the salon challenge: cooking with friends

It's been a little while since I posted my last salon challenge. I figured we all might need a tiny break from entertaining after the whirlwind that is December, but the break is over. As cozy as you might be reading your book over there on the couch, remember that February is coming. I don't know how February is where you are, but here, it is a month that requires optimism. It is a month of bitter cold, dirty snow banks, and grumpy bank tellers. It is a month when we really need friends around us to remind us that the world will defrost, someday.

You can stay on the couch, but put down Tolstoy and pick up the cookbooks. And get a few friends on the phone. For this salon challenge, the theme is cooking with friends. Recruit a friend or two, and throw a dinner party together. If you each invite people that the other person doesn't know that well, you've taken care of the rules already.

This dinner can be as fancy or as casual as you like, as long as it is special. If you are new to the challenge, everything you need to know is here, and there are some (kind of) helpful hints here. Make it happen before the first of March, and you'll be glad you did. And of course, don't forget to come back here and tell us about it.
I can't wait.

week's end

I must say, we're having a weekend around here.

Yesterday, we went to the museum.

We contemplated the art.


We ran around the art.

We got lost and found in the art.


We saw art everywhere, even out of the windows of the museum.


I'd say a show drawn on the walls in crayon is just up our alley.

Today? The movies!

I hope you are having a lovely and weekend-y weekend.
Food tomorrow.

vanilla pudding, or why mason jars are sometimes cuter than children

A few days ago, a little gift of a picture arrived in my email. The photo was taken at night, with dinner cooking on the stove in the background. On the counter stood 4 perfect little mason jars, filled with tapioca pudding. The sender of the photo had prepared the pudding with her son, and thought I would appreciate the image.
Of course she was right. I have a thing for putting delicious treats in unexpected packaging, and pudding in mason jars? Outstanding combination. Pudding is one of my favorite things, and mason jars are the building blocks of my world. Absolutely perfect.
I set about to recreate the pair immediately. One adjustment was necessary.Tapioca is not tolerated in my house. Although I adore it, it may be the only sweet that is met by groans and "Yuk! Eyes!" at my table. So for us, it would be vanilla. And in the spirit of the original photographer, I'd even make it with the girls.

Now for those of you who have been around here for a little while, you know that cooking with children is not exactly my strength. Yes, I write about cooking, and parenting, but parenting while cooking? Yikes. I know that there are moms out there whose children quietly peel the carrots for the salad every night, but somehow, things are just not that pretty over here.

I have all the right elements. I love to cook, that's first right? I'm at home, so we have time to work together in the kitchen. And most of all, my girls are Montessori kids. Their whole school is based on doing real work (to grossly oversimplify) and they even cook together at school.
So, I guess I must be the problem. I don't know. It just always seems to fall apart.

Take the whole vanilla pudding thing. I'll tell you how it went.

Come back there with me. It's Thursday afternoon. I picked the girls up from school, and when Sadie asked her traditional, "Are we doing anything special today?", I answered, "Vanilla Pudding!"
"Yay!" The girls hollered as they waddled through the parking lot in their snow pants.
So far so good, right?
We got home without incident, hands washed without complaint, and got to the business at hand.
Each girl got the stool she desired, and we were still happy.


Then there was some very attentive scraping of vanilla beans. She didn't get all those precious seeds out, but did I grab it from her to remedy the situation?

Well, maybe. But only at the end, and she was okay with it.

Then there was a great mess of cornstarch.


But that stuff just brushes off! No harm done, and all was well in the kitchen.

But then it came time to stir.

You see that face? That's the mean face. That's the, "why can't you just do it right" face.
Oh, you missed it?
Well, here it is again.

And this face? This is the "I give up- If my big sister says anything else to me I'm going to start rolling around on the floor and fake crying like a baby" face.

Downhill, friends, downhill from here.
And what happens in the mean time? The pudding burns, because the stirring is just not happening. And it gets that burn-y flavor that I secretly like, but my favorite pot might just be dead.
But I am done, done, done. And I have not made dinner yet.

At least I have pudding. In mason jars. Lovely, aren't they?

