March 2011

My passionate love of beets dates back to my early childhood. I can remember staring delightedly into the toilet as a lovely pink-tinged rinse circled the bowl. Their gorgeous color is a way of signaling how rich they are in minerals and antioxidants. (Beet juice, incidentally, makes a wonderful dye. Stay tuned for the transformation of my new white linen caftan!) The beets we know and eat are descended from the sea beet, Beta vulgaris subsp. maritima, which is native to the coasts of Europe, North Africa and southern Asia. Also known as wild spinach, it's the common ancestor of beetroot, sugar beet and Swiss chard.In my desire to help you squeeze the maximum out of your winter store of root vegetables, I can't forget to mention these wine-colored jewels. We don't eat them much in our house because G is not fond of them—something which is apparently rather common among men. I wonder why? He thinks they taste of dirt, which of course they do, but isn't that the whole point? I love them in all their guises—raw, steamed, roasted and pickled—and will often indulge when the cat's away.
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I'm so tired. After more than a month, the construction on our bathroom has once again ground to a halt. It's too excruciating to even go into the details. Suffice it to say, we have a working toilet. But no shower, no sink and no door on the bathroom. It's been bliss to come home and sleep in our own bed for a couple of nights, but I just don't know how this is going to work. I am beyond tantrum and into fugue state. If you think it's hard to find a good contractor where you live, come up to the sticks and feel my pain. Soup helps. It's soothing and warming. Especially this delicious carrot version that I developed years ago when I was living in Los Angeles. It was originally meant to be eaten cold, but I've found that I also love it hot. It is very brightly flavored with sharp hits of ginger, and richly spiced. I've made it on the chunkier side, but I think I prefer it super-smooth and creamy. A handful of croutons on top are key to give it a bit of satisfying textural contrast. A bowl of this with a salad of roasted beets, mâche and goat cheese on the side, and you're golden.
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I ended my fast a day early—I just felt ready—and have been eating miso soup, a little quinoa and small amounts of cooked vegetables. It feels good to chew again! So in the end, my jeans are a bit looser but, more importantly, I really feel like I hit the reset button. No more sugar cravings. (Did you know that taking probiotics in the morning helps with that by boosting your body's good bacteria?) And I am resolved to be kinder to myself in all ways; not by indulging my every whim, but by stopping to consider what I really want, on every level, and not acting on impulse. Does that make sense?Although I am not eating any animal products yet, I wanted to offer you this easy recipe for chicken legs that I've had up my sleeve. It was very loosely inspired by the cooking of Suzanne Goin, who firmly believes in the benefits of marinating and the addition of chile de árbol to practically everything. It's a simple preparation that's ideal for a quick weeknight dinner, or to make ahead and take with you for a cold lunch.
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Ever since I was a child, I have loved collecting. It started with seashells on the beach, then enamel rainbow pins and with time developed into a passion for German ceramics from the 50s and 60s, Elsa Peretti designs, beautiful baskets and anything mid-century by Dansk made out of teak. (Let's not even get into the designer clothing, vintage and new!) But paradoxically, I deplore what we affectionately refer to as "tchotch" (pronounced "chahch")—an abbreviation of "tchotchke," a Yiddishism that refers to knickknacks and gewgaws, the sort of kitsch that collected dust on your grandmother's doily-covered side tables.I have solved this by mainly collecting things that are actually pressed into service, and never deemed too precious to take part in daily life. The ceramics are plates, bowls, vases and candlesticks that are routinely used. Same with the Dansk: an ice bucket, a serving tray, hurricane lamps. My vintage Ball jars are in constant rotation in my pantry. Beaver Dam (our French friend's house where we have been staying) boasts a number of these practical collections. Aside from the pepper mills and vintage stoneware and linens, there is a wonderful collection of glass beakers and measuring cups. (To my great dismay, I broke one and have been trawling ebay for a suitable replacement.)
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I believe it was right around this time last year that I was waxing poetic about linen sheets. (Yes, here it is.) I won't go into the same details again: about how linen lasts longer, getting softer and more wonderful with age, etc. But I will stress how crucial it is that you pay attention to your bed. I can't get over the fact that some people are willing to sleep on lumpy mattresses with cotton-poly sheets, hard pillows and threadbare blankets. I mean, you're going to be spending about 200,000 hours on your back during this lifetime, and some of your best work will be done there! So don't skimp on the mattress! Indulge in some quality linens 'n' things and your horizontal experience will improve dramatically.You may think me decadent—or neurotic!—but my obsession with having the perfect bed is one of my better qualities. Ask anyone who has slept in my bed, our bed, I mean, I'm talking about houseguests to whom G and I have given up our room. I swear they all ask where we get our sheets. Anyway, you can imagine that it has been a little traumatic to be laying my head on someone else's pillows every night for the last month while our bathroom is being renovated. (In fact, we actually brought our own pillows with us! Monte Carlo goose down from Garnet Hill, $138, if you must know.) Fortunately, the gorgeous house at Beaver Dam—our home away from home—features some very fabulous antique French linen sheets.
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It's day 7 of my juice fast. The simple act of taking food out of the equation can be hugely transformative. Our relationship to eating tends to be very complex, because it provides not only nourishment but comfort, sensual pleasure and perhaps a buffer to shield us from some of our deepest feelings. One thing I grapple with is the herpes virus that I have carried in my body since 1985. During that time it has been more and less active, but seems to have migrated now to reside in my sacrum, a very vulnerable spot indeed. Os sacrum is Latin for "the seat of the soul." This area seems to have become very congested for me, and I sense that lower back pain, writing blocks and deep fears are all lodged here. On day 3 of my fast, after a couple of dull headaches, including one that woke me in the night, and a surge of the virus in my system, I began to feel like all my defenses and resources were falling away. I slipped back into a pattern of self-doubt and recrimination, where I relive the life-long pain of feeling like a disappointment to my parents. I also felt very isolated and out of my element. This was probably exacerbated by the fact that our week-long bathroom renovation is now in its frustrating and enraging fourth week, and we are still availing ourselves of the incredible hospitality of our dear friend who has lent us his house at Beaver Dam.
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You don't have to be Irish to love corned beef. Eastern European Jews are great connoisseurs of all manner of boiled meat, and New York deli is renowned for its sandwiches piled high with thin slices of this pink, juicy meat. But St. Patrick's Day is coming up a week from Thursday, and that gives you plenty of time (you only need about 5 days, which means you should get started by Saturday at the latest), and the perfect reason, to make your own this year. In its original, peasanty guise, this traditional fodder is as much about the vegetables: turnips, rutabagas, carrots, onions, parsnips, cabbage and plenty of spuds, of course. Not to mention delicious mustards and horseradish sauce. It's a dish meant to usher in spring by using up all those roots stored for the winter. The date for celebrating St. Patrick—a 5th-century English missionary who converted a load of pagans to Christianity—fell during the fasting season of Lent, but prohibitions against eating meat were lifted so the Irish could celebrate their patron saint with dancing, drinking and feasting on the traditional meal of Irish bacon and cabbage. If you make a big hunk of meat, you can share it with lucky friends, or hoard it to make such delectable offshoots as red flannel hash (with beets) and Reuben sandwiches (with homemade sauerkraut).
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Has the light appeared at the end of the tunnel? The days are definitely getting longer. Daylight savings is right around the corner. And soon, delicate shoots and buds will begin to festoon the skeletal branches of winter. But I've got the blues, baby, and I'm dancing as fast as I can to shake them from my weary bones. On mornings like this, the sun on my face is a balm, a promise of better days to come. I thank my stars for the roof over my head and the love of a good man, but there is a heaviness in my soul that, like a magnet, seems to dredge up all the pain and bitter disappointments I have ever known.

