I have a big collection of salts—Indonesian, Himalayan, Japanese, smoked, curried—and I am not shy about liberally sprinkling them as finishing touches on everything from salad to oatmeal. I’ve also experimented with adding my own flavors (black trumpet mushroom, wild lime, shiso seed) and recently was inspired by this lovely post to try some new ones. If you have not yet discovered the wonders of sea salt in all its sparkling, saline glory (maybe you missed this post?), this is your chance. Of late I have sprinkled black trumpet salt on mushroom risotto, smoked salt on ricotta, cacao salt on beans, citrus salt on tempura and cumin salt on lamb. It adds a wonderful crunch and a pure burst of flavor that dissolves on the tongue. Irresistible.

cozy kitchen corner with citrus

At the moment, citrus abounds in my kitchen. (I love this corner, by the way. I will often sit on this little leather couch and enjoy the early morning sun, drinking a cup of genmaicha and writing.) I have kumquats, limes, lemons, bergamots, Indian limes and HoneyBells to choose from.

sunnyside up

Kumquats are actually much more versatile than you would think. I like to eat them whole, or add slices of them to my drinking water. Paradoxically, the rind is sweet and whatever little inner flesh they have is the more tart part. You can also cook them down with sugar and water to make a fantastic quick marmalade.

zest for life

Sea salt is produced through the evaporation of seawater, usually with minimal processing. This leaves behind trace minerals and elements, which add flavor and color depending on the water source. Table salt is mined from underground salt deposits and more heavily processed to eliminate minerals. It usually contains an additive to prevent clumping, as well as added iodine, an essential nutrient for synthesizing thyroid hormones. You only need a tiny amount of iodine and if you’re not eating table salt, you can get enough by eating sea vegetables, fish, dairy products and even strawberries. It’s yet another good reason to eat some seaweed.

flecks and flakes

I’ve made salt with citrus zest before, so I was intrigued to see that the post on 101 Cookbooks calls for drying it in a low oven. I tried this with one batch and discovered that it really seems to decrease the pungency, both in smell and taste, so I prefer to skip this step. I find that the salt sucks enough moisture out of the zest to prevent it from clumping, and in this way also retains much more of the flavor. You can experiment to see what you think.

cumin through my window

While I was at it, I decided to make a few other flavors. I had some small glass spice jars on hand, and figured they would make nice hostess gifts for friends. I was cooking a lamb dish for dinner, so thought of cumin seeds. Toasting them first brings out their oils and both intensifies and mellows them, adding a rounder note.

back to the grind

I blitzed them a few times in my spice grinder, then added sea salt and pulsed that briefly to combine. The smell is glorious. This would be fantastic sprinkled on a jícama salad, over fish tacos or on a tomato curry.

little bits

I’ve had some cacao nibs lurking about my pantry for a while and this recipe made me think of them again. If you’ve never tried these before, I suggest you order some from here. They are bits of fermented, dried, roasted and crushed cacao beans. Crunchy yet tender, they have a complex, slightly bitter chocolate flavor and are very rich in antioxidants. Earthy, but not sweet, they are somehow strangely satisfying to eat plain but also can be used in a variety of dishes, from cookies to mashed potatoes. I’m making oatmeal right now, and I stirred some pumpkin puree and grated apple into it and added a generous pinch of cacao salt. This shallot marmalade looks incredible, no?

salt of the earth

This cacao salt is simply nibs and salt blitzed in the spice grinder. I plan to sprinkle it on banana bread before baking it and, as I mentioned earlier, it’s delicious on black beans. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. If you’d like to try a few of your own combinations, you can always go here for inspiration and supplies. Before you know it, you’ll be an old hand at salt…or just an old salt.

You go along in life, understanding the course of things, but never really imagining that what you see others endure will befall you. That might be the definition of youth. Because, inevitably, it happens to you. To paraphrase Mia Farrow, life is a series of losses and it’s all about the grace and resilience with which you respond. My former mother-in-law once looked at a photo of Liv Ullman on the cover of the New York Times Magazine and said, “Ugh, she’s really let herself go.” Never mind that the Swedish actress was being lauded for directing a film, what mattered to this woman was that a former beauty now looked like the 62-year-old she was. And I remember feeling disgusted by that, and vowing to forever construe “letting oneself go” as something quite liberating and wonderful.

