I was quite an amenable child where food was concerned. Aside from a mild hatred of onions in my enchiladas, the only two things I simply couldn't stomach were meatballs and lamb. On meatball night, all my mother asked was that I eat just one, but doing so was pure, unadulterated hell. Even washing the dishes upon which those brown nuggets had been served made me gag. Literally. I'm not really prepared to believe the obvious scatalogical reference was responsible, but what else could it have been? Whatever it was, I've finally outgrown it. I think it was the incredible veal-and-ricotta meatballs at the old Craftbar that did it (still on the menu at the new location). The real shocker is that I now enjoy making them myself with the sweet, juicy pastured lamb we get from our friends at River Brook farm.
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Actually, this wintry soup has none of those letter-shaped bits of pasta. This is a post-modern alphabet soup, one you can load up with vegetables that represent virtually every letter, from artichoke and broccoli to winter squash and yam. The more the merrier, basically. I'm not eating any grains or starches for a while, so I used shallots, leeks, onions, garlic, celery, fennel, carrots, mushrooms, green beans, chard and tomatoes. Potatoes, parsnips, wild rice, farro and/or pumpkin would also be lovely additions. You can make it with water, but vegetable stock—or beef or chicken—will vastly improve the flavor. I used stock made from our Christmas goose carcass! This is such an easy recipe. Throw it together in 20 minutes, let it bubble on the stove for a while and then serve it with some delicious bread. You don't even need a salad because it's so loaded with vegetable goodness.

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This post is a command performance. I need a recipe for lentils, said Stephanie. Madam, this one's for you. Before I get down to it, I'm going to interject a bit of shameless self-promotion. (And now, a word from our sponsor, or something like that.) There is a sweet little review of GFL on the Be@Home section of the Pocket Change shopping blog. Take a gander, here.Now, back to business: the lentil. I'm a big fan. I like the khaki brown ones in a creamy soup garnished with spiced yogurt; I like soupy yellow dals with Indian food; I like the orange ones pureed with coconut milk and garnished with cilantro. They are all nourishing and satisfying and delicious. But I especially love the Puy lentils (lentilles de Puy), the small, blackish-green legume (aka pulse) that hails exclusively from the Auvergne region in France. Somewhat similar to the black beluga variety, Puy lentils are less starchy than brown lentils and retain their form when cooked. Their nutty, mineral-rich flavor is attributed to the way they are grown: in volcanic soil, without watering or fertilizer. They carry the AOC (appellation d'origine controlée) that guarantees their provenance and quality. (For a look at other types of lentils, see here.) Puy lentils' firmness makes them ideal for salads, and they are delicious eaten with sausages or salmon or cheese.
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I've spent quite a lot of time ruminating over this post. Like a cow chewing its cud, I have carefully digested everything I've gleaned from reading Fast Food Nation, Omnivore's Dilemma, In Defense of Food, Eating Animals and Food Matters, and watching Supersize Me and the incredibly eye-widening Food Inc. At the very least, I think I can say I'm a conscious eater. I'm not going to delve into the horrifying truth of how government and industry conspired to convince us that we all need to have a big slab of (corn-fed) meat at the center of most of our meals on a daily basis, I'm just going to say that we should all be eating a great deal less of the stuff—for our own sake and that of the planet. But a recent article in Vanity Fair, where fluffy blonde wellness "guru" Kathy Freston (Tom Freston's wife, so she can't be far from her own show on Oprah's new network) convinces a die-hard British carnivore to turn vegan really got my hackles up because of its one-sided presentation of the issue.
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I didn't do much shopping in Mexico, other than buying entirely too many "traditional" candies at the Mexico City airport. Cajeta, a decadent goat's milk caramel, is a life-long obsession of mine, ever since it was first served to me as a tiny girl in Guadalajara. At the airport stall I discovered a delicious guava paste stuffed with cajeta and pecans that was out of this world, and a sticky yellow coconut confection that slammed me straight back to childhood. In fact, I may have to pick up a copy of Fany Gerson's much-lauded My Sweet Mexico: Recipes for Authentic Pastries, Breads, Candies, Beverages, and Frozen Treats—hello, sweet tamales, tres leches cake, milk fudge, flan. (Although my waistline is begging me not to do it!) I tasted some of her treats at a Mexican-themed dinner at Txikito last year and they did not disappoint.But I digress. One thing you truly shouldn't miss when traveling in Mexico is the indigenous incense, known as copal, pictured above. It has a very particular smoky-piney-resiny smell that conjures up Indians, Catholic churches and desert nights. I find it mesmerizing, with a rich, heady smell reminiscent of frankincense and myrrh.
