I’ve heard it said that truffles taste like dirt and I can’t really disagree, though to me they also have a distinctive musky perfume that is vaguely erotic. These hotly coveted fungi develop underground, generally in close association with certain types of trees. There are hundreds of kinds, though the most prized are those of the genus Tuber, the ones referred to by my hero the 18th-century French gastronaut Brillat-Savarin as “the diamonds of the kitchen.” The white truffle, Alba Madonna, comes from the Piedmont region in northern Italy. It grows symbiotically with oak, hazel, poplar and beech trees, and fruits in autumn—as in right now. Their flesh is pale and creamy or brown with white marbling. Prices vary from year to year according to the harvest, which is rooted out by the famed truffle-hunting pigs (and dogs, and men). This year, I've seen them at Eataly in Manhattan listed at upwards of $3,000 a pound. A counter woman was passing a white truffle the size of a small potato to a man who held it up to his nose, inhaled deeply and nodded. "Somebody's going to have a good dinner," I said. "My-a wife-a," he answered in a thick Italian accent. Better than diamonds.
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I'm crazy about shiso and was thrilled that we were able to grow several plants in our garden this summer. Turns out they like a spot that is a bit shadier, neither wet nor dry. We had to rescue armloads of the stuff before the first frost as it immediately and tragically goes black and limp. But then there I was with tons of shiso and only a few ideas as to how to use it. I've always enjoyed the crystallized shiso leaves, coated in a brittle crust of sugar, that are part of the dessert plate at Matsuri, but I couldn't really see making them at home. And I do like the pickled umeboshi-plum-and-shiso roll that is on every classic sushi menu, but that would use up just a few leaves at most. I did go ahead and make a simple syrup infused with the smaller quantity of red shiso I had—great for cocktails and to mix with soda water—but that still left me with vast quantities of the green. A quick scan of the web revealed virtually no inspiration, aside from an edamame salad enlivened with chopped shiso. So I put on my special Glutton's Thinking Cap (looks something like this, or perhaps this), gazed deep into the vast recesses of the fridge, and came up with a rather inventive way to use large handfuls of deliciously pungent, minty shiso.

A surfeit of green tomatoes had me racking my brain—and scanning the web—for recipes that called for neither frying nor pickling. I came across one that looked pretty easy and interesting on Melissa Clark's blog. You've probably read her column in the Times, but may not know that she has collaborated with all the best chefs on a zillion cookbooks, including Daniel Boulud's Braise, a particular favorite of mine around this time of year. (It features fantastic recipes for short ribs; grouper with fennel and cashews; and carbonnade with Belgian beer and gingerbread, among many others.) So she knew what she was doing when she threw together this dish of country-style pork ribs slow-braised with green tomatoes, citrus and vermouth. And, if I do say so myself, I knew what I was doing by serving it with fresh, warm cornbread.
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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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Time and again (and again and again), you've heard me refer to Dickson's Farmstand, a purveyor of locally sourced, humanely raised animals. Their shop in Chelsea Market is the only place, other than the farm upstate, where I feel comfortable buying meat or poultry. One visit, and you will know why. They also have amazing smoked meats, beef jerky seasoned with an addictive mix of star anise and red chile, wonderful terrines and rillettes, and a lunch menu that changes daily, featuring delectable sandwiches and hot dishes as well. The owner, Jake Dickson, has made real strides not only in the way he sources his animals, but in the way they're presented and in the service he offers customers. One of Dickson's purveyors, Bob Comis of Stony Brook Farm in Schoharie, referred to Jake as “a forerunner in the creation of the BSA model.” Business-Supported Agriculture is a new farm-to-business model, firmly rooted in the tenets of Community-Supported Agriculture, in which both sides are open and honest about their financial positions and take responsibility for the success of the other, simultaneously cultivating and supporting the farm and the business to build profitable enterprises in real partnership. When you think about the way that industrial agriculture has undermined small farms, the quality of the food we eat and thus, ultimately, our health, this is no small achievement. Jake was kind enough to share with me how and why he started his business, along with some other meaty tidbits.
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My mother, June Chávez Silverman, was a fiery, high-spirited Chicana beauty with black eyes and a cackling laugh that was contagious. She loved to entertain and was a legendary hostess, especially during the years my father was provost of Stevenson College at UC Santa Cruz. I still have the black silk camellia she pinned on the low-cut neckline of her festive gowns. Exuding clouds of Youth Dew and always amazingly calm, she would oversee Ramos Fizzes and chicken enchiladas for a hundred. I still have the recipe card in her handwriting for this delicious Chile Relleno casserole. It's a great thing to make if you have leftover pot roast—though I'll cook one up just for this dish. Hatch green chiles (in a can) are easy to find if you're on the West Coast, and easier to find now on the East. This cheesy, addictive dish is definitely a crowd pleaser, but you can scale down the proportions and throw it together for your nearest and dearest. Mamá, this one's for you.
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Isn't there something faintly S&M about this illustration? I just love it. Kudos to Jan Richter for her great eye and accomplished technique. (And I happen to know she makes a mean coq au vin.) This is just the sort of plump organic bird you want to find when you're setting out to make any number of cold-weather dishes. G makes the classic Jewish penicillin when I get sick (about once a year, knock wood) but I often look further east for something therapeutic. This recipe tips its hat to a classic Hispanic arroz con pollo but shifts gears with anti-inflammatory turmeric; lots of warming, healing ginger; and a hit of fish sauce. I think it's similar to the Filipino arroz caldo. You keep cooking the rice so it's somewhere between risotto and congee, that perfect comforting texture. And the bright yellow color is like a ray of sunshine.
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