here's the recipe--you're gonna have to make it yourself.

I had no idea what umm ali was, but man oh man am I glad that we have become acquainted. It is, in essence, an Egyptian bread pudding, and I think that you might want to make this even if you're not Cea. It's ridiculously easy, even more ridiculously fantastic, and probably the best thing you could ever bring to a potluck. All you need is sheet of frozen puff pastry, a can of sweetened condensed milk, and a few handfuls of nuts and coconut.

Day old croissants would do just fine too, in case you have any of those lying around. Or if you're really going for it, you can make the puff pastry at home. Either way, you've got a treat ahead.
I worked off this recipe, and then topped it with a little orange flour whipped cream. That seemed like a pretty good idea (and it was!) but rosewater would work, or just plain old whipped cream, or ice cream. All in all, it was a few minutes of work, a few more in the oven, and then a whole pan of joy.

Thank you Cea. Turns out I was craving that one too.


Umm Ali
adapted from here

1 pound frozen puff pastry, thawed at room temperature for an hour
1 15 ounce can sweetened condensed milk
3 cups water
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup pistachios, shelled and chopped
1/4 cup pine nuts
3/4 cup slivered almonds
3/4 cup unsweeted shredded coconut

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Unroll puff pastry and bake on a buttered cookie sheet for 15 minutes, or until golden and puffed up. Remove puff pastry and leave the oven on.
Meanwhile, heat condensed milk, water, and vanilla over medium heat. Cook for about three minutes, or until hot and steaming.
Break up the puff pastry into bite-sized pieces. Layer in a 9x13 casserole dish with the nuts and coconut. Pour the hot milk mixture over the puff pastry and nuts. Bake uncovered for 15 minutes.

To make orange flower whipped cream, beat together 1/2 cup heavy cream, 1/2 teaspoon sugar, and 1 tablespoon orange flour water. Beat until the cream holds soft peaks.

pickled beets

Oy. I'm sitting in a mess of mediocre and semi-failed recipes, and there is flour everywhere. If anyone wants a not-quite twinkie, they should stop by before I eat any more of them. Please, I'm serious. Help.

Sometimes this stuff just works--other times that perfect outcome dances around me, absolutely out of reach. Did I mention that there is flour everywhere? ...and somehow a fair amount of butter in my hair.

Joey and the girls will be back from school in a few minutes, so I'm just here for a minute. I've got to get this place cleaned up so that the ladies don't lick the frosting off the counters (yes, they will). But I wanted to say hello before the weekend, and to talk about something entirely different than twinkies.

Like beets.

I was talking to a friend last week--a friend who cooks at a famous restaurant where they see a lot of beets. He said that no matter what he did, they always tasted like dirt. I kind of like the taste of dirt myself, but I suggested a little yogurt and garlic, and he said he'd give it a try. But the more I though about it afterward, the more I realized that this would be my answer.

You see, beets, like cucumbers, are one of those vegetables that I think calls out to be pickled. I'm sure the call comes in Russian, and it's forceful and persuasive. I thought about making a batch of pickled beets for a month before I actually rolled up my sleeves and got to it. I let those beets sit and yell in the fridge. I could hear them, and I answered, "Give me a minute! Can't you see I'm busy!" I was speaking in Russian too, or at least in a Russian accent.

But when I finally gave in, I knew I was doing something so so right. And this week when I opened the first jar...wham!

These perfect beets are not for the faint of heart. They will kick you in the butt and accessorize your salad like nothing else can. These beets are for you. And the failed-ish twinkies? Well you can have those for dessert.


Pickled Beets
(with help from the Ball Complete Book of Home Preservation)

3 1/2 pounds beets, scrubbed, greens removed (and eaten for dinner!) with 2 inches of stem left intact
4 cups distilled white vinegar
2 cups water
3/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons caraway seeds
2 teaspoons whole black peppercorns

Put the beets in a large pot. Cover with water, cover, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to medium low and cook until tender, about 30 minutes. Drain beets and run them under water. The skins should rub off pretty easily.
Get your canning pot heating right about now if you haven't started it yet. Make sure that you have jars ready-this will fill 4 pints and 1 half-pint, or 9 half-pints.
Combine the vinegar, water, and sugar in a large pot. Bring to a boil, stirring gently to dissolve the sugar. Keep it at a low boil until you are ready to use it.
Trim the beets of roots and stems, and cut them into bite-sized pieces. Fill the jars with the beets and add a pinch of caraway seeds and peppercorns to each jar. Pour the hot brine over the beets, allowing 1/2 inch of headspace. Wipe the rim of the jar, top with lid and band, and process in a water bath for 30 minutes.

