Consider rhubarb: long, ribbed, celery-like stalks and not a seed or rind in sight. This is a vegetable, right? But in 1947, a New York court decided that since it's used as a fruit, it is  to be counted as such for the purposes of regulations and duties. Thus, with one wave of a bureaucrat's hand, does a vegetable become a fruit. Although its leaves are toxic, rhubarb's tart stalks have a long history of medicinal and culinary uses. The stuff grown in hothouses tends to be redder and sweeter than what you find in the gardeny. My big, bushy plants are of the Victoria variety—named for the British queen, whose countrymen tend to love a bit of rhubarb fool—and they are predominantly green. A clear, true, vegetal green with a flavor to match. Rhubarb is often combined with apples or strawberries. Their sweetness helps temper its rather aggressive bite, but can also overwhelm its delicate flavor, described by Alice Waters as "the smell of the earth in the spring." Wanting to showcase that, and armed with rhubarb from the garden and fresh milk from the farm, I decided to make rhubarb ice cream.
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Certain foods just have a universal appeal. Consider the dumpling, for instance. It's found in so many cultures, this rose by any other name: knedlíky (Czech), kreplach (Jewish), pantrucas (Chile), manti (Armenia), ravioli (Italy), buuz (Mongolia), pangsit (Indonesia), dim sum (China), gyoza (Japan), mandu (Korea)...the list goes on and on. Yogurt—and soured milk of all kinds—may not be quite as common, especially given that many African and Asian countries don't do dairy, but among those that do it's a deeply-held tradition. From straight-up yogurt to crème fraîche to quark to ricotta to paneer to Mexico's indigenous Nahuatl jocoque árabe, people have long been introducing bacteria or acid to milk with delectable results. Greek yogurt has become hugely popular in this country over the last few years, thanks in no small part to the ubiquitous Fage (pronounced "fa-yeh") brand and now Chobani, too. It's simply yogurt which has been strained to remove the whey, giving it a much denser, creamier texture. Sometimes this style of yogurt is even enriched with extra butterfat or powdered milk.
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One of my earliest memories is of being handed a small saucer of fresh cajeta by a tall, dark-haired neighbor of ours in Mexico. A sweet seduction like this you never forget, no matter how chaste. This amber-colored elixir is the taste of my childhood: dizzyingly sweet, with notes of burnt sugar and barnyard commingled in a sigh of pleasure. The name allegedly comes from the Spanish phrase al punto de cajeta, which means a liquid thickened to the point at which a spoon drawn through it reveals the bottom of the pot. But I've also heard it said that it takes its name from the small wooden boxes in which it was traditionally packed. There is simply nothing like goat's milk caramel, cooked to a dark satin swirl and touched with hints of salt and vanilla. It's delicious with cheese, believe it or not, and drizzled over or mixed into ice cream, but I enjoy it best spooned sinfully straight from the jar.

 

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I come from a very linguistically focused family where all sorts of word games (not to mention mind games) were the order of the day. I'm very into language and its limitless possibilities for manipulation, including the humblest pun. Never can resist. Ingredients are sort of like words, able to be tossed together in seemingly infinite combinations, so that cooking becomes a kind of jazzy poetry (rap?!) or improvised narrative. The kishu is a sweet little grace note, an ampersand between clementines and satsumas. This tiny mandarin, only slightly bigger than a jawbreaker, originated in China and arrived in Japan around the 17th century, where it is known as mukaku-kishi. Mukaku means seedless, which they are. They have a super-short season and are not that easy to come across. I got mine through Local Harvest, a locavore network that helps you find farmers' markets, family farms and other sources of sustainably grown food in your area, and through which you can buy produce, grass-fed meats and other coveted items. My kishus came from Churchill Orchard, a small organic farm in Ojai, California.

