I heard Nigel Slater on the radio the other week saying that at this time of year all he wants is the food equivalent of a big, cozy blanket. You know the English love nothing better than what they so quaintly call "cauliflower cheese," and right now I can't really argue with them. I've been cooking from my favorite of Daniel Boulud's many excellent books, Braise, which offers flavorful, falling-off-the-bone one-dish meals that are a brilliant antidote to the mid-winter culinary blahs. But I still crave some light, bright flavors—the citrus and seafood that stand in stark juxtaposition to all those long-simmered shanks and stews—and I've found inspiration in Hugh Acheson's A New Turn in the South, which came out in the fall of 2011. His cooking has been described as bold, eclectic and sophisticated and I can't argue with that either.
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I was glad to see the back of 2012. I know I was not the only one. It was a year in which I saw friends struggle with unemployment, with drug problems, with depression. My darling husband, locked in battle with chronic, acute stomach pain, finally saw a glimmer of hope at the prospect of undergoing an experimental fecal transfer (yes, just what it sounds like), only to find out that the FDA has just banned them until stool—newly defined as a drug—has been properly tested. WTF.

I keep reminding myself that we are not defined by what happens to us but by how we respond to what happens to us. I am focusing on humility, grace, gratitude and joy. I am remembering that slow and steady wins the race. I am confident that this, too, shall pass. Meanwhile, I am taking the bitter with the sweet. Including in my cocktails.
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New year. New you? Probably not. The same you, with fresh intentions, perhaps. If you didn't read Frank Bruni's recent piece, now would be a good time to do so. It's about what he calls "these wretched vessels," the bodies we are so actively engaged in criticizing at every step of the journey, but especially at the new year when we all resolve to whittle away at them. Here's what he proposes: We should make peace with them and remain conscious of that, especially at this particular hinge of the calendar, when we compose a litany of promises about the better selves ahead, foolishly defining those selves in terms of what’s measurable from the outside, instead of what glimmers within. Though I couldn't agree more that losing ten pounds will not make you a better person, it's only natural to want a little palate cleanser after all that holiday eggnog and gingerbread and short ribs and chocolate. Something cool and frothy, vegetal and light. Or straight from the sea, saline and frigid. So I can't actually say that getting G one of these as a stocking stuffer was completely without guile.
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As I mentioned in this post the other week, one great thing about restaurant food is the diversity of flavor and technique on the plate. I'm always thrilled to get a dessert that combines tastes and textures without being too overwhelming. A simple panna cotta becomes so much more interesting when it comes with a pile of velvety macerated fruit or even just a generous pour of aged balsamic. I remember dining at Aureole way back when it was still in its original townhouse location and ordering a dessert that was a symphony of lemon—fluffy curd in a pastry shell, decadent ice cream, candied peel. This may seem like way too much work to attempt at home, but I recently managed to put together a layered dish with a few elements I had on hand to pretty great effect. The combination of a cinammon-scented roasted pear with a creamy smear of intense blue cheese, a drizzle of cider syrup and the sweet crunch of walnut brittle made a festive (and not too heavy) ending to a holiday meal. Everything was made ahead so it could be quickly plated at the last moment—a must when I'm entertaining.
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Our Christmas Eve tradition is to gather with friends and enjoy delicious food. This year, chef MiK (not his main profession) outdid himself with an epic menu of small plates that left few culinary stones unturned. We turned up early at Beaver Dam (other photos here and here) to help with the cooking, but the lion's share had been done and I was happy to play sous-chef for the night. The kitchen features an enormous wooden island to which guests and cooks alike moored themselves throughout the evening. It's where the action was. Round 1: bay scallop ceviche with fennel-grapefruit salad and a drizzle of chile oil. Portions were modest and the courses just kept on coming.
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