Vanilla Pudding
adapted from Mark Bittman's blog, Bitten
find the original post here

serves four (but feel free to double it- don't you always want more pudding?)

2 1/2 cups whole milk
1/3 cup sugar
1 vanilla bean
pinch of salt
3 Tablespoons cornstarch

In a medium saucepan, combine 2 cups of the milk with the sugar and salt. Set it over medium low heat. Scrape the seeds out of the vanilla bean- put them in the milk, and add the pod as well. Heat until just barely steaming, stirring occasionally.
In a small bowl or measuring cup, combine the cornstarch with the remaining 1/2 cup of milk. Blend until there are no lumps. Take the vanilla pod out of the pot and discard or save for future use. Increase heat to medium high. Add cornstarch mixture and cook, stirring frequently until the mixture comes barely to a boil. Reduce heat back to low and stir fairly continuously for five to ten minutes, until the mixture thickens to something that looks like pudding. If it is a bit watery it is okay- it will thicken further as it chills. Pour into individual dishes (or jars!) and chill.

currant scones

Oh January. Poor, poor January. Even though it's bitter cold, I get to see more bellies around this time. So casually, the shirt gets lifted.
"Look at this!" They give the flesh a hateful pinch.
I guess it's the "morning after" quality of January, I don't know. But with the resolutions and the new beginnings, there seems to be, dare I say, a bit of guilt about what has come before to bring us to the moment of resolution.
Now a woman's belly is a magical thing, and not just in its capacity to house a child. The belly not only shrinks and grows with the intricacies of food and water consumption and menstrual cycle, it shrinks and grows with the imagination of the mind.

You know what I'm talking about, right?

I have a friend who swears that her body grows bigger the moment she enters her mother's house. I don't doubt it. And although it took me several painful years to figure this out, my mood has everything to do with how I look in the mirror.

It's not the belly for everyone. Sometimes it's the hips or butt or face. But the belly is special because for so many of us, it has gotten really huge at least once, and that growth has changed it forever. A flat stomach is in the column with all those things that came before, like movies and eating chocolate without hiding it and having sex in the morning.

But I have to tell you something. I've always considered the curve of my belly to be a new feature. I was wrong. A few weeks ago, I found a picture of myself in a bathing suit at eighteen, and I had the same curve. My belly button was an utter stranger to the one I have now, but hey, after the size I was at nine months with Sadie (no one believed I was having only one kid), it seems a miracle that my skin survived at all.

So if these bellies are truly at the whim of our guilt and imagination, I'm thinking that when I say that I'm going to eat healthier, I'm doing that in partnership with my belly, not against. That curve that is part of my body allows space for the organs that keep me alive, and once it grew to house my girls, an idea that I still find miraculous and wild, even after I watched it happen twice. And the girls! Don't even get me started on the girls. I have passed down my genetics to them, the curve of the belly that will be part of their lovely shapes forever. But if I pass down the second glance in the mirror, or the hand over the belly in photos, I will have a hard time forgiving myself for that one. I'm almost there, but I'm going all the way on this one. I'll say here that my belly is an asset, and I have no interest in getting rid of it.
There, I said it.

Here I sat down to tell you about scones, and I've gotten off topic. I guess it is because I was thinking about baking, and how it keeps getting linked with naughty eating.

I think of it differently. To bake at home is to put real, basic ingredients together, to fill your house with warmth and good smells, and to take the time to make something good to eat. I'm not advocating a pie crust every day, but for me, when I bake, I am right there with my food, molding it with my hands, and this is also healthy.
So I wanted to tell you about scones.

Every couple of weeks, I get together with a group of pretty wonderful women. Sometimes we cook and sometimes we knit, although when we knit, I just sit there and pretend and they forgive me for it.
Everyone brings food for lunch, and these are some women who know good food. So yesterday, I made scones.

I don't often make scones, as I'm really more of a muffin girl. But part of me feels like I just haven't found the right recipe. Usually, the right recipe is from this book, so I decided to try out Alice Waters' scones. I had exactly 30 minutes, and the simplicity of the recipe and the lack of butter cutting drew me in.