I let my grey hair come in over the past 2 years and there was a certain loss that needed to be mourned there; quietly, mind you. I went from a tousled brunette to an elegant silver without more than a whimper. But now that I am finding it difficult to fit into any of my clothes, now that my skin is becoming slacker and my muscle tone less defined—all those clichés of middle age—I begin to feel a bit of that desperation that sends women under the scalpel. I’m not going to start in with the whole I’m invisible routine. Unless you’re Elle Macpherson, that pretty much sets in after age 40. And I’m lucky enough to have a husband who tells me I’m beautiful all the time. But, pathetic as it may be, I am newly committed to holding on to what I have for as long as possible. That entails lots of exercise and watching what I eat. Because, to me, being a glutton is all about expanding your palate not your waistline. It’s being greedy for the things that are good and good for you. It means that lunch is about salad.

step on the scale

Our friends Laquita and Tim brought us some delicious smoked trout over the holidays. It actually comes from a local business, Samaki, in Port Jervis. The owner is a white African who somehow ended up in this little town cold-smoking fish that goes to venerable city retailers like Russ and Daughters, Barney Greengrass and Zabar’s. Rich and peppery, it’s got lots of protein, iron and vitamin A, and relatively little fat, most of it the good kind. The skin is so gorgeous, no?

where there’s smoke…

I love smoked fish. I saw a great video recently on how to create your own stovetop smoker, and I just ordered a bunch of different wood shavings so I could experiment with making my own. I have a piece of black cod that I’m going to try first, as sable is my go-to order at Barney Greengrass. If you’ve never been to this New York institution, by the way, you should definitely make a pilgrimage. It ain’t cheap but it’s the real deal. I’ve also been known to frequent the outpost at Barneys in Los Angeles.

what a flake

Use a fork or your fingers to flake the fish apart. This is nicer than chopping it with a knife. Another great way to eat smoked trout is whizzed in the cuisinart with some cream cheese and scallions. Spread this on dark rye and go to heaven.

crunch time

In the middle of a busy day, I made a quick, satisfying and healthy lunch with just a few ingredients. If you work in an office, this is an easy meal to transport. Bring the salad in one bag, the trout in another and the dressing in a jar, and combine just before eating. When I worked at Saks, I went through phases where I brought my lunch a lot, and it’s so much more “sustainable” all around.

greens keeper

Frisée is like lettuce with a perm. Its texture holds dressing really well, almost like penne holds sauce. Of course you could use any combination of fresh greens you like; something with a hint of bitter goes nicely with the smoked fish. Sliced radishes add an excellent crunch, but fennel or celery would also work.

cuts the mustard

I decided to use a little mustard oil for the dressing. What I’m talking about here is pure mustard oil, a deep golden elixir with a spicy, nutty flavor that’s used quite a bit in Indian cooking. (And in Ayurvedic massage to stimulate the muscles and circulation, as well as the male member prior to sexual congress!) It smells like very powerful horseradish and is a good source of vegetarian omega-3 fatty acids. A little goes a long way, and it can be used in conjunction with other oils to mute its strong taste. Because horseradish is traditionally served with smoked fish, I though it would go well with the trout, and I was right. I drizzled some on the frisée and radishes, then added the juice of an entire small lemon.

slim chance

It was a bracing, fresh combination that satisfied. I aspire to be eternally slim, but I am not about deprivation and I will never, ever sacrifice flavor. Would you?

Angelica, known in some parts as Holy Ghost or Wild Celery, is a member of the genus Umbelliferae, which also endows the kitchen with parsley, carrot, parsnip, fennel, anise, coriander, celery, dill, cumin, lovage and caraway. Its subtly sweet flavor hints at many if not all these sister plants, with prominent notes of licorice and celery. Its botanical name, angelica archangelica, derives from the legend that it was the archangel Michael who told of its medicinal use, and every part of the plant has been prized for centuries for remedies addressing diverse complaints, especially digestive and bronchial problems. The leaves are used for tea; the roots and seeds flavor wine and spirits, including gin, Chartreuse, Bénédictine, vermouth and absinthe; the ground dried root and candied stems are added to baked goods; and the fresh leaves enliven salads, soups, stews, custards and ice cream. A flute-like instrument with a reedy sound can even be made of its hollow stem (entertaining for kids), and I’ve also seen the stems used as straws for drinks.

in full flower

Angelica comes up early and faithfully every year in my garden, along with the rhubarb and the bee balm. Many old recipes specify that angelica should be cut sometime in April for candying. Early May is probably also OK; you just want to be sure that the stems are still green and not becoming horsey and purplish. Once the plant blooms, it’s probably too late to harvest them for this purpose. The way the weather has been going this winter, I wouldn’t be surprised to see its green head crowning any time.