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I've been quite taken of late with all the little vegetable dishes on offer at restaurants of all sorts. Starters often include numerous ingeniously composed salads that really let seasonal produce shine. Sides are no longer merely a choice between boring steamed broccoli or french fries, and I've been known to make a whole meal from the enticing options—pureed squash with hazelnuts, chile-sauteed broccoli rabe, ragù of mushrooms, polenta with gorgonzola, fennel braised in cream. I think I've mentioned to you a few lovely meals I've had recently at A Voce, Missy Robbins' Italian-inflected restaurant in New York City's Time Warner Center. The lunch menu includes a selection of verdure, small vegetable dishes like eggplant with calabrian chile; beets with pistachios and orange; cauliflower with almonds and raisins; and a delightfully simple salad of radishes with an anchovy vinaigrette. After trying this last combination, I began craving it at home. It's crisp, salty and satisfying while still being light and healthy.
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Salt is in the zeitgeist. Although the stuff has been around literally forever (read this book on its fascinating history), it's being particularly fetishized at this moment. No fewer than 3 people gave me salt this holiday season, bringing my collection to 18 different types! A couple of the gifts came from the same store: The Meadow, on Hudson Street in New York City. Jennifer Turner Bitterman and her husband "selmelier" Mark Bitterman founded this boutique in Portland in 2006. It specializes in salt, chocolate, flowers and wine (though on a recent visit I noticed only bitters; more on those later). The assortment of salts is truly mind-blowing. From Bengal Blue to Smoked Red Alder, there are more than 100 types, sourced from all over the world. The most instantly striking thing in the store are blocks and slabs of pink Himalayan salt, big translucent pieces for cooking and serving food. You can arrange sashimi on a chilled brick of the stuff and watch the edges of the fish turn pale and firm as it actually cures right there. Or heat a block on the stove or the barbeque and grill thin slices of flank steak for a unique and delicately salty flavor. I can't wait to try this!

Home sweet home. Stuffed. And officially back in the saddle. But before I dispense with the vacation entirely, let me just wrap up the litany of LA dining. There was lunch at Terroni on Beverly Boulevard, an outpost of an Italian restaurant from Toronto that hits all the basics—salume, antipasti, pizza, pasta—but does them surprisingly well. That pizza above had a super-thin crust with molten pools of fresh mozzarella, and salty hits of caper and anchovy. It was delicious but gave me heartburn, a rare occurrence that for me signals the end (of over-indulgence) is nigh.
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This bacon-chocolate crunch bar was the end to a very porky dinner at Animal in Los Angeles. Does it surprise you to know I'm gearing up for a cleanse when I get back home? For those of you who marvel that the glutton is not obese, I want to point out that I only ate 2 small bites of this decadent dish. Still, I did share several other pork-intensive plates at this popular place opened in 2008 by chefs Jon Shook and Vinny Dotolo. Since then, they've been awarded Food & Wine Best New Chefs of 2009 and received a James Beard nomination for Best New Restaurant. They also starred in a reality show on the Food Network called “Two Dudes Catering”and came out with a cookbook, “Two Dudes, One Pan.” If you're interested in reading a more in-depth profile than this one, they were featured in the New Yorker in an April 2010 article by Dana Goodyear called "Killer Food."
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On a Wednesday morning, if I am in Los Angeles, you will find me at the Santa Monica Farmers Market. The largest of the various Santa Monica markets, it is held downtown on Arizona Avenue and is one of my favorite spots in this world. Rain or shine (but preferably shine), the place is a swirling mass of produce, people and possibility. Open since 1981, it attracts some nine thousand shoppers every week! I love coming here with friends, or running into them. From this market I have been lucky enough to indulge in incredible artichokes, enormous chanterelles, the most astonishing array of citrus and avocados and dates, fantastic sprouts, heirloom carrots, fresh oysters...and on and on. Here I've discovered dried persimmons, purslane, Santa Barbara spot prawns, local black truffles and Rudolf Steiner health bread from the Röckenwagner bakery cart. It's truly an embarrassment of riches. Next time you're in LA, put it on your list of must-dos!
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