I was really excited to tell you about this recipe. I took them out of the oven, and as I threw them into a bowl before getting into the car, I shoved one into my mouth and burned the hell out the roof of my mouth.
Even so, it was perfect. Pillowy and light, not too sweet. Filled with air and currants.

I threw them in the car, late for knitting. I knew I the group wouldn't mind that I was late when I walked in with these warm golden scones of perfection.
I ate another one in the car, and it was even better than the first, due to the lack of pain from the burning.
The morning progressed. I pretended to knit. My scones were eaten, and I felt proud. I received compliments, and of course I believed them.

But later in the morning, I had another. Oh, would that I had abstained, and then I could have remained with the illusion of my own scone success! What was once a soft bite of flaky deliciousness was now...
chewy.
Once currant scones, now currant pellets. I felt the urge to use them in some sort of a sport.

I'm sure that Alice is not at fault. How could she be! Perhaps I overmixed- but I just don't know.

So why am I still telling you about these, despite the pellet nature of the end product. Well, although I considered keeping the whole thing from you, I realized that I had to share the recipe with you, and to tell you that you should absolutely make them.

And eat them immediately.

Or at least within a half an hour. They come together in a moment, and they are perfect if a friend is coming over for tea, or if you need something exciting to feed your children in the afternoon.

These are so, so, so good when they are warm.

I think that you will like them, and so, I give you, the recipe, for:

Make in 30 minutes, Eat in 30 minutes Currant Scones
Adapted from Alice Waters, the Art of Simple Food

2 cups all purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup sugar plus 1 1/2 tablespoons for sprinkling
1 1/2 cups cream
2 tablespoons butter, melted
3/4 cup currants

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Mix together in a large bowl the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt and currants. Stir in the cream. Mix until the dough just starts to come together. It will be very sticky. Turn out onto a floured surface and knead a few times, adding more flour to make this possible if the dough is too sticky and liquid-y. Pat the dough into an 8 to 10 inch circle. Brush with the melted butter, and sprinkle with the sugar. Either cut the circle into 8 wedges or use a biscuit cutter to make smaller round scones. Place on a parchment or silicone lined tray and bake for 15 minutes or until golden.

a winner! and bagna cauda for your day

I know why you're here, or at least, I'm willing to guess.
Have you gone over to Buy Olympia to take a look at that calendar? Gotten a little attached? Realized that they are out of stock? Well I must say, your goals were so nice to hear, I wish I had one for everyone. But, someone's got to win, and let's all be happy for her.
Yay Laurie! Send me an email and we'll get that up on your wall pronto.

But don't be too sad. I've got something for the rest of you too.

I know some of you might be cleansing after the holidays. That's all fine and good. Cut out the hourly stale holiday cookies. Drink more water and less eggnog. Go for a walk already. All good. I support you in all your efforts, even if it's just from my couch.

But whatever you're doing, promise me one thing: Let's not leave off the sauce. Who knows how long life will be. If this were my last day, I'd want to dip it in Bagna Cauda.

Say it out loud. Try to pronounce it. How ever you say it, it sounds lovely. I hear it means something like "warm bath" in Italian.

I'd venture to say that this would taste good on most things. Butter, olive oil, anchovies, garlic, thyme, chile, salt. That's it. Give your broiled fish a warm bath. Toss your pasta in a little warm bath. Dip raw vegetables in a warm bath. Dip roasted vegetables in a warm bath You get the idea.


I made a little fancy winter salad, based off of a recipe that a friend passed on from Suzanne Goin. This is not a "Oh I need to eat plain celery all day because it's the new year" salad. I'm voting for the eradication of those altogether. This is a salad that makes love to the vegetables within it, a salad to eat with your hands and let the bagna cauda drip down your arm. Think of it. A warm bath for you. Fabulous.



Bagna Cauda with a Winter Salad
adapted from Suzanne Goin, Sunday Suppers at Lucques
(This makes a big batch. You can halve it if you like, or refrigerate any leftovers and rewarm it when you find other things that must be dipped in it.)