One note on harvesting angelica: The plant is full of terpenes, a resin-like organic compound that is released more actively in warmer weather. Be sure to wear gloves and long pants when cutting angelica, as any “juice” that gets on you will react with sunlight and can cause a terrible burn that may scar.

stem the tide

In the past, I have used the leaves to make angelica butter, but last spring I decided to candy the stems. To my shame, they’ve been sitting unused in a jar since then. This might be the moment to try some sort of extreme fruitcake, although it would also be good in gingerbread or biscotti, I think.

follow the hollow

A little research turns up surprisingly consistent recipes for candying angelica stems. It’s a bit of a process, as the stems can be tough and stringy, sort of like cardoons or old celery. I love this old gem, from The Accomplished Housekeeper and Universal Cook published in London in 1717:

“Gather your Angelica in April, cut in lengths, and boil it in water till it becomes tender. Having put it on a sieve to drain, peel it, and dry it in a clean cloth, and to every pound of stalks take a pound of double-refined sugar finely pounded. Put your stalks into an earthen pan, and strew the sugar over them. Cover them close, and let them stand two days. Then put it into a preserving-pan, and boil it till it is clear. Then put it into a cullender to drain, strew it pretty thick over with fine powder sugar, lay it on plates, and dry it in a cool oven, or before the fire.“

And that’s pretty much what I did. I added a touch of baking soda which helps the angelica retain its glorious green color.

drenched in sugar syrup

Over several days, you pour hot sugar syrup over the angelica stems four times, draining them and then drying overnight each time. On the last day, you drain the syrup into a saucepan and cook it to 245º. Then you add the angelica to the pot and boil it until the stalks look translucent. For longterm storage, you can either leave the stems in the syrup (refrigerate or can), or remove the stems to a drying rack and sprinkle them with sugar to crystallize them, which is what I did.

squirreled away

If your curiosity is piqued, but not enough to make your own, you can buy candied angelica here. They are out of stock now, but try checking back in the late spring.

In the meantime, in case you happen to have some candied angelica hanging around—or are simply inspired to try an old school fruitcake—here’s an intriguing recipe loaded with candied fruit, butter and eggs from none other than Martha Washington. I read both that she prepared it for George in celebration of their wedding anniversary, and that she baked it for her grandmother. Either way, it’s an 18th-century classic, worth revisiting 300 years later. Talk about history in the making.

A much heralded character throughout history, the virtues of the pomegranate are extolled in the Koran, the Book of Exodus and Homer’s Hymns. Punica granatum has been cultivated in the Caucasus since ancient times and continues to be popular amongst the antioxidant-slurping, fountain-of-youth-seekers of modern day. It’s in season now in the Northern Hemisphere and widely available in supermarkets and Korean delis near you. The name comes from the Latin for “seeded apple” and, indeed, its leathery red shell breaks apart to reveal a spongy web nestling a treasure trove of glittering garnet jewels. So glorious is this fruit that the ancient city of Granada in Spain was renamed for the pomegranate during Moorish reign. The flavor is most often a combination of sweet and tart, with a mouth-puckering quality from the tannins contained in the juice of the aril, as the watery part surrounding the seed is called. These have a slight crunch to them and a hint of bitterness that adds to the complex flavor of this fruit, as delicious eaten out of hand as it is mixed fresh into salads, cooked in stews, or rendered into syrup to flavor all manner of drinks and traditional dishes from the Middle East.

pomniverous

Pomegranate juice is rich in vitamin C and a good source of vitamin B5, potassium and polyphenols (tannins and flavonoids) and other antioxidant phytochemicals. The seeds themselves contain beneficial unsaturated oils. Some studies have shown pomegranate juice to be effective in reducing risk factors of heart disease, including lowering blood pressure and bad cholesterol. It may also inhibit viral infections and be effective against dental plaque. And it will also wash your car. Kidding. (The FDA issued a warning to  POM Wonderful in 2010 for making illegal claims of unproven antioxidant and anti-disease benefits.) Keep in mind that eating the seeds whole is best; fresh juice comes next; and the bottled stuff last, although it’s not without its benefits.

