Can soup be controversial? I think maybe it can.
I’ve served this soup at probably ten dinner parties over the past couple years. D sets the first bowl down on the table and announces, “tomato soup.” Guests slurp their first spoonfuls, and the crows start coming. “This is amazing.” “Best tomato soup ever.” “I need the recipe.” Music to any cook’s ears; it’s no winder I keep making this soup.
It wasn’t always this way, though. I blame the blue cheese.
By now you know that my mom was the primary cook in our house. She made us dinner almost every night. Still, my dad does have a few signature dishes that he’d make occasionally, which I really loved as a kid. One was apple pan dowdy. Another was matzah brei. And the third — the marvelous third — was latkes.
My father’s latkes are the best. They’re lacy and delicate, well-seasoned, and unshyly fried to a (sometimes deliciously burnt) crisp, just the way I like them. I’ve made them his way several times over the years. I’ve also tried my hand at my mom’s equally good sweet potato latkes, and have — as she sometimes does — mixed some zucchini into my pancakes. All varieties are worth making, now aren’t they?
Hanukkah provides an annual excuse to blithely and guiltlessly fry things. Never one to squander such an opportunity, this year I decided to experiment in the fried-root-vegetable-pancake department. No potato latkes for us this time around; the wringing and sieving and squeezing what appears to be an endless stream of liquid from those tubers simply got the best of me. Instead, I turned to the book that now sits front and center on my new cookbook shelf: that’d be Plenty, the newish book from Tel Avivi/Brit Yotam Ottolenghi. It’s like this book was written just for me: eggplant, pomegranates, tomatoes, feta, and yogurt are just about everywhere. And everything I’ve read about this book suggests that it’s ideal when used as a starting point, a resource for improvisational cooking. That’s just my speed.
Some cookies are made to be shipped. They’re crunchy, sturdy, and can weather any postal worker’s worst mood.
If you can imagine those cookies’ polar opposite, you’d have in your mind the cookies I’m sharing with you today. They are not for shipping, unless your friends will be particularly excited to receive a tin full of hazelnut-flecked, molasses-flavored cookie crumbs. (Incidentally, the crumbs, which you inevitably will have after making and packing a batch of these cookies, are just superb sprinkled on vanilla ice cream. But I digress.) They are, however, the perfect finale to a meal, a day, a 30-minute TV show. They’re a cookie to bring your next door neighbor or to set out at a housewarming/open house/holiday party. where people don’t have to fuss with them all that much. Yes, they’re delicate beings, these cookies. But boy are they good.
I found them in a book by the great Alice Medrich that I checked out of the library some weeks ago. I happened upon the recipe, thought of the bag of hazelnuts in my freezer (I keep all my nuts in the freezer – they stay fresh much longer that way), and copied the recipe. I knew I wouldn’t have the time to make them before the book was due back at the library; I also knew that once I made them, I’d want the recipe on hand to make them again and again. On both counts, I was right.
‘Tis the season for cookies, and lately I’ve felt so bombarded by different shapes, sizes, flavors, and varieties, it’s hard to focus on much else. Ok, obviously I’ve still found time for applesauce cake and gingersnap pear cranberry crisp. But what I’m trying to say is, there have also been cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. An embarrassing number, some of you would think (if I were willing to estimate my personal intake, which I am not).
I find it difficult to forgo cakes and cookies for lower-key desserts year-round, and this time of year, it’s especially hard. But last week, after fiddling with the “surprise me” function on Deb’s blog, I stumbled on a recipe for roasted pears that caught this cookie-loving lady’s attention. The pears looked like they were melting into the baking dish, coated with a syrup of vanilla beans, sugar, and lemon. I wanted to scoop them right out of the screen.
The holidays are upon us. If roasting a perfect turkey and baking a perfect pie aren’t your stressors of choice, well hey! There’s always gifting the perfect gift.
It’s tough, isn’t it? Your roommate has been aching for that beautiful red sweater, but doesn’t have the heart to steer you in the right direction, so she just holds her breath and hopes you magically figure it out. Your brother likes nothing, nothing at all. There is literally nothing he wants. And your partner? Well, either a) everything you buy is perfect, and oh, the pressure of finding that perfect gift yet again! or b) you’ve never succeeded in getting a gift he/she wants, so why should this year be different, except you really want this year to be different.
Friends, I’m here to help.
Below is a completely random assortment of stuff I think is swell. Of course, it all relates to food. Hopefully you can find gifts for all the folks in your life somewhere in the list below.
WALL ART
1. The periodic table of waterbath preserving is going up on a wall in my kitchen as soon as it arrives. Your canning-crazy friends would appreciate it too. Trust me, I know canning-crazy. I am canning crazy.
2. I debated keeping this print from NYT artist Wendy McNaugton on the DL, but it’s glorious and deserves to be shared.
COOKS’ (AND BAKERS’) GIFTS
3. For the baker in your life, bakers’ labels are a thoughtful, practical gift. Felix Doolittle makes some beautiful ones (as well as canning labels, if your granny’s jam is the bees’ knees and just needs to be shared). If your baker buddy wants labels to match his/her brand, Moo allows you to customize labels using your own design. I bought some mini business cards on Moo this year, and I’m quite happy with the way they turned out.
4. Is there a classier jar than Weck? Nope.
5. I bake bread regularly in the winter, and as I get back into my rhythm, I start to play around with different designs for the top of the dough. One really beautiful option is to let the dough rise in one of these elegant rising baskets; they make spiral-shaped ridges in the top of the dough and give the finished loaf a distinctive look.
The leaves are falling, yellow and burnt orange, into oddly balmy air. It’s not nearly as cold as “late November” suggests it should be. No scarf or hat for me – not even a real winter coat yet. Just a blazer, some low boots, and a hankering for the real chill to set in.
We spent thanksgiving in Michigan, where I was certain we’d have some seasonally appropriate weather. But folks, even Detroit was definitively mild. Aside from plenty of rain, the Michigan air barely even could be called brisk.
So yes, I’m impatient for real, honest fall. I’m sure I’ll laugh bitterly if I chance to reread this post in February, but for now, I’m ready for real fall. In the meantime, I’m cheating the seasons a bit: well ahead of the weather’s lazy schedule, I’ve busted out the tea leaves. Folks, I’m making chai.
I’m back, in the nick of time, with one last side dish to grace your Thanksgiving table (because really, can you ever have enough sides?) By now, you’re probably squared away with your stuffing, your Turkey, and those pies. So here’s an idea for what to do with all those sweet potatoes. I wouldn’t call it a traditional dish, but it’s certainly a play on tradition.
I’ve always loved twice-baked potatoes, with their crisp skin and just enough potato inside to cushion the cheesy filling. So why not twice-bake sweet potatoes? Yes, their flesh is less starchy, and their skins are harder to crisp up. But when you succeed — and you will succeed – you will reap the rewards of hot, sweet, crunchy, soft, sweet ‘taters like you’ve never had’em before.
A couple weekends ago, our friends Meryl and Benjy came to town. We slept in for the first time in years, and then we hosted a late morning brunch. There’s nothing like nursing a cup of strong, steaming coffee, stirring eggs and cream, and soaking in a perfect fall day.
First to the table was my new cold-weather staple, citrus salad: peeled sliced grapefruit and oranges, a little honey, some mint, presto. Rebecca made French toast casserole, dripping maple syrup and topped with fresh blueberries. To round things out, I made this quiche.
