We've scarcely had any rain up here in the hinterlands. I've even considered doing some sort of little dance in an effort to placate the gods. A winter without snow means no melts to form the vernal pools where frogs and salamanders spawn, and it can also lead to precious few mushrooms. (And this was to be my year of tracking down morels!) But driving home late the other night, we came across a yearly event that would seem to indicate that things are mostly proceeding according to plan: smashed frogs on the road. Yes, every year they make the trek from the ponds behind our house to the ones across the way. I know not why as it seems like a dangerous endeavor. A good number give up their precious lives along the journey to greener pastures. Out in the woods, we found other signs of spring, too.
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My friend Jim has been chomping at the bit for this mushroom lasagna. I mentioned it in passing on my GFL Facebook page (Still haven't "liked" me yet? Hustle over there and help me boost my numbers, yo!) and he started drooling and envisioning a cozy Christmas Eve gathering with this as the irresistible centerpiece. Never mind that I basically kiped the recipe from a recent article in the New York Times in which editor Sam Sifton waxed eloquent about "a gooey thrill of savory sweetness, salty astringency and the meaty pong of wild mushrooms"—a lasagna made by Monica Byrne of Brooklyn's Home/Made. Sifton adapted her recipe for home cooks with a few shortcuts, including no-boil noodles, and I adapted it further to use what I had on hand. Living in the sticks, you can't just run out to the corner store for a ball of smoked mozzarella or some truffle oil whenever the whim strikes. But one of the many beauties of lasagna is that it's pretty forgiving, as long as you're using a light touch and very fresh ingredients, whatever they may be. Personally, I'm not the biggest fan of those leaden layers with all kinds of meat and sausage and an overly seasoned tomato sauce. But this recipe eschews meat altogether in favor of radicchio (though I could definitely see adding in some pancetta or bacon), and the sauce is a garlicky béchamel. It's a rich and creamy dish that's pretty much exactly what you want for dinner on Christmas Eve—unless you're making tamales. Or duck. Or paella, which is what I'll be eating on the 24th.
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If you lived in New York City any time in the last 40 years, you've definitely eaten cold sesame noodles straight from the takeout carton. They were hugely popular in the 70s and 80s, and there is a deviant but delicious Silver Palate recipe that's still hugely relevant. The classic version of the dish is defined by chewy noodles, a peanutty-sesame sauce and a not-entirely-incidental garnish of crisp cucumber slivers. Just the thought of them is enough to make you dial Empire Szechuan on a hot summer night. But if they don't arrive exactly how you like them, with the perfect balance of creamy, spicy and sweet, it can be hugely disappointing—the "fridge-flavored nostalgia" Sam Sifton cautioned against in his 2007 Times piece lauding this legendary dish. So why not learn to make cold sesame noodles yourself? Next thing you know you'll be blasting the soundtrack from Saturday Night Fever and making reservations at Mr. Chow.
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I'm up to my eyeballs in greenery. We've had SO MUCH rain that the entire landscape is like a sopping chartreuse sponge. The bleeding hearts are blooming, the ferns have unfurled and the weeds are seriously out of control. I'm a little overwhelmed, frankly, what with G laid up in bed and the planting still ahead of me. The storm windows need to come out and the screened-in porch needs cleaning and repair from storms and raccoons... How will it all get done? There's been some mention of a handyman, and I'm looking forward to the moment one actually materializes. Up here in Sullivan County, much is promised and little delivered. Not that I'm complaining. The change in weather has also brought ramps, scallions, rhubarb, asparagus and the prospect of an excellent growing season. Until our own crops start to come in (ages from now, possiblynever), I'll continue to forage from the local farmers markets which are up and running. This past weekend I scooped up 10 bunches of ramps to pickle (recipe coming). Also 2 gorgeous bunches of scallions which I'll use to make Francis Lam's delicious scallion-ginger sauce (recipe also coming), great with dumplings, poached chicken or even as the basis of a salad dressing. The greens from both ramps and scallions I use for a divine, jade-colored pesto.
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A month or so before we got married in October of 2007, G whisked me off to Turkey for a quick getaway. Although we had big plans to travel around and see lots of sights, after a couple of days in Istanbul we found ourselves holed up in the unbelievably charming Hotel Ada in Turkbuku, in the hills above Bodrum, with absolutely no desire to go anywhere else. This gorgeous stone hotel is built around several 150-year-old olive trees, has a lovely hammam for bathing and steams, and is beautifully furnished in a warm and eclectic style. Our room had stunning views of the Aegean and a private pool where we sunned and swam every day. We breakfasted on juicy peaches and sweet figs on our balcony; lunched on fresh salads and icy cold watermelon juice by our pool; and dined in bed on just-caught seafood. G was especially taken with a pasta dish piled high with what they called "sea delicates"—little scallops, shrimp, squid and fish in a tomatoey sauce. At the time, he did not know that gluten was a big problem for him, so this was truly an instance of ignorance being bliss. Ditto the molten chocolate cake he had for dessert every night.