voluptuous curves

In Ancient Israel, scouts brought pomegranates to show Moses the fertility of the promised land. They are symbolic of plenty in so many cultures and religions, including Islam, Hinduism, Christianity and Judaism.

to dye for

After opening the pomegranate by scoring it with a knife and breaking it open, separate the arils (seed casings)  from the peel and the white membranes. This is easily done in a bowl of water because the arils sink and the inedible pulp floats. Freezing the entire fruit also makes it easy to separate.

immersive experience

Another very effective way of quickly harvesting the arils is to cut the pomegranate in half and score each half of the rind about six times. Then hold the pomegranate half over a bowl and smack the rind with a large spoon. The arils should pop out directly into the bowl, leaving only a relative few to dig out.

garnet jewels

These fresh kernels are delicious scattered over hummus; mixed into a salad of fennel or endive or in a rice or quinoa pilaf; stirred into thick, honey-drizzled labne or yogurt; or made into a sauce for fish. Their flavor also pairs well with citrus, lamb and saffron.

honeyed tones

Pomegranate molasses is a thick, syrupy concoction that—unlike grenadine, it’s thinner, sweeter cousin—is rather sour and complex, almost like an aged balsamic vinegar in flavor. In Turkey, we ate it in muhammara, a dip for bread and vegetables made with roasted red pepper, walnut and garlic. It’s also wonderful pooled around panna cotta.

Last weekend I attended a dinner with a Middle Eastern theme and was asked to provide an appropriate cocktail. I had a bottle of our local Peace vodka that I was infusing with saffron and decided to start there. Combined with blood orange juice, pomegranate molasses and a bit of orange flower water, it would have gone a long way toward convincing Moses he’d reached the promised land.

divine right

I’m not one of those people who’s at a loss for what to cook. I have a repertoire of favorites and a list as long as my arm of new things I want to try. This is not bragging. There are plenty of things I do not have: Children. A Pulitzer Prize. Thin thighs. Yet on some nights even I don’t have it in me to start whirling around the kitchen like a culinary dervish. On those nights, I just want something delicious to appear on my plate. But there’s no takeout up here, remember? So I like to store a few tricks up my sleeve. Nothing wrong with a little help from your friends, though I can’t recommend fast food. Nor canned food, for that matter. Not to harsh your mellow, but do you know about the epoxy liners in most cans? They’re made with Bisphenol A (BPA), a chemical that can mimic human estrogen and is linked to breast cancer and early puberty in women. (The horror, the horror.) The Environmental Working Group tested canned food bought across America and found BPA in more than half, at levels they call “200 times the government’s traditional safe level of exposure for industrial chemicals.” So much for those canned beans, my darlings.

master class

Luckily for us, Agrodolce for Fast Foodies has created the delicious and glass-bottled Master Stock. It’s an intense mix of soy sauce, yellow rock sugar and Shaoxing Rice Wine that is boiled and infused with fresh garlic, ginger and spices. Slightly sweet and slightly salty, you can use it to successfully braise chicken, duck, beef, lamb and pork. The Australian chef responsible for this witchy brew, Prue Barrett, explains that “unlike other stocks and sauces, it’s not discarded after use. It’s simply boiled, strained and frozen for the next time. So while the meat absorbs the flavors of the stock, the meat also imparts its own flavor into the stock making it more rich and complex with each use.” Talk about sustainable cooking! The Agrodolce site includes a couple of nice recipes:  one for salmon, and one for crispy-skin chicken. (And check out their other products while you’re at it.)

into the drink

I’ve used Master Stock for poaching skinless chicken breasts, and the directions are right on the bottle. Plunk in the boobs, bring to a boil, simmer and then cool in the liquid. That’s it. They emerge juicy and flavorful, with a decidedly Asian accent.

oh boy, bok choy

I like to serve them with a little brown rice and a quick stir-fry of bok choy and wood ear mushrooms.

they really do feel a little too much like ears

These mushrooms are pretty easy to find dried, but recently I have come across the fresh ones. They are incredibly cool! Velvety on one side and slick on the other, and the most gorgeous tortoise-shell hue, reminiscent of Titi, my sweet kitty.

wok on by

Stir-fry is just a catch-all term for throwing things in a skillet and sauteing them quickly over relatively high heat. Once you get it down, you can get all bold and creative, tossing in all manner of things, from pea pods to bean sprouts to celery to cashews. There’s not much to get down, really. The thing to know is that ingredients often have a different optimal cook time. So you start with the things that take longer, and gradually add the rest.

cilantro and scallions

I poach the chicken breasts, and while that’s happening, I make some short-grain brown rice and stir-fry the vegetables. I serve it garnished with a lot of chopped scallions and cilantro. Maybe a little chile oil drizzled on top. Simple, fast, delicious. Oh, and healthy. Of course. You know me by now.

short order cooking

So easy, you don’t even need a recipe. What? Tell you exactly how to make that stir-fry? OK, but then you’re on your own, kid.

