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.

Indian lentil soup with spinach, and a flatbread from my favorite food blogger

Don't you just love a party that never stops?
From one season into another, we just can't give it a rest. As that little chill pricks around your as of yet unscarved neck, summer fest is slowly shifting into fall fest. If this all keeps up, I predict we'll be searching for winter fest topics too...
"What is that green frozen cube in the back of my freezer?" week, or "Good thing citrus season is coming because I think my kids are going to get rickets soon" week, or better yet, "Let's make stew again since we can't get out of the door!" week
Ah winter. In time, in time. But, I'm happy to be celebrating the fall for now.

Happy Autumn, friends. Wrap your sweater around you and let's have a little chat about spinach.

On second thought, (as I do have my own ways of dancing around the issue) and although yes, yes, spinach is entirely conversation worthy on these crisp cuspy equinitox-ical days, really I'm just thinking about Laurie Colwin.

Oh Laurie Colwin, the voice that whispers between my heart and my belly. She's made her appearances here before of course, especially in those weeks after my heroic friend Janet handed me her beat up copy with tight lipped inhale and an excited squeak, but she's been coming back a lot lately. I'm so glad her books are little paperbacks that I can carry in my apron pocket. I'm not sure what I'd do without her.
I'd have to say that Laurie Colwin is my very favorite food blogger.

Of course, Laurie Colwin has not put hands to a keyboard since her death in 1992, and so she has no food blog nor ever has had a food blog that we can google or tweet about. There are no daily updates, no accounts of what she made for her daughter for dinner last night, and this is truly our loss. What we do have are two books, books that speak and sing and feed--her voice is so present, so real, so "come in to my kitchen and go sit at the counter with this bottle of wine while I cook a little something for us," that this...THIS...is why I write here- only so I can extend the same sort of invitation. Thank whoever might be looking out for me for these little books that never fail to remind me why I even try.

There are, I think at this point, as many food blogs out there as there are people who have both a kitchen and a computer. In my opinion, this is nothing short of wonderful. I can only imagine that most people wrote that scary and exhilarating first post that put them out there into the world out of desire to invite someone into their kitchen, and I think each one of those invitations is a move towards where we want to be. I myself like to have a bit of company in the kitchen, and unless one is relishing their (rarely found but often sought!) alone time in the kitchen, then I also think a a full kitchen is a happy one, even if the guests are eating their fill from the other side of the computer screen.
I am happy to be one of millions. I think that if we all invite each other into our kitchens, if we all talk about what we're going to make...then there might just be one hum of invitation- one open door...that's right friends, world peace through food blogging! (or at least many people with a clearer idea of what they'd like to make for dinner)

This invitation has been on my mind--this hum and whir of it all. Sometimes I forget where I fit in, and I need a little shove. I'll say it one more time, because sometimes gratitude bears repeating...Thank whoever might be looking out for me for these little books that never fail to remind me why I even try.

Today, I made Laurie Colwin's flatbread. And soup. Soup with lentils and coconut and spinach. The girls sit on that side of the table, although Rosie's not going to touch that soup. Joey's over there on that side, but there are two chairs in the corner and another over by the computer in the living room, and just bring those in. Oh, and there's a stool in the laundry room too, if you don't mind a chair without a back. Squeeze in the corner there- I'll get you a spoon.

Oh, and before I forget, (no no go ahead and eat!) I'm keeping my little giveaway open for a few more days. The conversation over there is just too lovely- I can't bear to end it. So feel free to chime in--at least go read the comments! I'll keep it open till Friday.

Look- new logo! Fall is really here. Soup and bread for everyone.

Indian Lentil Soup with Spinach
adapted from Padma Lakshmi, Tangy Tart Hot & Sweet

1 cup orange lentils
1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
4 cups spinach, steamed, chopped, and squeezed of excess water
2 dried ancho chiles
2 tablespoons yellow lentils (I couldn't find these and so used yellow split peas, which worked fine)
1 cup grated unsweetened coconut
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 tablespoon brown mustard seeds

Soak orange lentils for 3 hours in tepid water. Drain and rinse until the water runs clear. Boil the orange lentils with the salt in about 4 cups of water- then reduce heat and cook on medium low for 40 minutes, or until they are tender. Once the lentils are soft, mash them in the pot so that they become more of a sauce-like consistency.
Add the spinach, mix well, and adjust the salt to taste.
In a small skillet, dry roast the chilis with the yellow lentils. The chilis will give off some heat, so make sure that your kids aren't in the room. Toast until slightly brown, moving the skillet frequently. This will take about two minutes.
In a blender or food processor, grind the toasted chilis and yellow lentils--add the coconut and blend some more. Add this mixture to the soup and cook it all together for a few minutes.
Heat up your little skillet again. Heat the canola oil, then add the cumin and mustard seeds. When the seeds start to pop and smell good, pour the little mixture into the soup. Serve immediately, with flatbread.