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My passionate love of beets dates back to my early childhood. I can remember staring delightedly into the toilet as a lovely pink-tinged rinse circled the bowl. Their gorgeous color is a way of signaling how rich they are in minerals and antioxidants. (Beet juice, incidentally, makes a wonderful dye. Stay tuned for the transformation of my new white linen caftan!) The beets we know and eat are descended from the sea beet, Beta vulgaris subsp. maritima, which is native to the coasts of Europe, North Africa and southern Asia. Also known as wild spinach, it's the common ancestor of beetroot, sugar beet and Swiss chard.In my desire to help you squeeze the maximum out of your winter store of root vegetables, I can't forget to mention these wine-colored jewels. We don't eat them much in our house because G is not fond of them—something which is apparently rather common among men. I wonder why? He thinks they taste of dirt, which of course they do, but isn't that the whole point? I love them in all their guises—raw, steamed, roasted and pickled—and will often indulge when the cat's away.
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Even though it ends with me cooking dinner for my husband, I believe this to be a feminist post. After committing to joining in the year-long fun at Charcutepalooza, I promptly fell behind in procuring and curing the requisite first couple of challenges: duck prosciutto and pancetta. I'm pleased to say that here, today, on Meaty Monday, I can present the results of both completed endeavors.The day I found myself rubbing spices into 5 pounds of fresh pork belly, I happened to be tuned into Terry Gross' Fresh Air interview with historian Stephanie Coontz on the subject of her new book about revisiting Betty Friedan's seminal "The Feminine Mystique." Friedan's book, published 47 years ago, ignited the contemporary women's movement, appealing to all those busy and domestically accomplished stay-at-home moms who were mystified by their utter despair and unhappiness. Cut to 2011: I am standing in my kitchen in the middle of a weekday, contentedly massaging a piece of meat with freshly ground nutmeg and feeling no pain. As we post-feminism feminists understand, it's all about choice.

A tomato by any other name...My friend Nina told me that she dubbed my delectable Spicy Tomato Jam (which I can't recommend highly enough as a way to use some of the many tomatoes flooding your farmers market at this very moment) Love Apple Jam and gave jars of it away as the favor at her wedding. Genius! Tomatoes were probably given this lightly erotic moniker due to their alleged aphrodisiac qualities. We all know how lusty those Italians are, right? At any rate, if you're not making jam with your love apples, you're undoubtedly dabbling in sauce. ("Gravy," if you're Italian-American, or have watched too many Sopranos episodes.) We have several divine varieties of heirloom tomatoes that G brings in by the armload every day and I've been making batches of sauce and freezing them—in glass jars, in ziploc bags—to squirrel away for the winter months. Can you just imagine eating spaghetti with sauce made from your own tomatoes in the middle of January?
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So remember that incredible lo mein with ramps and trout roe I mentioned eating at Momofuku Ssam Bar last week? I just couldn't wait to have it again—and I wanted you to be able to try it at home while ramps are still in season—so I made my own version of it. For those of you asking what is a ramp?, it's a wild leek that is foraged at this time of year. Whole Foods carries them in some locations, but they're all over the farmers markets right now. And enthusiastic locavores are charging about the countryside on a rampage, filling their reusable cloth bags with them by the armload. With a flavor somewhere between scallion and garlic, they've got a slim white bulb at the end of a stalk that's often a bit purple, and flat leaves that are a brilliant green. You can eat these leaves, too, sauteed with oil in a hot pan. Rich in selenium and sulfur, the ramp has been the subject of intense study in the areas of cancer prevention and treatment. But, really, it's just plain delicious, and goes so well with the other foraged delicacies of spring: fiddleheads, morels and asparagus.
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I never met her, nor dined at her restaurant, but I could tell from her food, and the joie de vivre that radiated from her face, that Rose Gray was a glutton for life. We lost another great one to cancer today. She was only 71. Co-owner and co-chef of London’s River Café, opened in 1987 in a converted warehouse on the Thames, she was a self-taught cook who fell in love with the cucina rustica of Northern Italy while living in Lucca. After her friend Nell Campbell invited her to run the kitchen at Nell’s, a New York hot spot in the 80s, Ms. Gray caught the bug and decided to open her own place, along with her friend Ruth Rogers (seen above), another self-taught chef.In honor of this great lady, I include here one of her pristine recipes, a classic Sicilian pasta dish comprised of just a few ingredients. It was in simplicity that she found much of the pleasure and excitement in cooking. I hope you will, too. Eat well and raise a glass to Rose.
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