I have always had a passion for beets. Never a picky eater, I enjoyed these somewhat polarizing purple root vegetables from an early age. I can still remember the thrill of seeing my pee, subtly pink, circling the bowl. In college, I seemed to be the only one helping myself to Harvard beets, a sweet-tart staple of the dining hall salad bar. Although beets are now widely embraced as part of the unavoidable farm-to-table syndrome, they rarely make an appearance in our home as they are one of the few things for which my husband simply does not care. With their assertive color and distinctive earthy sweetness, they’re not exactly the sort of thing you can just slip into a dish. Although I may roast a few on occasion for my own consumption, I am not in the habit of adding them to our morning juice or recreating the divine beet crumble from The Fat Radish. So you can imagine my delight when G urged me to go ahead and make that borscht I was daydreaming about. Not that I needed his permission, but it’s kind of lonely to cook up a whole pot of soup and then have to eat it alone. Cooking for one is a very specific thing that lends itself more to simple pastas, elaborate salads and the occasional pot pie, don’t you think?

brush up on your beets

The Brits call it beetroot. (They’ve got so many fanciful names for vegetables: mangetout for snow peas; aubergine for eggplant; marrow for squash; courgette for zucchini; swedes for rutagbagas.) The Beta vulgaris was cultivated all the way back in the second millennium B.C. somewhere along the Mediterranean, then it spread to Babylonia by the 8th century and as far east as China by 850 AD. It is currently a widely cultivated commercial crop for producing table sugar.

in the pink

Beets are a unique source of betalains, phytonutrients that are antioxidant, anti-inflammatory and detoxifying. They’ve been shown to be an important contributor of two carotenoids, lutein and zeaxanthin, which are especially beneficial to eye health and common age-related eye problems involving the macula and the retina. Another interesting tidbit is that only about 10% of people experience beeturia (the reddening of the urine), similar to how only a percentage of people can detect that weird post-asparagus pee smell.

beyond the pale, but not for long

There are so many different kinds of borscht, a Central and Eastern European staple: with and without meat; with beef; with pork; beets only, or loaded up with other root vegetables. One standard bearer is from Veselka, the longstanding East Village fixture and bastion of Ukrainian soul food, which is made with pork butt, beef stock and lima beans. Mine is a sort of hybrid of various kinds I’ve eaten over the years. It’s made with beef stock and meat and, in addition to beets, has turnips, parsnip, potato and cabbage. I use some allspice and caraway, but I go easy on the clove as it can be too strong if you’re not careful.

lose the fat

I don’t know if you’ve tried, but I find it incredibly difficult to get my hands on any conscientiously raised beef bones in Manhattan. Seems like chefs are snapping them up, plus so many good butchers now have adjacent kitchens that press them into service. Since this recipe also calls for meat, you can make the stock with oxtails or short ribs, and it works out rather well.

a loving spoonful

I roasted oxtails in a hot oven along with some onions and carrots until it was well browned and caramelized; deglazed the pan with a little white wine; then poured it all into a big stockpot with plenty of water to simmer for a few hours. I removed the meaty bones and stored them separately, and strained the stock to chill overnight. The next day, I discarded the layer of fat and was ready to assemble my borscht.

tails from my kitchen

Once cold, it’s easy to pull the fat from the meat, and the meat from the bones. If you’ve never had it, oxtail is rich and flavorful, much like short ribs or brisket. It makes a wonderfully gelatinous stock that’s full of nutrition.

follow the beet

Scrub the beets, wrap them in foil and roast them in the oven until tender. Cool slightly, slip off the peels and grate them coarsely. Of course they impart their beautiful magenta hue to the soup.

grate expectations

As you can see, I had two different kinds of beets. The larger, paler ones were much less sweet than the small deep purple ones. Isn’t the color extraordinary? (As an aside, I once tried to use beet juice to dye a caftan and it turned it yellow!)

from my salad days

Even knowing that I would have borscht for dinner, I couldn’t resist eating the extra few beets for lunch. I quartered them, tossed them with some orange slices, sheep’s milk feta and a spicy olive oil and sprinkled minced parsley and coarse sea salt on top. It was the ideal solo meal. And later, I affirmed once again that I do indeed belong to the lucky 10%.