Just because I want to, I'm going to give this one to you verbatim. With apologies and gratitude to Harper Perennial--you know we food bloggers are always breaking the rules. I am so so sorry, but my words just won't do here. And so, from "The Case of the Mysterious Flatbread":

(Laurie Colwin's Flatbread, from More Home Cooking)

"Here then, for anyone who wants to make a delicious, exotic, and really easy bread (or an attractive pile of biscuits) is the method for Flatbread.
Stir together 2 tablespoons of warm water with a teaspoon of yeast and 2 tablespoons of yogurt. Mix in 1/3 cup of flour and 2 teaspoons of sugar. Leave overnight, or all morning, or for 3 hours in an unlit oven. The mix will bubble nicely until you are ready for it.
In a bowl combine 2 cups of flour, 2 teaspoons of sea salt and 1 tablespoon of black onions seed (these are called kalaunji) [also Nigella! that's me chiming in]. Add the yogurt starter and 1 cup of warm water. Knead the dough on a floured board, kneading in an additional 3/4 cup flour, and leave it to rise for 2 hours.
When the dough has doubled in bulk, divide it in half. Heat the griddle until it is hot. Flatten the dough as for pizza or roll it out and turn it onto the griddle. You want the bread to toast but not to burn. When it is brown and speckled on both sides (this takes about 5 minutes), reduce the heat to low and continue to cook it for about 10 minutes. Tap it to see if it sounds hollow.
The bread is flat and spongy and goes with anything you can think of. And it takes less than a half hour of hands-on work to produce. Furthermore, flatbread proves that we are all brothers and sisters. It is a cross between a Scottish griddle scone, and English muffin, a Russian bialy, an Italian focaccia and a Navajo fry bread--a whole United Nations in one loaf, and cheap and delicious besides."

Thank you Laurie.

And we are not alone today--the spinach is flying around here. What a group to share the kitchen!

• Gilded Fork: Spicy Artichoke Spinach Dip, and a Dossier on Spinach
• Caroline at the Wright Recipes: Spinach Rotolo, a rolled ricotta and pasta extravaganza
• Alison at Food2: Spinach Artichoke Dip
• Michelle at Cooking Channel: Paneer With Spinach
• Kirsten at FN Dish: Everyday Spinach Dishes with Giada
• Liz at Healthy Eats: Mini Spinach-Mushroom Quiche
• Food Network UK: Eggs florentine, brunch of champions
• Cate at Sweetnicks: Spinach Egg Breakfast Cups
• Caron at San Diego Foodstuff: Mixed Mushroom Ragout with Herb-Polenta Cake
• Marilyn at Simmer Till Done: Spanakopita Scones
• Todd and Diane at White on Rice Couple: Tuna and Spinach Bruschetta

And you? I'm feeling pretty hungry if you've got an extra seat in your kitchen.

What's cooking?

found it

Thank you for all of your advice and sympathies on my gingerbread search. I'm starting to think that a gingerbread cookbook might be in order. But for the moment, I am satiated. Yes, when I say I am determined, I'm not kidding. I have found it.

(I'm thinking that you won't mind if I offer you two gingerbread recipes in one week. It is November after all. In fact, if you were in my kitchen, I'd be offering you two kinds of gingerbread as we speak, and that wouldn't bother you either, would it?)

It should have been obvious. The answer was in the book on my night table. It took a friend in my kitchen to point it out to me.

"You've tried Laurie Colwin's recipe, right? I think that she even has two."

I should have known that Gourmet Today was not the place to find my gingerbread. My gingerbread has to come from someone's kitchen. Specifically, it seems, Laurie Colwin's kitchen. It seems that I am on the verge of becoming a fan site here, but you know how I am. Remember all of those Alice Waters recipes?

Ms. Colwin too, it seems, was once "on a quest for the perfect gingerbread." She claims (in More Home Cooking) that her quest "has not turned up any ultimates," but on this point I would beg to differ.
This gingerbread is velvet and cloud with a sexy amount of spice. Its outer boundary is a revelation. It is sweet and crusty, very similar to the crusted roof of a perfect creme brulee.

Laurie Colwin claims that where we go astray in our gingerbread creation is in our deep attachment to molasses. Luckily, I have no deep attachment to molasses. In fact, I'll throw it out the window if she asks me to.
What we use in this gingerbread is pure cane syrup, and the way that you will see this in the store is to keep your eyes peeled for this lovely and exotic bottle.