This, too, shall pass. Because everything always does. I have no child upon whose steady growth to mark the passage of time, but the ever-changing seasons tell it all. The snowdrifts out my window will give way to Queen Anne's lace and monkeyweed, Japanese beetles will streak by in a flash of iridescence, and I will crush tomato leaves between my dirty fingers and inhale the smell of summer. In the meantime, I will harness the raw energy of the sun, chewing and swallowing it in the form of life-giving sprouts.
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In my quest to revisit the culinary tropes of winter one last time before the change of season, it's time for braising. There's nothing cozier than a pot of something bubbling gently on the stove (or in the oven) all day long, and it's a good idea to enjoy the warm, tender, hearty results now, as they're a far cry from what we'll be craving when the mercury rises. So before we're on to spring's sweet pea risotto and asparagus soup and pickled ramps, are you sure you've perfected the art of the braise? It's all about low and slow, gentle heat breaking things down and building rich, complex flavors. Turns out it's the perfect way to cook a guinea hen (also known as guineafowl). Never had one? Tastes like chicken. Seriously, this is one gorgeous bird, with its dappled black and white feathers and tiny little head. As you can see, above, its meat is darker than a chicken's but it's nowhere near as assertive in flavor as a pheasant or grouse. It's quite high in protein, but doesn't have much fat, which makes it a great candidate for braising.

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Is bigger better? Surely not. But it's nice to eat from every end of the spectrum, from the petite kishu to the gargantuan gigante bean. Though there is something to be said for the sheer meaty size of them, these creamy white beans, also known as gigandes or hija, deliver a lot of sweet flavor. Runner beans of Mediterranean origin—probably Spanish or Greek—you’ll see these on meze or antipasto plates, often coated in a dark orange tomato sauce. In Spain, they are sometimes referred to as judías, a word that also means Jews, though I couldn't find any connection. (Speaking of which, did you see John Galliano's drunken, anti-Semitic rant? Wonder how long Natalie Portman's new Sofia Coppola-directed Dior spot will continue to run...) If you can’t find gigantes, you may substitute limas or any large white bean. Dried beans are a delicious source of fiber and protein at any time of year, since they are as appetizing eaten hot in a soup as they are served at room temp. But until fresh beans are coming off the vine (Happy March, by the way), the dried version can be the centerpiece of many a meal. I do enjoy them in broth, but I think my favorite way to eat beans is cooked until they are very soft and have absorbed all the liquid, drizzled with some spicy green olive oil and sprinkled with crunchy sea salt.
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