I turned 49 yesterday. Slightly surreal. I’m a little thicker around the middle than I’d like to be, but otherwise I’m pretty damn happy with things. I’ve always been a little superstitious about the evil eye, never wanting to call too much attention to my good fortune. I remember my mother telling me about a moment she had while driving, feeling the sun on her face, the breeze in her hair, and thinking to herself Everything is wonderful and then, suddenly, my dad was diagnosed with cancer and her own health began to fail rapidly. Life can change seemingly in an instant, which is why we must pay such close attention to the here and now, seeking joy in the moment. Lofty ambitions and long-term plans have their place, but there’s also something invaluable in the simplest pastimes: a long walk in the snow; organizing your drawers; playing catch; baking a loaf of banana bread.

upper crust: try a sprinkling of turbinado sugar

I find cooking to be very relaxing, a creative endeavor which, unlike writing, rarely causes me anxiety. Your hands get busy, your mind wanders and the senses take over. And, in the end, you are rewarded with something tangible, edible, shareable. It’s a peaceful feeling of accomplishment.

I like to make this banana bread and then eat a piece as soon as it’s cool enough to slice, slathered with salty butter. It’s also good with peanut butter or cream cheese. By the next day, I like to eat it toasted. I’ll usually freeze half the loaf for another time.

loafing around

Banana bread is a simple homey pleasure. It’s also easily modified to suit what you have on hand or feel like including. This gluten-free recipe calls for brown rice flour and potato starch, but an all-purpose gluten-free mix, regular all-purpose flour, or some combination of unbleached white, whole wheat pastry and buckwheat flours would all work. You can use all sugar—light, dark, refined, cane—or substitute honey, maple syrup, agave or molasses as you wish. Raisins are lovely, but dried cranberries, goji berries, chopped dates, dried apricots or figs would be equally so. Leave out the nuts, or try pecans, peanuts, macadamias or pistachios. Use butter or olive oil instead of the coconut butter. Other possible mix-ins: dried coconut, carob or chocolate chips, crystallized ginger, citrus zest, marmalade. Restrain yourself to 2 or 3 that complement each other.

slice of life

I learned a nice trick for banana bread from the Blackbird Bakery cookbook. You roast the bananas, skins on, for 15 minutes, being sure to prick them with a fork first so they don’t burst. This adds an extra dimension to the flavor of the bread. It’s not an essential step, but what’s an extra 15 minutes in the grand scheme of things? Take your time.

I’m about to pick a major bone, so if you’re not in the mood—and I’m not talking about steak for dinner—turn away now. There’s been a media pigpile on Paula Deen this week and I’ve got to get in my licks. It’s not just that she has consistently used her Food TV show to promote unhealthy (and foul) food and been a longtime paid shill for industrial-meat giant Smithfield (whose inexcusably raised products are proven to increase the risk of diabetes), but now she’s a spokesperson for Novo Nordisk’s diabetes treatment Victoza (the 2010 FDA approval of which came amidst powerful evidence of a link to thyroid cancer), after disclosing that she was diagnosed with the disease three years ago. I find this all so deeply disturbing. And then I read a review by Nigella Lawson on the Piglet, Food52′s wonderful Tournament of Cookbooks, where she writes about being suspicious of Heidi Swanson’s excellent Super Natural Every Day “because I always fear a certain smuggery, and words like ‘my natural kitchen’ set off the alarm bells.” How have we come to this place where natural and healthy are deemed “smug,” and doughnut burgers for breakfast are the order of the day? As I used to say in junior high, gag me with a fork. I think you know where I stand on all this. Bacon and kale are both welcome in my kitchen…

set your cap

…as is my fabulous new dehydrator, a Christmas gift from G, who knew I had been coveting one for some time. (How’s that for a segue?) It’s yet another way of preserving food, something I am increasingly interested in as the apocalypse approaches. Kidding. Sort of. People have been using this method since antiquity; think jerky, figs, tomatoes, chiles, salt cod, etc. It essentially removes the water content, which inhibits the growth of microorganisms and hinders decay. Dehydrated foods retain a great deal of their nutritional value so, at the risk of sounding smug, I’ll point out that they are quite healthy. I’m looking forward to using my new machine to make fruit leathers, vegetable chips, even yogurt.

