I fell down a deep well last week. G was away for a few days, it was bitter cold and night seemed to descend before each day had barely begun. A weighty cloak of despair settled over me as I sank into the couch in front of the dying embers of the fire. I questioned my purpose. I listened to the sneering voices that crowded my mind. I grew listless and small. I sent a text to my husband: I feel frightened and disconnected. And then I realized I had not left the confines of our tiny cottage in four days! I forced myself outside, spent nearly an hour chipping away with a shovel at the ice on our front stoop and then made it to yoga for the first time in a week. When I got home, I was a new woman. Light and movement had managed to penetrate that bleak darkness. Dear reader, I was SAD—as in suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder. It was no joke, but I am better now and committed to going outside every day, no matter what the weather has up its wicked sleeve. 

I'm also done with nuts, chocolate and sugar for the season. Enough! Those things are particularly bad for my constitution. They bring me down. Instead, I have stocked the fridge with pomegranates and sweet-tart clementines, a gorgeous block of Stilton and some fresh chestnuts. And, as always, nourishing bone broths. Don't you love it when something that has been around for millennia—fasting! kale!—suddenly becomes a trend? So it is with bone broths, which are on everyone's lists for "what's hot in 2015." 

Before we go any further, let’s consider how stock differs from broth, often merely a question of semantics. A general consensus seems to be that stock is a relatively clear, unsalted liquid made by slowly simmering bones and sometimes vegetables, which is then used as the basis for sauces and soups. Broth is a simple soup in itself, more highly seasoned than stock and perhaps containing bits of meat. In most recipes the two can be interchanged, though stock is more neutral, with its salinity, strength and seasoning dependent on how it will be used.