kale salad

I'm feeling rejuvenated.
I spent the weekend at a wedding, my fifth of the season. One would think that I would be done with weddings and I would start to agree, but actually this one was my friend Luke who finally got it together to marry a woman who is perfect for him, and I've exhaled a sigh of relief. He's younger than I am, and fairly brotherly, and I think I've been worried--I didn't realize it till now--but I think I've been worried for all these years that he wouldn't get it together. He did well-- he really exceeded my expectations and now he has a wife who is smarter than he is and almost as tall. I'm happy.
Joey left on Friday night and I got a day at the Harvest festival with the girls. It was clear blue after days of flooding rain and there we were three in a row holding hands, weaving through the people and the fried food and the vendors selling handmade American Doll clothes. We sucked on honey sticks, and we drank cider in the miniature garden. It's just for kids, that garden, but I snuck in anyway.


We rode ponies and avoided the cherry picker. There was hay in our hair, and in our ears.

And then I dropped the ladies off with Molly and Aurel, and I drove to Boston in my little car to meet Joey. We were away for two days, and we sped in just in time to pick them up from school yesterday.

I was so happy to see Luke married. Everyone cried, but I just couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I skipped through parking lots this weekend. We packed tightly into cars and stayed up late and all through it, I thought about marriage.

I don't know if there's someone for everyone, or if we are all meant to be paired together, but I do think that it is helpful to have that one person there every single day to hold you accountable for your actions. I think that when we commit to that kind of long and daily partnership, we're putting so much trust in the other, and there is a statement there--that I will look you in the eye every day, and I will listen when you tell me that I am not living up to my own goodness. This is never in the marriage vows, but it's there, and it's one of the ways that partnership just might have the capacity to make us better- even just a little bit.

Of course this agreement goes beyond marriage--really it is all those people who we love who are keeping us in line. And somehow as I watched Luke and Caroline ask that of each other this weekend, I looked around at all of the people who had come to be with them, and there was an almost perceptible web of people helping each other be better--I could see it. I came home tired and optimistic, going easy on myself, and not wanting to waste a bit of it.

Our friend Stephen is here with us for a few days--we were lucky enough to take him home after the wedding--and so the weekend continues. It's raining again, and I am happy to be with the girls, and this week feels different from last week. Stephen was the officiant at our wedding almost eight years ago, and he raised his hands to the room on that snowy night with so much goodness and activated our web of people helping each other be better too. Joey and I made that promise, and on good days like this I think we're doing pretty well--we've grown and come far from that night and life feels long and open ahead of us.

Mostly I'm just feeling glad to know so many wonderful people. I know I'm feeling especially optimistic this week, but I do think life is getting better as it goes, and I'd like to be here for a while. I'm breathing deeply and working on my gratitude--although my new age upbringing makes me roll my eyes to say it, I do think that breath and gratitude do wonders for one's longevity. That, and raw kale. Yup, I said raw kale.

When it gets cold like it has this week, magic hits the kale. When the frost knocks out the tomatoes and the peppers, it sweetens the kale three times over. Take someone who hates vegetables into a patch of kale in late October and hand them a chilly leaf--they will close their eyes in bliss as if you handed them the sweetest treat. Magic.

Most of the time we steam the kale. We boil it or sautee it or shove it into our beany soup. But kale this good? Don't cook it. Chop it fine, and give it a little marinade. I know it might sound extreme, but don't knock it till you try it. Go in one direction continent and combine it with ginger and soy sauce and sesame. Or if it pleases your sensibilities, garlic and parmesan will do it too.

Life is long, but totally not to be wasted. Rejuvinated? Yes...but I'm going to try to keep up the goodness with a lot of kale salad.

Kale Salad
serves 6

2 large bunches curly kale, rinsed and taken off the stem
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
juice of one lemon
3 tablespoons grated parmesan

Chop the kale with the chopping blade in a food processor or slice it as thin as possible with a knife. Toss with the garlic, olive oil, salt, lemon and parmesan. Refrigerate, covered, for at least one hour before serving.


Absolutely. This weeks a good one--we're talking about fall salads. The table's looking good--you jump in too!