It is not so expensive, but I must warn you, you will use the entire bottle in one cake. It is called Lyle's Golden Syrup, and you will probably be able to find it in your grocery store, even if you have never seen it. Amazing what is there when you look for it, don't you think? I happened to have a little bit in my cabinet left over from lavender fleur de sel caramels last year, but of course I had to buy a whole new bottle, which is now, in fact, gone. You might as well buy a few bottles when you see it. You will want to make this gingerbread more than once.
I knew right away that this would be it. Just melting more than entire stick of butter with that whole bottle is a sensual experience.


You must refrain from painting your lover with the stuff. I think that this combination alone would be called something like golden butter syrup. Lovely.
The batter is so fragrant that it is a challenge not to drink it, and I added my own obsession to the recipe and let those pear slices grace the top of the batter as it rose around them. It was ideal, absolutely ideal.
Don't put anything on top of this. No ice cream. No creme fraiche. It is an independent agent, this marvelous cake.


Damp Gingerbread (with pears)
from Delia Smith's Book of Cakes, and then from Laurie Colwin's More Home Cooking, and then messed with by me

9 tablespoons butter (1 stick plus 1 tablespoon)
1 1/2 cups (1 bottle) Lyle's Golden Syrup
2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 tablespoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 beaten egg
1 cup buttermilk
3 firm pears, peeled, cored, and cut into eight slices apiece

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch round tin and line the bottom with parchment.
Melt the butter together with the golden syrup.
Sift together into a medium bowl the flour, salt, baking soda, ginger, cloves and cinnamon, Whisk to be sure that it is evenly blended.
Pour the syrup and butter onto the dry ingredients and mix well.
Add the egg and the buttermilk. Beat well. The batter will be very liquid. Do not fear.
Pour the batter into the tin. It will nearly reach the top of the pan. Arrange the pears on top of the batter. Bake for 50 to 55 minutes, or until the middle is just set, and the edge is pulling away from the pan.

lemon rice pudding

I'm always fascinated by the flavors that people are drawn to. I think that there must be a direct correlation between one's personality and their favorite tastes.

When I was three, my mother walked on on me finishing off an entire jar of pepperoncini peppers- I think she might of stopped me before I drank the juice. I'm not quite sure what that says about me, but I'm sure it says something. Or maybe it was just that I was so excited to find something to eat besides brown rice and adzuki beans. (Let's remember that I came from a house where we called the crispy part of the fried egg "bacon" and ate vitamin C's as candy).

I often know what I want to eat because I can already taste it in my mouth. Sometimes the quality and the sensation of that desired taste is so palpable that I am half mad until I actually eat it. Often the flavor has something to do that mystical citrus, the lemon.

I am a lemon lover. I know many are not, but I love lemons with every taste bud I have. I squeeze lemon into my chicken soup, I dress my salads with lemon, and I'll eat a whole pan of lemon squares if there is no one around to share them. But most of all I love lemon peel.

I love how the peel has so little to do with the lemon. It has no sourness, only a rich hint of bitter mixed with a whole lot of fancy. When I read Laurie Colwin's piece on lemon rice pudding, I became a bit monomaniacal. Her essays tend to do that to me these days.

This is the easiest rice pudding you will ever make. Our friends Jordan and Quinby were visiting from Virginia with their lovely blond children, and as I stirred the chicken soup before their arrival, the pudding cooked away in the oven.
It did not disappoint. The lemon rind infused the very grains of rice, and the creaminess was exactly right. It was perfect.

For me, that is.

Joey grimaced with his first bite- then slowly worked through his little bowl, delicately removing the little moons of half dissolved lemon peel. Sadie had one bite and demanded ice cream. Jordan asked if I wouldn't be offended if he added a bit of maple syrup.

And of course I wasn't. I was too busy being in heaven. Rosie closed her eyes with every bite, and cleaned her bowl. Quinby ate her's and her children's with a happy sigh. "Ah Lemon."

So be warned, this might not be a crowd pleaser. But if you are at all like me, this will please you, and that's good enough.

Lemon Rice Pudding
from Jane Grigson's Good Things, made irresistible by Laurie Colwin in More Home Cooking, and slightly adapted by me

serves 6-8

• 1/2 cup basmati rice
  
• 2 lemons
• 3 cups whole milk
• 1 cup half and half
• 3 Tablespoons sugar

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Peel the lemons with a vegetable peeler, taking care not to include any of the white pith. When you have a nice pile of peel, take your knife to it and chop roughly. Set the naked lemons aside.
Wash the rice. Put the rice, chopped lemon peel, milk, cream and sugar into a large casserole. Bake for 2 1/2 hours, stirring every 45 minutes or so. When it is done, add the juice of the lemons. Serve warm, or chill, depending on your patience.