Did I mention I'm in a diet? Sigh. I'm eating a lot of vegetables, and for dinner I'm having a small portion of whatever.  If it's pasta, I just have the sauce. Lots of salad. One cocktail a week and no cheese to speak of. Waah! Actually I'm not that miserable. Worse was when I saw a video of myself shot from behind. Emphasis on behind. It rocked my world. I have been in denial because most days I just pull on a pair of sweatpants, that's all the fashion required upstate. I'll let you know how it goes. If I manage to lose 20 pounds by the time we go to Mexico for New Year's, it will be a freaking miracle. 10 pounds even will be a heroic feat. There's pumpkin custard to make, and thousands of caramels to wrap before that day comes. But I have a will of steel when I want to and, trust me, I want to. Still, total deprivation is a recipe for disaster (hello, late-night quesadilla binges), so it's good to have the right kind of treat now and then. This cooling cucumber sorbet, spicy with ginger and lightly sweetened with honey or agave, satisfies every craving and does not feel like diet food, even though it's virtually calorie-free.
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This cast iron casserole by Timo Sarpaneva is one of the many gorgeous and intriguing pieces in the exhibition, Counter Space: Design and the Modern Kitchen, which is at MoMA through March 14, 2011. As the museum describes it, the show "explores the 20th-century transformation of the kitchen and highlights MoMA’s recent acquisition of an unusually complete example of the iconic 'Frankfurt Kitchen,' designed in 1926–27 by the architect Grete Schütte-Lihotzky...Prominence is given to the contribution of women, not only as the primary consumers and users of the domestic kitchen, but also as reformers, architects, designers, and as artists who have critically addressed kitchen culture and myths."But back to the cast iron pot, an award-winning cult object of Finnish design that is much sought after by collectors and is now back in production. It has a detachable wooden handle that allows you to lift and move both the pot and its lid. As we say in our house, "I wish it."
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I was struck by how much this pumpkin stem reminded me of an umbilical cord. Which, in fact, it is. Through this ropey connection, now so beautifully gnarled and withered, the plant takes life from a root ball that is essentially the placenta. And the resulting pumpkin? A baby, of course! Chubby cheeked and ruddy, with sweet, tender flesh. The comparison goes South when you consider the tough exterior—this baby means business. Hardy enough to spend the cold months solo down in your root cellar (or most any consistently cool, dry place), pumpkins are a great sort of sustenance during the winter. They can go sweet or savory: custard, ice cream, quickbread, ravioli, risotto...they are endlessly adaptable. At a recent lunch, the discussion had already turned to Thanksgiving recipes, so I want to make sure you consider my favorite pumpkin custard with candied pumpkin seeds and gingered crème fraîche as a candidate for your holiday dessert. It's foolproof, can be made ahead, and I've never heard anyone complain about the lack of crust (usually sodden anyway).
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Clearly, this was a banner year for winter squash. We planted a single plant and in return reaped this one mini Blue Hubbard in the foreground, above. But at Riverbrook Farm, they've been harvesting them by the barrel. In the back is a Cinderella pumpkin, a beautiful French heirloom also known as Rouge Vif d'Etampes. It first became available in the U.S. in 1883. The bumpy one at left is called Marina di Chioggia, another heirloom, this one with roots in the Italian coastal town for which it's named. The rich sweet flesh is deep yellow-orange and especially prized for making gnocchi. (Stay tuned later this week!) The other greyish one is an Australian variety—can't remember what it's called. They had at least a dozen varieties at the farm and I was a bit overwhelmed by the choices. Resting on top is the lovely striped Delicata. I would imagine it got its name from its thinner skin, or possibly from the fine-textured golden flesh that has a sweet, nutty flavor. I roasted mine and stirred chunks of it, along with flecks of smoked ham and fresh sage, into a risotto made with brown carnaroli rice.
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Such gorgeous weather this weekend, perfect for a walk in the woods. The wild turkey and deer abound; half a dozen turtles are sunning themselves on an old log in the lake; and the musical cackle of migrating geese fills the air. Even if you don't live in the country, I hope these photos inspire you to drive to a nearby forest or visit your local park to take in a few of the sights and sounds of this glorious season.