• Gilded Fork: Red & White Salad with Candied Pecans, Figs & Chevre


• Margaret at A Way to Garden: Why Beets Make the Salad


• Caroline at the Wright Recipes: Salt-Roasted Beet and Potato Salad


• Michelle at Cooking Channel: 5 Fab Fall Salads


• Liz at Healthy Eats: 5 Favorite Fall Salads


• Alison at Food2: Fall Salads, Deconstructed


• Alana at Eating From the Ground Up: Kale Salad


• Todd and Diane at White on Rice Couple: Arugula, Bacon and Fig Salad


• Caron at San Diego Foodstuff: Wheat Berry Salad with Apples and Pomegranate Seeds


• Nicole at Pinch My Salt: Spinach Pomegranate Salad with Apples and Walnuts


• Cate at Sweetnicks: Bleu Cheese and Walnut Salad with Maple Dressing


• Paige at The Sister Project: Chopped Salad That's Also an Hors D'Ouevre

pre-frost panzanella

I was not a good sport through the end of both my pregnancies. I was an okay pregnant woman for most of the most of those months, but the last one? Echhh. I've known women who sat placidly in their 42nd week. "The baby will come when it's ready. I'm good. I'm reading novels, I'm going to movies, I'm making the most of it!"
That wasn't me. Maybe I had a few things stacked against me, but I'm willing to admit that my misery was due to a deep sense of impatience which continues to plague me. To be fair, I did have two very large babies who stretched out and created a massive watermelon shaped belly in front of me. Rosie had a fascination in utero with punching me in the groin (crotch? I don't even know where her fist was banging) which explained why you could find me doubled over at most moments in that last month with her. I also had four-week labors with both of the girls, and the contractions would start and stop with such ferocity that the midwife (yup, I'm a homebirther), finally just left all of her supplies in my bedroom. But really, I spent that last month or two of each of the pregnancies absolutely and completely ready for the next step. On the days that I finally gave birth to my children, I can tell you that I woke up on those mornings with the cry and utterance through gritted teeth..."I am having this damn baby today."
Although yes, although there are those women who love every moment of their pregnancies and would prefer that they stay pregnant forever, I think that the angst and woe I felt as I turned into a ripe and bursting fruit is more common. Pregnancy is not so long, but talk to most women rounding out their 41st week and they'll tell you they are ready. Yes, after months of pregnancy, they'll tell you they are ready to give birth, that they are ready to be done with all of this pregnancy stuff so that they can enter into an indeterminate time and amount of extreme pain so they can actually have the baby already.
And yes, I'm making a generalization here, but I'll bet that you talk to most women in their fifth month and will admit to you that they are scared of birth, that they're not sure how they're going to pull it off. What changes?
The truth is, I think it's helpful to hate the end of pregnancy in order to embrace the challenge of birth and the beginning of parenthood. Yes, birth is difficult, but it's better than being pregnant forever. Nature helps us to prepare for birth by making the end of pregnancy that intolerable.


And in the same way, we prepare for winter by being done with all this summer produce already.
Sure, sure- I'm stretching the metaphor (as usual!) But think about it. In July, did the tomatoes even make it to the kitchen? How many tomato seeds did you wash off the inside of your windshield from eating all the cherry tomatoes before you even got home? Did a pepper actually get through the first day without being cooked into some exciting and refreshing summer nourishment? No!

But look on your counter. Is there a bowl of tomatoes tempting the fruit flies? Is there a pepper or two in the fridge, about to be too wither-y to eat? Are you ready for the frost?

I am. I've got pattypan squash- I think their falling in love in the garden and having babies. I want it to get cold so that I can rip out those plants and make beef stew already. I'm ready. I'm ready for the summer to end.

It's been a good one. Let's have one more panzanella.



Pre-Frost Panzanella
loosely adapted from Jeff Crump and Bettina Schormann, Earth to Table

serves 6

4 sweet peppers
2 pounds mixed tomatoes, chopped into 2-inch bites
1 pound stale French or rustic Italian bread
4 scallions, whites and bottom section of green, chopped
1/4 cup capers, drained
7 anchovy fillets, minced
1 cup, arugula, baby spinach, or lettuce leaves
salt and pepper

for the dressing:
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 1/2 teaspoons dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper
1 cup olive oil

Preheat your broiler and line a baking sheet with parchment or aluminum foil. Put the peppers on the baking sheet and broil until blackened and bubbling, about 7 minutes on each side. Put the peppers in a heat proof bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let them sit for 15 minutes, then slide them right out of their skins and remove as many seeds as possible. Cut into one inch pieces.
Make the dressing: In a bowl or large measuring cup, combine the red wine vinegar, garlic, mustard, salt and pepper. Whisk to combine and let sit for a few minutes. Then add the olive oil in a steady stream while whisking. Adjust seasonings if needed. There will be lots of extra dressing--store in a jar in the fridge for up to two weeks.
In a large bowl, combine the roasted peppers, bread, tomatoes, anchovies, scallion and capers. Toss with 2-3 tablespoons of the dressing. Add more if you like. Add the arugula, spinach or lettuce and toss to combine. Top with salt and pepper. Serve immediately.