When tomatoes were first introduced to Europe, they were known as love apples. The Aztecs called them xitomatl, meaning "plump thing with a navel," and from there we got our word. One gushing sweet-savory bite of this astoundingly red fruit and you know it's good for you, packed with powerful antioxidants, including cancer-fighting lycopene. Red is the color of blood, of passion, of ravishing ripeness. What better way to honor your sweetheart than with a health-promoting, swoon-inducing tomato curry? If tomato is the food of love, read on.

Read More...

WHAT DID I LOVE
by Ellen Bass

 

What did I love about killing the chickens? Let me start
with the drive to the farm as darkness

was sinking back into the earth.

The road damp and shining like the snail’s silver

ribbon and the orchard

with its bony branches. I loved the yellow rubber

aprons and the way Janet knotted my broken strap.

And the stainless-steel altars

we bleached, Brian sharpening

the knives, testing the edge on his thumbnail. All eighty-eight Cornish

hens huddled in their crates. Wrapping my palms around

their white wings, lowering them into the tapered urn.

Some seemed unwitting as the world narrowed;

some cackled and fluttered; some struggled.

I gathered each one, tucked her bright feet,

drew her head through the kill cone’s sharp collar,

her keratin beak and the rumpled red vascular comb

that once kept her cool as she pecked in her mansion of grass.

I didn’t look into those stone eyes. I didn’t ask forgiveness.

I slid the blade between the feathers

and made quick crescent cuts, severing

the arteries just under the jaw. Blood like liquor

pouring out of the bottle. When I see the nub of heart later,

it’s hard to believe such a small star could flare

like that. I lifted each body, bathing it in heated water

until the scaly membrane of the shanks

sloughed off under my thumb.

And after they were tossed in the large plucking drum

I love the newly naked birds. Sundering

the heads and feet neatly at the joints, a poor

man’s riches for golden stock. Slitting a fissure

reaching into the chamber,

freeing the organs, the spill of intestine, blue-tinged gizzard,

the small purses of lungs, the royal hearts,

easing the floppy liver, carefully, from the green gall bladder,

its bitter bile. And the fascia unfurling

like a transparent fan. When I tug the esophagus

down through the neck, I love the suck and release

as it lets go. Then slicing off the anus with its gray pearl

of shit. Over and over, my hands explore

each cave, learning to see with my fingertips. Like a traveller

in a foreign country, entering church after church.

In every one the same figures of the Madonna, Christ on the Cross,

which I’d always thought was gore

until Marie said to her it was tender,

the most tender image, every saint and political prisoner,

every jailed poet and burning monk.

But though I have all the time in the world

to think thoughts like this, I don’t.

I’m empty as I rinse each carcass,

and this is what I love most.

It’s like when the refrigerator turns off and you hear

the silence. As the sun rose higher

we shed our sweatshirts and moved the coolers into the shade,

but, other than that, no time passed.

I didn’t get hungry. I didn’t want to stop.

I was breathing from some right reserve.

We twisted each pullet into plastic, iced and loaded them in the cars.

I loved the truth. Even in just this one thing:

looking straight at the terrible,

one-sided accord we make with the living of this world.

At the end, we scoured the tables, hosed the dried blood,

the stain blossoming through the water.

Read More...

Remember "Singles," Cameron Crowe's 1992 film about young love and indie music in Seattle? No? I'm not surprised. It really wasn't that good. But I'll never forget how Bridget Fonda's character, who was hopelessly in love with Matt Dillon's indifferent rocker, waited in vain for him to say "Bless you" every time she sneezed. In my family we always said "Salud" whenever someone sneezed. To not say it was unthinkable. Like a jinx. What with spring allergies kicking in and everyone getting those changing-season colds, there's lots of sneezing going on nowadays. If you've got a scratchy throat, runny nose or just a general malaise, try this therapeutic treat. It's a sorbet—from Jeni's, of course—packed with vitamin C, soothing honey and a fiery combination of ginger, bourbon and cayenne. It feels restorative and it will definitely clear a few things right up.
Read More...

I'm very into tea. I've never been into coffee (although I do like the occasional cup, especially with lots of cream and sugar) but I really enjoy the ritual of gripping a steaming mug of something first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I bring G a cup in bed around 7:30am and he brings me one at around 10pm. We favor herbal teas, though my repertoire includes some green and black teas as well. The latter I will often drink with a splash of milk, and a spoonful of local honey goes into almost all of them. In the winter, I will sometimes sip tea all day long. As I write this, I am wondering if this is why my teeth are starting to look yellow. Hmmm. Well, anyway, it's better than red wine. Or coffee. Or just as good. Here are some of my favorites, in no particular order.

