There's something deeply incongruous about lying in bed under the thick pall of a terribly scratchy throat, throbbing head and low-grade fever, while outside spring breezes tickle the chins of freshly bloomed yellow poppies and robins flit about the lawn, thrusting their red breasts before them. Flu, you are not my fair-weather friend. And apparently, neither are the great wafts of green pollen drifting through our screens. After swallowing a few tablespoons of last year's elderberry syrup and spritzing my cracked gullet with Portland Apothecary's Redroot & Licorice remedy, I am drinking vats of beet-ginger juice and throwing garlic into whatever I eat. In like a lion, out like a cranky bitch. Ah well.

 

On the bright side, I am back to posting after more than two weeks away, during which time I have indulged in spring things like wild watercress, ramp salt, green garlic and fistfuls of fresh asparagus, which I enjoyed for breakfast and lunch yesterday. We are moving into the season of crisp greens and lovely lettuces, and soon there will be peas and rhubarb and baby radishes and all manner of perky morsels to tempt our weary, winter-worn appetites.

Read More...

So many people say they feel better in the summer—the fresh air, the sunshine, the long days. I get it, I really do, but fall will forever be my favorite season. We're not quite there yet, though as I write this I am sitting in front of our first fire of the season. Yes, it was that chilly this morning. G and I did the switcheroo, where we move the dining table to the far side of the room and the couch back in front of the fireplace. Kitten is having a long bath in front of the blazing hearth and I am warming my toes from a safe distance.

Another harbinger of fall is the Romano bean, a long meaty pole bean that arrives along with the last of the summer tomatoes (of which we have multiple trays lining the kitchen counter). River Brook Farm, where we supplement our own crops, grows these green ones and also a lovely pale yellow variety called Marvel of Venice. These are Italian beans in the grandest tradition and they are so easy to prepare in the simple Tuscan style. I make a meal of them and, if you eat crusty bread, a big rustic slab would be the ideal complement.
Read More...

G is wild about octopus. At Fairway, he'll often grab a container of vinegary octopus salad that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck when I come across it in the fridge. OK, I admit it, I'm a bit of an octopussy. I find its alien appearance—the purply sheen, the suction cups, the encephalitic head—rather unnverving. I've sampled some delicious octopus dishes in my time, usually by taking a bite from G's plate. It's almost always served  grilled: in a salad with bamboo shoots and pickled chiles at Momofuku; with discs of buttery potato and smoky chorizo at Colicchio & Sons; and, recently, in a tasty salad at Eataly. But it's not really something I order (I still pick around the tentacles on a plate of calamari, and I can't abide the spidery crackle of a soft shell crab), and certainly not a food I have ever welcomed into my kitchen.

So when G brought home two enormous, slimy purple tentacles and announced his intent to cook them up, I was something between horrified and awe-struck. But soon I was googling away, and read about an octopus dish made at Le Bernardin, that temple of all things from the sea. It called for first braising the octopus in a rich chorizo broth, then marinating it in miso before being charring it to order. I don't know about you, but you could do that to a shoe and I would eat it.
Read More...

In my quest to revisit the culinary tropes of winter one last time before the change of season, it's time for braising. There's nothing cozier than a pot of something bubbling gently on the stove (or in the oven) all day long, and it's a good idea to enjoy the warm, tender, hearty results now, as they're a far cry from what we'll be craving when the mercury rises. So before we're on to spring's sweet pea risotto and asparagus soup and pickled ramps, are you sure you've perfected the art of the braise? It's all about low and slow, gentle heat breaking things down and building rich, complex flavors. Turns out it's the perfect way to cook a guinea hen (also known as guineafowl). Never had one? Tastes like chicken. Seriously, this is one gorgeous bird, with its dappled black and white feathers and tiny little head. As you can see, above, its meat is darker than a chicken's but it's nowhere near as assertive in flavor as a pheasant or grouse. It's quite high in protein, but doesn't have much fat, which makes it a great candidate for braising.

Read More...

I'm a bit of a contrarian; it's just my nature. I tend to go against the grain and I've never been much of a joiner. But I am aware of the "Meatless Monday" movement, a non-profit campaign slated to help people—and corporations and entire nations—become more conscious of the need to eat less meat. Loads of bloggers participate by posting a non-meat recipe every Monday. I support this effort, but rather than finding one day a week to go without meat, I suggest we have only one day that features it. If we all ate meat just once a week, that would really make a difference to our health and that of the planet. So with that in mind, instead of hosting Meatless Monday, I'm going to introduce Meaty Monday—with meat as the exception, not the rule. (This doesn't mean I'll never post about meat or meat-related recipes on other days; this blog is not about Draconian extremes.) This is also the perfect opportunity for me to tell you about something that, in true contrarian style, will totally contradict everything I've just said: I'm participating in Charcutepalooza.
Read More...

You may remember I wrote a while back about the red miso short ribs I invented, using a more classic preparation as a template. I'm please to say they were singled out among the editors' picks this week on Food52, a very fun cooking site I recommend you visit. Don't be put off by the use of slightly more esoteric ingredients like the miso, or mirin (a sweet Japanese cooking wine) or daikon (a large white radish). These can all be found at your local health food market, maybe even Whole Foods, or definitely an Asian speciality market. This is great cold-weather cooking. As with the other short ribs recipe, it's best if you plan ahead so you can have a day to marinate, and another to chill the cooked ribs which makes removing the fat much easier. So without further ado, I present my recipe.
Read More...

G went hog wild in Dickson's this week. Came home with some grass-fed beef stew meat, these two humongous short ribs (the butcher said they would be better if he didn't cut them—why?), a couple of squabs, a red cockerel and a Boston butt. Most of it went into the freezer, to be doled out over many weeks, but the short ribs will be featured at dinner tomorrow night. We've got a couple of friends coming over. That's exciting stuff up here in the boonies. I'm trying a new preparation with red miso, mirin and daikon radish. I'll let you know how it turns out. Usually, I favor a more classic presentation, the one from Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques. I first had these at her Los Angeles restaurant on my 40th birthday.

If you've never made short ribs, I suggest you start here. They are really quite simple: just a matter of assembling the ingredients, browning the meat and throwing it in the oven for 3 hours. Plan ahead, as these are at their best when you marinate them overnight, cook them, and then let them chill overnight again so you can easily remove all that fat from the pan juices. Trust me, it's worth a little forethought. So if you want to serve them on Saturday, begin the recipe on Thursday. (It's all part of my master plan to get you to start thinking about your meals in advance, planning, scheming, daydreaming, balancing your diet and getting into a rhythm of eating well...)
Read More...