Stuffing! What can I say? If you're not still eating at your mother's table, you just want to recreate her stuffing recipe and aren't really interested in anything different. Right? Well, on the off chance that there is someone out there willing to try something new, I'll offer you a few suggestions. There are so many schools of stuffing, from cornbread and sausage to sourdough and sage to sticky rice and water chestnuts. Stuffing reflects tradition and ethnicity perhaps even more than the turkey. And of course there is always the question of to stuff or not to stuff, not to mention m***t versus crispy. Above is the winning ciabatta and chorizo stuffing from Food52's contest last year. It features garlicky cubes of bread with chorizo, shiitakes and sweet potato. Another interesting option is this prune and apple stuffing posted by Amanda Hesser.
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Pie is having a renaissance, although I'm not sure it ever really went away. As discussed in this recent NY Times article, it's about to kick the cupcake off its frosted throne. Yea! As a country, we've got quite a lot invested in the notion of pie. Just like us damn Yankees, it runs the gamut from down-home (tamale pie) to drop-dead glamorous (Baked Alaska). The best pie I've ever eaten was at a tiny shack somewhere near Nashville during a random stop on a cross-country drive. I still remember the shatteringly flaky crust (thanks to lard, no question) and the tangy, juicy whole blackberries. My own sour cherry version is a princess among pies, a slice of summer on a plate, best eaten in July with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. My father had a weakness for pecan pie, that tooth-achingly sweet confection loaded with nuts and Karo syrup. And I have always looked forward to the pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. But when it really came down to it, I realized that all I truly crave is the custard. It's that smooth, silky consistency I adore, the delicate balance of spices and a subtle sweetness—not the soggy cardboard crust, made worse by everyone's insistence on keeping pie in the fridge. (Where we know baked goods don't improve!) Besides, in this gluten-free household, I have come to realize that eating all that flour is what leaves you feeling bloated and puffy and gross. Especially on Thanksgiving, when you know you are going to load your plate with stuffing and Parker house rolls, maybe dessert is the time to think outside the crust. Or maybe not. Either way, here are a few suggestions for next week's finale.
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I met the impossibly dashing Albano through my friend Lisa when I visited her in Singapore several years ago. He's a dapper Australian designer of Italian extraction with impeccable taste in all things. Our friendship has been sustained mostly through Facebook, one of the very few reasons I can't be totally cynical about "social networking." He has been kind enough to share with me a couple of flawless recipes for what can best be described as tea cakes, those simple homey loaves you slice up and serve alongside a cup of something hot. Both of them allude ever-so-slightly to his Asian environs; one is made with kabocha squash, the other with Japanese sweet potato and seaweed. Toasted and buttered, with jam or just plain, a slice of these bread-like cakes hits the spot at breakfast, too.

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The great pumpkin returns, this time in the tender little dumplings known as gnocchi, meaning "lumps" in Italian. Probably of Middle Eastern origin, they were introduced by the Roman Legions during the enormous expansion of the empire. At that time, gnocchi were made from a porridge-like semolina dough mixed with eggs, which bears a resemblance to the saffron-infused basis for malloreddus, Sicily's signature dumpling. Although potato is what you'll see most often, pumpkin or any sort of squash also make a wonderful addition to these chubby nuggets. The key is to ensure their lightness by using as little flour as possible. If you can get your hands on a kabocha squash (sometimes called Japanese pumpkin), you'll find that their dense, dry flesh can make up the bulk.

 

The making of gnocchi is not an exact science. You take pumpkin or squash, flour, a little egg, some grated cheese and you mix it together to make a dough. You don't want to beat it or knead it a great deal as this can rob it of some of the quintessential lightness that makes gnocchi so irresistible. You roll the dough into long snake-like coils and chop these into the bite-sized pieces you will begin to recognize. Push a fork into each one to create the signature striations so adept at catching sauce and you're done. Simply plop them into boiling water until they float, then scoop them out and serve with brown butter and sage. Or, as I prefer, sear them next in a hot pan with a little olive oil or butter so they get a bit crisp, then top them with anything you like: roasted tomatoes, sauteed mushrooms, a scoop of ricotta, pesto, virtually anything goes.

