white beans with sage

If you have ever spent time in Santa Fe, you have no doubt found yourself in one of those little casitas, guest houses on the property of other larger estates. They are usually built by hand, constructed of salvaged wood and adobe, and there might perhaps be a loft bed to make the best use of the tiny space. Throughout the four years that I lived there in Santa Fe, I walked into a few of those magical little houses, invited to a party or finding myself in a friend's house, and always thinking on the perfection of the miniature space.

My sophomore year in college, I went to a party at one such house. I was in a new relationship, and the host was the ex-girlfriend of my new boyfriend. It seemed like it should be awkward, but it wasn't. She was lovely, and they were still friends, and there I was at her party.

As many years ago as this was, I can feel the warmth of her little house. It had a wall of windows, and although it must have been late winter, the New Mexico sun came through those windows and created the feel of a greenhouse. It was a morning brunch party, and everyone stripped off their sweaters and scarves, and we bathed in the sun like tired cats. I didn't really know anyone there all that well, and so I stared out the window, and I ran my hands over the knotty salvaged wood, and of course I focused on the food.

It may have been a potluck, but I don't think so. I think that our host, Lindsie, was the one who filled the table with food, and I imagine that it was all wonderful.  I base that imagining on the one dish that I do remember, the dish that I will forever link to Lindsie. Although we never got much closer than we were on that morning, she stays with me through this dish, and I always make it with her voice in my head.

This is how it went. She carried a bowl of cooked beans to the table--big fat cannellini beans in some beautiful serving dish. Then there was a handful of fresh sage leaves in one hand, and a bottle of olive oil in the other. We were all young, and most of us not so domestic, and so these actions were striking. I didn't cook much at that point, and I knew very little about putting flavors together in graceful ways. We all watched her as she tore up the sage leaves and scattered them over the beans. And there must have been several "ahhhs" because just then Lindsie said, "People always think this is so impressive, but it's just beans! Beans, sage, olive oil, salt and pepper, done."  And she poured several luxurious glugs of olive oil over the bowl as she talked, and it was the most beautiful action, without any thought or self consciousness. That action was mature, and delicious, and fancy. And so were the beans.

To this day, this one of my favorite party dishes. Ideally, the beans should be cooked at home instead of poured from a can to prohibit the possibility of tinniness or that peculiar canned bean texture. But if from a can is what you have time for, then that will work too. They can be warm or cold, or my favorite, met in the middle at room temperature. They are simple, and Italian, and as Lindsie pointed out, always impressive. If you can, prepare them in front of your guests. Tear the sage leaves. Let the olive oil pour with abandon. There will be sighs and ahhs, and as the perfume of the sage makes its way through the room, you can say "Just beans!" knowing full well that this is much more than that.


White Beans with Sage
(with thanks to Lindsie Bear after all these years)

1 pound dried cannellini beans
7 to 10 fresh sage leaves
olive oil
salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Sort through the beans and remove any stones. Pour them into a large cast iron dutch oven and cover with water. There should be about four times as much water as beans. Bring the beans to a boil, cover, and transfer to the oven. Cook until just tender. This may take as little as 1 1/2 hours, and it may take as many as 3. Beans are just like that. Check after 1 1/2 hours, and remove when they are firm, but delicious to eat. You want to get them out of the oven before they start to split.

Drain the beans, and let them cool a bit. Transfer to a lovely serving bowl. Carry it out to your guests. Roughly tear the sage leaves and sprinkle them over the beans. Pour several glugs of olive oil over as well. Then the salt, and many grinds of pepper. Stir, taste, and adjust if necessary.

maple cornbread

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

Today, it's got to be cornbread.

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

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

It depended on the moment.

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

With every icy step, there was a new metaphor.

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on Mom!"

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings me to cornbread.

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

Potato Salad

It's taken me a couple of days to write this post about potato salad simply because I've just been too busy eating the potato salad. I made a big bowl of it the other night to go with our grilled pork chops, and I've got to say that it was a really good move.
I'm not a big potato salad maker. I don't do picnic food so much, and I'm still truly learning the wonders of mayonnaise. But quite honestly, of all of things that I can do on a whim to make Joey happy, potato salad is probably in the top five. And so, a few times in our marital history, I put together a potato salad, and then I've basked in the glow of the love that follows. But the surprise here is, I don't care what kind of horrible potato goo experiences you've had- if you do it right- potato salad is one of the best things there is, really.
And it's art, too. This is your opportunity to use everything in your fridge and everything in your garden. Hell, use your weeds if they're edible. Play with color, texture, go wild. (Somehow I feel like I should be embarrassed about encouraging you to "go wild" with potato salad, but I'm not!)
So how do we do it right? Well, sky's the limit. But how you cook the potatoes is really going to count, so let's start there.
For a nice bowl of potato salad, you're going to want about 3 lbs potatoes. Go for the red ones, scrub them and keep the skins on. Boil them in salted water for 20-30 minutes, until they're nice and tender, then take them out and let them cool. Then cut them into chunks.
Now for the rest- like I said, this is creative territory here, and I'm not going to limit you with a recipe. I will, however, tell you what I put in my salad this week:
3 hard boiled eggs, chopped
2 large ribs celery, chopped
3 T capers
1 large dill pickle, chopped
flat leaf parsley
dill
chives
whole grain mustard
mayonnaise
sherry vinegar
salt
fresh ground pepper

Now the best thing about making potato salad is that you have to taste it, constantly! Start with a little mayo, a little mustard, a little vinegar. Keep going in small increments until you've got it perfectly.

Your art is done... bask in the love.

Creamed Broccoli with Parmesan

OK, so I've got to admit things have been a little rough around here the last few days. Both the girls have new hairdos of their own making, the tantrums are up, and as of today, the snot is flowing. And it's really cold outside. I mean, I know that we can't actually think that Spring will come to these parts in the end of March, but 25 degrees? In the middle of the day? Come on already. But even though I'm not feeling witty or well spoken, or even like a good parent or a cook right now, it makes me feel better to stop in here. So- unrelated to anything, here's a good broccoli recipe. That's all I have to say about that.

Creamed Broccoli With Parmesan
from Gourmet, March 2009

• 1 bunch broccoli (1 1/4 lb)
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 2 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled
• 1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg
• 3 tablespoons grated parmesan
• 1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

• Peel broccoli stems, then coarsely chop stems and florets. Cook broccoli in boiling salted water (1 1/2 tsp salt for 4 qt water) until just tender, 4 to 6 minutes. Drain in a colander and run under cold water to stop cooking.
• Simmer cream, garlic, nutmeg, 1/4 tsp salt, and 1/8 tsp pepper in a medium saucepan, uncovered, until slightly thickened and reduced to about 2/3 cup, about 5 minutes.
• Add broccoli and simmer, mashing with a potato masher, until coarsely mashed and heated through, about 2 minutes.
• Remove from heat and stir in parmesan and lemon juice.