I remember Union Square before it was lush with may apple and trillium and wild geranium and bushy mountain laurel. I remember when it was full of runaways and junkies and winos—another kind of seedy entirely. This week, G came across this vending machine at the farmers market there. It sells "seedbombs," little nuggets of plant seeds, compost and clay that turn everyone into a guerilla gardener. They're meant to be simply dropped into soil anywhere. Created by design duo Daniel Philips and Kim Karlsrud of Los Angeles-based Common Studio, the seedbomb vending machines help people transform empty outdoor spaces into lush, green communities. Their Northeast Wildflower Mix contains almost two dozen varieties, including Aster,
 Purple Coneflower, Sweet Alyssum and Black-Eyed Susan. The vending machines are available to rent or buy, and Common Studio will even develop a seed mix and a strategic neighborhood intervention plan in response to the unique ecologies of your area. Machines can then be installed at local bars, businesses, schools, parks, or anywhere you think they can have the biggest impact.
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There is archaeological evidence to show that humans have been eating apples since 6,500 BC. And why not? They're sweet, crunchy, juicy and, as every man since Adam knows, incredibly tantalizing. This is their season, and the farmers markets are full of crates bursting with different varieties and the cider made from them. I remember the first time I ever had dinner at the original Bouley in Manhattan. You stepped into a little vestibule before entering the restaurant and it was piled floor-to-ceiling with crates of apples. Their winey perfume was intoxicating, so evocative and transporting. Eating a crisp, cold apple out of hand is a primal experience—it's just you and the fruit. Some people go all the way and even eat the core, but I enjoy tossing it out into the field. Dust to dust. Apples are also delicious cooked. Did you make this recipe last year? I really enjoy a simple apple cake. Slightly rustic and not too sweet. The one below is adapted from 101 Cookbooks. It's easy to throw together and you can use any apples you like. Something quite firm and sweet-tart is always preferable for baking, I think.
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I guess you can't call them ice cubes if they're round, huh? If you're not already familiar with the craze for super-large blocks of ice in cocktails, let this be your introduction. Although I'm no expert in the matter, I believe this concept originated with the Japanese. Let's face it, from tea to little girls' undies, no one takes a fetish further. For them, it was all about the ultimate glass of whiskey. The way to drink it cold but undiluted was poured over a large, perfectly spherical and very-slow-melting ice ball. In an aggressive but skilled fashion, Japanese bartenders—and some local copycats—actually carve them out of solid blocks of ice. (If you doubt me, see here.) For a slightly less dangerous approach, with strikingly similar results, you can simply use Muji's spherical silicone mold. The countless "Penicillin" cocktails I've enjoyed at Momofuku Ssam—and also recreated at home—finally convinced me to try the big ice thing. At Momofuku they use blocks, but these round ones work just fine. They're about 3 inches in diameter.
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Once upon a time there was a very spoiled glutton who whined to her potter friend that she really, really needed some condiment bowls. Never mind that said potter had already made the glutton an adorable set of tiny plates, several vases, and a gorgeous platter that the glutton accidentally dropped and has been mourning for the last 8 years. Still, the glutton had the gall to voice this bold wish, and the potter friend had the grace to grant it. Thus the postman delivered a box last week from the lovely and talented Mirena Kim containing a set of five little beauties, and they were immediately pressed into service. (Want some of your own? She's just beginning to make her creations available here.) Do you know what mise en place means? It's sort of the culinary equivalent of one of my favorite sayings: "A place for everything and everything in its place." (Yes, that's been especially beloved by all of my housemates.) 
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Squash and gourds have arrived! I'm planning to really load up when I visit the farm next weekend as Alice has so many gorgeous heirloom varieties. For now I just grabbed a green kabocha and a gorgeous brilliant orange mini Hubbard. Hubbards are my favorite variety, and we actually managed to produce a blue one ourselves in this year's garden. They have a wonderfully sweet and rather dry flesh that roasts up beautifully. Last fall, I invented this very easy and delicious way to stuff any whole squash; I find that roundish ones work best. Small ones are ideal for one or two people, or you could do a great big one for a dinner party. The presentation is lovely and rather dramatic. I use whatever vegetables I have on hand, and it's an ideal way to use up leftovers, because rice, stale bread, bits of ham—anything, really (dried fruit, seeds, tofu)—can go in there. A little cheese is always nice, so now that G is back on dairy (sad to report that 2 months without it, plus a whole slew of tinctures and Chinese herbs, did nothing for his chronic gut pain) I mixed in some fresh mozzarella from our local dairy. This is a very cozy and hearty dish, economical and full of nutrition.

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