a good ribbing

I read about a portobello mushroom jerky made by this company, but apparently it’s been discontinued. Not to be deterred, I decided to attempt my own. Mushrooms are inherently meaty and also rather spongelike, so they absorb flavors well. Don’t have a dehydrator? You can try making this using the lowest setting on your oven. Maybe prop the door open with a wooden spoon. Just watch carefully so the mushrooms don’t crisp up. You want the texture to be dense and leathery, with the right tooth-tugging chew.

shroom for more

The slices will shrink as they dry, so cut them about three-quarters of an inch thick. Incidentally (she said smugly), mushrooms are low in fat, relatively high in protein, and full of vitamins and minerals. If you’d like to find out more about the wonderful world of fungi, listen to this fascinating interview on Fresh Air with botanist Nicholas Money.

soak it up

I made a tangy marinade with maple syrup, tamari and pimentón, but you can play around with any flavors you like. Assertive ones work best, as does a combination of sweet-tart-salty-spicy. I love Dickson’s beef jerky made with an addictive mix of star anise and red chile, and may try recreating that next time. When using meat, lean is best as fat turns rancid more quickly (see: Paula Deen).

into leather (one of the all-time great move lines: watch this)

This is a really satisfying snack! The texture is addictive. Too bad it’s so fucking healthy. How uncool. Paula and Nigella would not approve. I guess in a pinch you can always stick it between a couple of doughnuts and call it breakfast.

The opening of Greens Restaurant in San Francisco in 1979, under the auspices of the San Francisco Zen Center, forever changed the image of vegetarian food in this country. I began cooking from The Greens Cookbook in 1989, during the year I returned home to Santa Cruz as my father was dying from stomach cancer. It opened my mind to a new kind of cooking based upon vegetables, of which there was a constant, seasonal stream from our garden and local farmers markets. I also had a chance to eat at the restaurant, a beautiful spot overlooking the bay where a subtle message of health and harmony was offered in an elegant organic environment. The restaurant has since evolved toward a lighter, leaner cuisine, and I think the latest edition of the cookbook also differs somewhat from the one I have, but the essential philosophy of founders Deborah Madison and Edward Espe Brown remains intact. I have misplaced the book now (hopefully it’s in storage somewhere), but I recall many of the dishes: saffron custard with eggplant; butter-fried potatoes with curry; baked polenta with tomato and gorgonzola; and a simple recipe for dried apricots poached with ginger and served cold with a dollop of crème fraîche.

golden orbs

I went out of my mind reading the latest issue of Lucky Peach, David Chang’s inspired magazine, and was especially taken with Adam Gollner’s article about the apricots of Tajikistan. I tracked down the source and ordered 9 pounds of these dried beauties, most of which I plan to use for jam. They are juicy, pliable and bursting with notes of honey, flowers and citrus.

The apricot’s scientific name, Prunus armeniaca (Armenian plum), derives from the assumption that it was originally cultivated in Armenia. Although an archaeological excavation there found apricot seeds in an Eneolithic-era site, the true origin of the fruit’s domestic cultivation appears to be either China or India in about 3000 BC. Its introduction to Greece is attributed to Alexander the Great, and the Roman General Lucullus (106–57 B.C.) also exported some trees from Armenia to Europe. I love the image of battle-weary Roman soldiers licking the sweet orange juice from their fingers.

poaching with ginger

I remembered this very easy recipe from the Greens cookbook right away when I saw the apricots and knew I had to make  a batch. There’s not much to it, but you do need to take the time to peel and slice lots of ginger and a bit of lemon peel into slim matchsticks. This creates just the right texture in the final dish, when you have a bite of velvety sweet apricot offset by chewy, pungent strands, bound together in an amber syrup. You can tell by their color that apricots are loaded with beta-carotene; they’re also high in vitamin A and fiber.

sweet and spicy

Although you may be tempted to dig right in while it’s still warm, something magical happens when this is thoroughly chilled. A thick pour of heavy cream or a generous blob of crème fraîche is all you need to bring out the best in this simple dessert. The apricots are wonderful on their own; served alongside panna cotta, poundcake or cornmeal biscuits; or spooned over yogurt for breakfast. Any leftover syrup is delicious stirred into soda or prosecco, or makes a lovely cocktail with gin.

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