We're so bombarded with commercialized holidays that I'm loathe to even mention Valentine's Day again, but it's hard to be completely cynical about a day that's all about LOVE. Of course we've all been programmed to think of candy, flowers and—for the really optimistic among us—jewelry as expressions of love. But remember how exciting it was in elementary school to open those teensy envelopes with your name clumsily scribbled in grubby little-boy script? (I was popular until I moved to Spain in the 4th grade, and so can remember 3 blissful years of adoration before it all went to shit.) Those days may be over, but I know the die-hard romantics among you are already planning something special for Monday night. How about a delicious and heart-warming dinner, lovingly whipped up without too much bother? Does it really need to include cheese, beef and chocolate? How about something that takes into consideration your beloved's heart—in the high cholesterol sense?
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You may remember a post from a couple of months ago about a fantastic chocolate company, Askinosie. Not only do I love their chocolate, but I love what they stand for and how they give back. The Candy Man is a cultural icon—a jolly, twinkly-eyed fellow with a big heart and a fondness for children—and while Shawn Askinosie is nowhere near as eccentric as Willy Wonka, I do think he delights in the power of chocolate.About 10 years ago, Shawn's career as a criminal defense attorney began to exact too high a toll. He was arguing back-to-back murder cases, and you only have to watch so much Law & Order to know how stressful that would be. But he couldn't really see any way clear of it, so he began to pray that an alternative would reveal itself. At the same time, he tried distracting himself with cooking, which led to baking, which led to an obsession with cupcakes (which even led to a pilgrimage to New York's Magnolia Bakery). After about 5 years of this, he up and decided he was going to try his hand at making his own chocolate, from scratch. At the time, he had no concept of what this even meant, but within 2 months he was up to his elbows in cocoa beans in the Amazon. We should all be so bold.

 

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This photo doesn't really begin to capture the insane blizzard swirling through Times Square as we stepped out of the theatre last night. Broadway was virtually deserted except for the rush of people desperately trying to make it home by any means necessary. The silence and the fluffy whiteness were magical but there were also lightning and strong winds. Luckily we made it down the snow-packed subway steps and safely back to the Ace, where we awakened today to a foot of snow out the window. Our White Christmas, just a little late.

As of tomorrow, I will be on the road, traveling to Todos Santos, Mexico. Four of us are gathering at a rented house on a pineapple plantation in this tiny surf town/artists' colony on the Baja peninsula to celebrate Scott's 50th birthday. I don't surf but I plan to swim, stroll the beaches, eat lots of fresh fish and generally soak up as much relaxation as possible. Not sure what the wireless situation will be, but stay tuned...
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Merry Christmas! I hope you're doing whatever makes you happy today, whether on your own or en famille. I know that this is a big time of year for loneliness and heartache. There is so much pressure on us to resemble the classic picture: parents, grandparents and children all gathered together in good health with plenty of food and lots of presents. Reality is so much messier, what with divorce, Alzheimer's, diabetes and all the human foibles that stand between us and perfection. The point is to do your best and to be grateful for what you have, whatever that may be. I launched this blog a year ago with the hope that I might be able to share my passions with kindred spirits, and the time has gone by in the blink of an eye. I've explored and learned a great deal, including how wonderful it is to get support from so many friends, both old and new. Thank you from the bottom of my heart: without you, I'm nothing.
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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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I'm a sucker for citrus. It's such a relief when oranges, grapefruit and lemons begin flooding in from California and Florida at this time of year. Although I adore very tart lemons, I also love the lightly sweeter and more perfumey Meyer variety. Their smooth, thin skin is an electric golden yellow that seems to compensate, just a bit, for the lack of sunshine these days. I grabbed an armload at Fairway yesterday and, since they are a bit fragile and don't keep for so long, I'm going to immediately turn them into syrup and marmalade. The former will make wonderfully refreshing spritzers, especially with the addition of fresh rosemary. The latter will nicely cut through the rich fattiness of roasts or perhaps even our Christmas goose. And, of course, you can always preserve some lemons, as I've done again this year. Here's a recipe from last spring, along with one for chicken tagine, and a place to order organic Meyer lemons, if you're so inclined.
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