3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
8 tablespoons butter
About 3 tablespoons chopped anchovies- this is 5-7 of the salt packed kind
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1 dried chile de arbol, minced
2 teaspoons fresh minced thyme leaves
heaping 1/2 teaspoon salt

Heat the olive oil and butter in a medium saucepan over very low heat. Add the anchovies and chile and stir with a wooden spoon until the anchovies melt into the sauce, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic and thyme, take off the heat, and let the garlic finish cooking in the hot olive oil. Add the salt to taste.

For the Salad:
1 head cauliflower, cut into florets
5 radishes, sliced
1 head endive, separated into individual leaves
1 head treviso, separated into individual leaves (treviso is a new vegetable to me- a cross between endive and raddichio. If you cannot find it, you can do two heads of endive, or just skip it altogether.
The juice of 1/2 lemon

Blanch the cauliflower by boiling it for 1 minute, then immersing it in cold water. In a sautee pan, toss the cauliflower and radishes with 1/2 cup bagna cauda over medium heat. Cook for about 2 minutes, or until the radishes start to fade in color. Then toss in a large bowl with the endive and treviso until the entire mixture is coated in sauce, adding more if necessary. Dump onto a platter (or keep it in the bowl if you wish), squeeze the lemon juice over it, and grind the pepper grinder a few times over the top. Serve additional sauce for dipping on the side.

roasted buttercup squash with chili oil

It must be the new year, or maybe the new decade. I'm hearing the same words over and over.

Happiness.
Space.
Fulfillment.
Time.
Slowness.
Purpose.

What is it about a new year that inspires people to tell everyone what they want out of life?

Because I can't fully shake my perpetual fourteen- year-old self, I roll my eyes a little. But take no notice- really, deep down, I kind of like it.

Right now, there are so many opportunities to see other people's lives, whether real or imagined. In photographs, or in little bites of information, we can see that people seem to have more money, more happy children, more organized closets, more loving spouses, more fulfilling careers- you name it.
But when I hear these words, and they are the same as my words, and the other words I hear from my friends, I don't know about you, but I start to feel a sense of, well, collective desire.

Do you know what I mean?
I think that that collective desire has got to lead to one thing.

Collaboration.

With other people.

It has become my habit to steer clear of social risk. People can just be so... scary.

This past year, I pushed myself to invite people I didn't know to dinner. Some of you did it too. For me, the real risk of this experience was not culinary, but social. The food part was hard, but not as hard as the moment of invitation, the first ten minutes of awkward conversation before people figured out what to talk about, the fear that dinner was just not that yummy.

But those scary moments passed, and it was okay. It seemed that new people were not so frightening after all. In fact, they were pretty great. And even more, they all got along with each other and found common ground, if only for a few wine drenched hours.

So if we all want to be happy, fulfilled, have more time, and all of those words, I'm looking for ways that we can all help each other bring those things into reality. It seems that working together could be a good thing here, whatever that may look like.

I'm not necessarily talking about huge life changing moments, although those are good too. It might be as small as being open to a conversation, and really listening. Or it might be as simple as suggesting a new vegetable.

Oh, you can see where I'm going here, right? But I'm serious! When I try something new, it makes the world feel more open- it makes me feel like I'm not set in my ways. What a gift that is.

So last week, my friend India was here. She had a little stack of my cookbooks next to her, and she started talking about buttercup squash. I realized as we were talking that I had never in my life had buttercup squash, only because when it comes to winter squash I am totally set in my ways. We eat a lot of butternut squash, peppered by delicata and the occasional acorn or carnivale. India told me that buttercup was her absolute go-to squash that she had always eaten more than any other. India is a woman who inspires one to say Yes to anything- she is just that lovely.

The other day, at the store, I held my first buttercup squash. I was surprised it had never turned my head before. It was obviously thrilled to be chosen, and it put on mascara in anticipation of our photo session. This is one photogenic squash.

Barbara Kafka told me to roast it up with chili oil, and I said yes. After those Greek Island potatoes, I will take that woman's advice on anything.

And now, I am a woman who eats buttercup squash, especially roasted with chili oil.