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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?
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Discussions of chili often lead to fisticuffs. (OK, I just wanted to say fisticuffs.) But it really is a very polarizing dish. The purists can go on and on about ground chuck versus cubed, beans or no beans, and the presence of tomatoes. Texans seems to feel very strongly that beans don't belong anywhere near "real" chili—actually an anglicization of chile con carne—but some of them include tomatoes and way too many seem to think it's OK to use chile powder rather than starting with whole dried chiles. I ain't afeared of dried chiles, having more than a little New Mexico in my blood, so that was an easy call for me. And the fact that my friend Michael hates beans pretty much tipped me over into the all-beef category. After researching recipes online (here are just a few options) I opted for authentic Texas chili as interpreted by blogger homesicktexan. For one thing, she spells the dried pepper as "chile," and the dish as "chili," just like I do, so I gravitated to her immediately. Plus she adds beer, coffee and Mexican chocolate to her incredibly dense and musky stew. I'd never made chili this serious before, and I'll never make any other kind again.
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June is busting out all over. The delicate pink and white blossoms of spring have given way to lush peonies and roses and lilies. After a momentary blip last week, there is no more no sign of the sultry, damp days ahead when dogs will lie panting in the shade and we will press sweating glasses of lemonade to our fevered brows. Today all is bright green hills and turquoise skies. The kind of weather when thoughts turn to fresh salads. And the grill, of course. Summer means grilling. Oh, no! you say But I'm a city dweller. I can relate. I'm a grill widow. Where once I was only in charge of marinating, my hobbled husband has temporarily relinquished his patio post in front of the Weber, leaving me to face down this fiery challenge. For the moment, I have run screaming back to my stove, where it's possible to make a perfectly acceptable steak. Heat up that cast iron pan really well, buy the best meat available and don't overcook it. That's the best advice I can give you. That, and serve it sliced thinly next to a simple salad of arugula and red onion. It's heaven on a plate.
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Passover is coming up next week, and more than one person has already asked me for a good brisket recipe. It's a classic Jewish holiday dish, especially among the Ashkenazi, perhaps simply because it's economical and delicious. It's also incredibly easy to make, and turns out best if you braise it, especially if you're using a "first cut" which has less fat. Passover, for the goyim among you, commemorates the story of the Exodus, in which the Israelites were freed from slavery in Egypt. Because the Jews had to flee quickly—is there any other way?—matzoh (unleavened bread) is eaten to remind us that there was no time for the bread to rise. This does not explain why brisket, which requires such long cooking, is also on the menu. Beef jerky would really be more like it. Anyway, this recipe comes from Martha Stewart, who is most definitely not of the tribe, but knows her way around a good pot roast.
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The snow's gone but it's not exactly shirtsleeves weather. My idea of a good time is still hunkering down in front of the fire, or under a duvet. Soon I'll be donning my linen overalls and running up and down the aisles of Silver Heights Nursery buying scented geranium and heirloom tomato plants. But today I'm not above a good braise. Get 'em while it's cold. One last chance to slowly simmer and stew, to watch those lazy bubbles and that mesmerizing cloud of steam. So put aside thoughts of spring things for the moment and haul out your lovingly broken-in Le Cresuet, your stalwart Staub. You've just got time for one more stew before the mercury rises. Make it oxtail, the ultimate slow-cooker. Ick, you say. How can you eat a cow's tail? How can you not? I firmly believe you honor that cow more by making use of its every beefy bit.
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You don't have to be Irish to love corned beef. Eastern European Jews are great connoisseurs of all manner of boiled meat, and New York deli is renowned for its sandwiches piled high with thin slices of this pink, juicy meat. But St. Patrick's Day is coming up a week from Thursday, and that gives you plenty of time (you only need about 5 days, which means you should get started by Saturday at the latest), and the perfect reason, to make your own this year. In its original, peasanty guise, this traditional fodder is as much about the vegetables: turnips, rutabagas, carrots, onions, parsnips, cabbage and plenty of spuds, of course. Not to mention delicious mustards and horseradish sauce. It's a dish meant to usher in spring by using up all those roots stored for the winter. The date for celebrating St. Patrick—a 5th-century English missionary who converted a load of pagans to Christianity—fell during the fasting season of Lent, but prohibitions against eating meat were lifted so the Irish could celebrate their patron saint with dancing, drinking and feasting on the traditional meal of Irish bacon and cabbage. If you make a big hunk of meat, you can share it with lucky friends, or hoard it to make such delectable offshoots as red flannel hash (with beets) and Reuben sandwiches (with homemade sauerkraut).
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Guess what I learned today?! That it's really hard to make uncooked sausages look appealing in a photo. Trust me, by the time they're browned and sizzling on the plate, they'll be a lot more appetizing. But I wanted to get this post up now, today, in honor of Meaty Monday and I'm not cooking them until tonight. Feel free to visit those other blogs if you want to run with the pack and cook something meatless. Over here, true rebels are sharpening our knives. Actually, there's not really much work involved, since these lamb and beef sausages are from Dickson's. They're seasoned with cumin and Turkish chiles; sort of a riff on a Merguez sausage. If you've got access to sausages made from humanely raised beef, pork or lamb, Meaty Monday can mean dinner on the table in 15 minutes! We'll be having ours with homemade sauerkraut and a delicious new mustard I learned about in Saveur's Chef'e Edition, on newsstands now. (Don't know Saveur? Among my favorite food magazines...)
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I'm a terrible friend. I've been horribly remiss in preparing you for the grand holiday feast. I'm (sort of) ashamed to admit that I don't have a backlog of my own recipes and accompanying photos to offer you here, so I'm going to do another of my motley compendiums. Above is the roast leg of lamb with garlic sauce that I will be serving my sister and niece on the first night of their visit. Here's the recipe. It looks pretty easy and, as a recent convert to lamb, I'll be sticking my thermometer in and not trusting my own instincts. I recommend you do the same. On the side there will be a rich and buttery puree of celeriac and potato—do you really need a recipe? Oh hell, here's one. (I think I'll use buttermilk instead of the cream, though.) Also a simple arugula salad with a light champagne vinaigrette. For Christmas Eve dinner, we're invited to some friends' home for paella. I'm in charge of dessert; more on that another day. Inspired? Here's a slew of good-looking paella recipes.
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This seductive soup is pronounced "fuh," like the word for fire in French. I had wanted to post a gorgeous "pho"-to of a big, steaming bowl of it, but we ate the entire pot before I got the chance. So instead, here's one of a woman in the market in Saigon scarfing down this wonderful national dish. Pho is traditionally eaten for breakfast in Vietnam, but it goes down like a charm for lunch and dinner, too. It's great stuff for cold weather eating, but that doesn't prevent South East Asians from having it in the raging heat. A rich but clear beef broth, infused with star anise, clove, cinnamon and ginger, it is traditionally served with slices of raw sirloin, shallots, bean sprouts, cilantro, Thai basil, mint, lots of slippery, chewy rice noodles, a squeeze of lime and maybe some chile. It's not so complicated; mostly, it just takes time. I love how you char ginger and onions directly over the flame of your burner; it imparts just a hint of smokiness that is very reminiscent of outdoor cooking in Asia. As with all stocks, you make this ahead so you can skim off the fat, and it's quite a healthful and nourishing dish because of the good nutrition from bones. Of course, I urge you to make this with meat from a happy cow, please. For its sake, and for yours.
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