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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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As I've mentioned before, ours is a gluten-free household. This does not mean we don't LOVE bread but G, my husband, was diagnosed as "gluten intolerant" a couple of years ago and tries his best to eat accordingly. (I support him in this, and feel it has done me a world of good as well.) Gluten is the gluey, stretchy stuff that gives products made from wheat, rye and barley their wonderfully meaty chew. Sadly, for celiacs and people with gluten intolerance, this is the same stuff that irritates the villi—microscopic finger-like projections that line the inner wall of the small intestine and aid in the absorption of food. In learning about this condition, I've come across a lot of information to indicate that refined highly processed flours are not so good for any of us. (I believe I already told you that my nutritionist, Sally Kravich, equates eating white flour with smearing your colon with that paste we used to make in elementary school.) The rise of inflammatory diseases like arthritis, colitis, IBS and even tooth decay is directly associated with the rise of agriculture and industry. Just try cutting out grains and starches from your diet for even 2 weeks to see how your aches and pains diminish. It's pretty amazing. But didn't our ancestors manage just fine eating grains, you ask? Actually, their approach to grains and baking was quite different from ours. Virtually all preindustrialized people soaked or fermented their grains before making them into porridge or bread or cake. Think how Indians ferment rice or lentils before making idlis and dosas; or how American pioneers made their breads and pancakes with sourdough starter. Way back when, instructions on the box of oatmeal even called for an overnight soak. Here's the science behind it (with thanks to Nourishing Traditions for breaking it down so intelligibly).
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This cake came about because I found some gorgeous-looking hazelnut flour when I was poring over the Market Hall Foods website and I had some lovely fresh ricotta from the farm upstate. Plus I'm always looking for new, gluten-free treats for G so he doesn't feel deprived in this wheat-centric world. Sicilians make a ricotta cheesecake with chopped hazelnuts, perfumed with lemon zest, so that—and the classic Italian hazelnut cake—was my inspiration. It's sort of my own hybrid, so I've called it Torta "La Cosa Nostra," but after sharing it with you, I won't have to kill you. Light yet rich, it has a dense but crumbly texture. As with my orange-almond flour cake, I like to sprinkle the top with demerara sugar (a raw cane sugar with a large crystal) which forms a lovely crunchy crust. The cake is pretty irresistible served warm with a dollop of creme fraîche or a scoop of lightly sweetened ricotta. It's also good accompanied by fresh, macerated or stewed fruit. (Some suggestions: fresh blood oranges; strawberries macerated in balsamic vinegar; stewed apricots.)
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Anecdotal evidence would seem to indicate that they are scarce. Beets are one of the few foods that G will not eat. Perhaps the only food. And during a recent beet-themed recipe competition on Food52, it came out that many other women's husband are also beet-shunners. Most of them, in fact. You may have heard that even the President is in this camp. There are no beets in the White House garden. Sadly, there are rarely beets in my own kitchen—despite the fact that I LOVE THEM. As a child, I was known to eat beets until I peed pink. I can't resist their intensely earthy sweetness. G thinks they taste like dirt. This got me to thinking that maybe there was some sort of Y chromosome thing involved. (Although there are undoubtedly loads of Russian men slurping down their borscht.) Anyway, it's a mystery.Beets are rich in the highly desirable B vitamin folate, plus potassium, manganese and fiber. Purple, golden or candy-striped chioggia, their antioxidant properties are numerous. For a much more thorough nutritional analysis, see here. Beets pair wonderfully with sprightly greens, with goat cheese, walnuts and citrus zest. They are often eaten with horseradish, which cuts through their thick sweetness. I love eating beets just simply roasted and dressed with sherry vinegar and walnut oil. But this recipe for a beet rösti (an Editor's Pick on Food52) is a fun way to try to fool the man in your life into eating them. I used golden beets because they more closely resemble the potatoes used in the classic Swiss rosti, a pancake that's like a crusty slab of hash browns with a slightly creamier center.
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Another week gone by and, I'm pleased to say, another two of my recipes singled out by the editors of Food52. I still haven't actually won any of their contests, but lots of honorable mentions do add up. This time it was my Scarborough Fair Chicken and my Golden Rösti (made from yellow beets). I'll share the former with you first. My dear friend Marilee was recently asking me for a good roast chicken recipe, and I think this one is deliciously reliable. The name, of course, refers to the old English ditty and the herbs mentioned therein: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Add some butter, lemons and shallots, and you're in serious business. The chicken you use really matters—and here I'm going to flog the organic argument once again. Despite the American propensity for enormous breasts, they're just not worth keeping our chickens in captivity in order to force-feed them the required diet of (subsidized) corn. Go for a nice free-range roaster and you'll enjoy better flavor and a freer conscience.
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After spending the first part of our honeymoon traveling in southern India with our dear friends Scott and Lisa, G and I made our way to Rajasthan for what would be three of the best weeks of my life. Among the many spectacular hotels we were privileged to visit was this incredible 18th-century palace in the araval hills outside Udaipur. It is not the immediate go-to hotel in Udaipur; most people head for the Oberoi Lake Palace. But G somehow managed to snuffle this one out (like the truffle hound he is) and it was absolutely stunning. Devi Garh has only 39 suites, and they all feature local marbles and semi-precious stones. Our room was appointed with lapis lazuli—enormous sleek, azure slabs of it. There was a gorgeous pool and a wonderful spa where we were oiled up and rubbed down. Other features included little outdoor sitting rooms; a bar with chaises longues piled with brilliant silk pillows where you could have drinks at night by the light of these amazing wire baskets that held small, glowing fires; and secret courtyards, including one with a swing hanging from a jacaranda-like tree. And at the end of each of the two magical days we spent at Devi Garh, there was dinner.
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