Mariage Frères teas are expensive, so you know I love them. They are French and very voluptous with fabulously romantic names like Marco Polo and Wedding Imperial and Black Orchid and Eros. They are of course very hard to find unless you are in Paris, but try here or here.
Read More...

Ever get a craving you just can't shake? A couple of weeks ago, I began dreaming of gingerbread: dense and dark, with chewy edges and chunks of crystallized ginger. The cakey kind, not the drier, more brittle sort used for gingerbread men and their over-decorated houses. I'm partial to a tangy lemon glaze on mine. The crackle finish it makes on top and the way it seeps into the crumb is simply irresistible. You don't need anything else with this gingerbread—no whipped cream, no ice cream, no applesauce—just a nice strong cup of tea. I don't recommend it after a hearty stew or pasta, you'll feel too leaden. It's the perfect cold-weather breakfast, lazy afternoon snack or highly anticipated finish to a light dinner.
Read More...

I heard a rumor we are expecting snow showers next week—can you imagine?! An impending hard frost inspired G to bring in a huge batch of green tomatoes from the garden, the last ones clinging to the now-scraggly vines. Initially, I was a tad exasperated. But then I remembered to be grateful. Not to go all Pollyanna on you, but it's an interesting challenge to turn everything into a positive. The old lemons into lemonade philosophy. Not that a bumper crop of green tomatoes really has anything to do with that. And once they were turned into a tart-sweet, highly spiced chutney—thanks to inspiration from Winnie's Healthy Green Kitchen—I looked at those lovely jars stacked up and felt nothing if not happy. Like all the other animals at this time of year, I'm loading up the larder with stores for the winter.
Read More...

The Rickey, a mixed drink featuring lime and not much sugar, was originally created in the 1880s with bourbon by Washington, D.C. bartender George A. Williamson, purportedly in collaboration with Democratic lobbyist Colonel Joe Rickey. Thus the name. Years later, mixed with gin, it became something of a worldwide sensation. Change that to rum, add a little mint and it’s basically a mojito. I first came to know it in the delis and little corner “spas” that dotted the East Village in the 1980s. (Remember those days? I was making $250 cash a week and living in a 3-bedroom-2-bath apartment on Avenue A that cost $1,550 a month. Total. And I had really big hair.) There, it was a huge glass stuffed with halved, squeezed-out limes, plenty of sugar and lots of ice, then topped off with seltzer. Not necessarily the soul of sophistication, but damned refreshing on a sweltering New York City afternoon. I've brought it to a slightly different place with the addition of a ginger-infused honey syrup (you can sub simple syrup, or even superfine sugar) and a splash of bitters, but it remains a thirst-quencher of the first order. Spike it with gin, and it's the perfect summer cocktail.
Read More...

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.
Read More...

With all those rich roasts and braises, the patés and terrines, the confits and caramels, the puddings and petits fours, you need something tangy and vibrant to spark your palate, no? I've been enjoying cooling glasses of seltzer, lightly flavored with lemon-rosemary syrup. Quite a tonic. And a tart, juicy clementine can really hit the spot. I also rely on green juices to keep me honest, though I don't suppose that's actually a good way to kick off a holiday meal. But what about a bowl of brilliant orange carrot soup enlivened with lots of spicy ginger and a warming hint of cumin? The great thing about this soup is that you can adapt it to suit your mood and what you've got in your fridge. Stir in some buttermilk, or a tiny bit of cream. Add chopped jalapeño, or cilantro or dill. Got some stale bread? Make croutons to float in your soup. You can even forget the carrots and ginger and use broccoli, or potatoes, or squash. What I'm trying to say is that you can invent a fantastic vegetable soup by following a few basic steps I will lay out here for you.
Read More...

On a blustery day in the city, I used to love to pop into the tiny bakery at Balthazar where fresh breads and piles of scones and canelés fogged up the windows. Passing up all the baked goods, I would come out with my frozen hands wrapped around a steaming cup of their housemade ginger-citrus tea. Often, it would be so acidic that my teeth would squeak against each other, but I loved the way its spicy sweetness warmed my blood. Now that I don't live near Balthazar—or anything resembling a bakery, or even a café for that matter—I have devised my own recipe and, being rather better balanced, I actually prefer it. That said, I was able to procure Balthazar's recipe and so also offer that to you here. Frankly, I've never tasted either cinnamon or mint in their version, and so did not include that in mine. Suffice it to say, either way this delectable brew is sure to help you ward off a chill and possibly even the flu as we head into winter's cold embrace.
Read More...