Roasted Buttercup Squash with Chili Oil
adapted from Barbara Kafka, Vegetable Love

1 buttercup squash, halved lengthwise, seeds and membranes removed, each half cut into eight slices (you can also remove the skins at this point, and the slices will cook faster, but I left them on for looks)
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons chili powder
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Place a rack in the center of the oven. Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.
Place the squash in a large rectangular roasting pan.
Combine the oil, chili powder, salt and pepper. Toss with the squash slices.
Roast for 5 minutes. Turn the slices over and roast for 5 minutes more. Turn over again and roast for another 10 minutes, or until completely tender.

Serve with polenta, and I think you will be very happy.

Oh, and speaking of happiness, you have one more day to enter in the drawing for the Nikki McClure Calendar. We'll throw the names in a hat before bedtime tonight.

creamy wheat berries with honey

This is a loving cup.
My friend Naomi made it. It is a traditional wedding cup, but it seems to me to hold more possibilities.
Today I am testing its power.


Seven or so years ago, I went and had a baby, and that was all fine and good.


Not long after, another joined us, and then I had something altogether different.

I had sisters in my house.
Real loving, hating, wrestling, tongue sticking outing sisters.
I think that as far as sisters go, they are doing okay. But for me, who was toted along through the world by my mother, who was treated as an adult from the beginning, who had my whole mother to myself, who longed with all my only child's heart for a sister, this is all very new.

When my own sister finally came into the world, I was already grown up, and my children would become more like sisters to my sister. Sisterhood remains a mystery to me.


I don't even know how to begin to describe the manner in which Sadie and Rose love each other. They seem to love each other as much as they hate each other, and the two emotions happen at the same time.

What is that?

After two weeks at home together, I give up.
I just don't understand them.

Three months ago, in the effort to diminish the frequency of Sadie's stomachaches, she stopped eating wheat.
Over the course of these months, Rosie has asked over and over,
"Does this have wheat? Can Sadie eat it?"
Although Sadie taunts and yells, and threatens to take her love away, Rosie continues to look out for her.
It is a little bit magical.
But I understand that Sadie's love is worth it. For Rosie, Sadie is the sun. Sometimes I find this heartbreaking, but I know that of all the people in the world, Sadie might be the one who loves Rosie most.

On New Year's Eve, Sadie had her first taste of wheat. The doctor said we could try, and see what happened. So far, she is okay.
So today, in celebration of Sadie's renewed wheat affair, I made creamy wheat berries with honey for breakfast. And in celebration of Sadie's capacity for love, sometimes not quite demonstrated, I gave it to her in the loving cup.

Wheat berries are kernels of the wheat plant, wheat in its most whole form. They are earthy and chewy and nutty, and seemed to be just the thing for a ceremonious reunion with wheat.


Stirred in a pot with milk and cinnamon, dates and honey, this might just be the thing for any morning, ceremonious or not. And if you have sisters in your house too, it will keep them chewing long enough so that you can have just a moment of peace.


Creamy Wheat Berries With Honey
from Lorna Sass, Whole Grains Every Day, Every Way
serves 4-6

Note: Lorna Sass has this recipe in her dessert section, and it would certainly work as such. Garnished with whipped cream, you have dessert, but with a bit of cold cream poured on top, I call it breakfast.

1 1/4 cups dried wheat berries
3 cups water
3 cups whole milk
3 tablespoons honey
generous pinch of ground cinnamon
pinch of salt
1/3 cup pitted, chopped dates

Cook the wheat berries:
Soak the wheat berries for 12 hours if you're thinking ahead. If not, all is not lost, but they will take longer to cook. Combine the wheat berries and water. Bring them to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer until tender. This will take about 40 minutes if you soaked them, and more like an hour if you didn't. Drain the wheat berries. If you plan on making this for breakfast, you can also cook the wheat berries the night before and refrigerate until the morning.

In a heavy saucepan, combine the milk and honey and bring to a boil. Stir in the cooked wheat berries, cinnamon, and salt. Return to a boil, then reduce the heat and cook at a gentle boil for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Skim off any skin that forms on top.
Stir in the dates and continue to cook at a gentle boil, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens, about 10 minutes.
Serve hot, garnished with cream.