Yes, it's another pancake. I'm on a (gluten-free) roll. The dosa is not dissimilar to the blini in that it's also made from a batter that sits around and gets bubbly, but it's got no yeast. Its gentle loft and tang come from a process of natural fermentation. If you live in the city, you might never think about making your own dosas. You're much more likely to head to little India—or to that award-winning dosa cart in Washington Square—and simply indulge your craving without much ado. But those of us out in the sticks have to get creative. We've got to psych ourselves up to scale these culinary walls. Ignorance and inexperience cannot stand in our way. Gotta scratch that dosa itch.

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Eat poor that day, eat rich the rest of the year. Rice for riches and peas for peace. So goes the saying about Hoppin’ John, the classic Low Country dish of rice and peas that’s a New Year’s day tradition in the South. Consuming a plateful is thought to guarantee a prosperous year filled with good fortune. The peas symbolize coins and the greens served on the side—usually collards—recall good old dollar bills. Add cornbread and you’ve got gold. Culinary gold, anyway.

As much as I cling to the idea of a random universe, I'm actually pretty superstitious. I've lived my life in fear of tempting the Fates: Clotho, who spins the thread of life; Lachesis, who chooses one's lot in life and measures how long it will be; and Atropos, who with her shears cuts the thread of life. Like some old gypsy woman, I avoid calling attention to my good fortune or the things I covet most because I dread attracting the evil eye. I remember my mother telling me about a moment she had, an ordinary Northern California moment of driving the car along a sunny road, when she was seized with the notion that her life was so wonderful—perfect, really—and then felt a chill pass over her heart as she realized this must be too good to be true. Shortly thereafter, my father's stomach cancer announced itself and my mother's own battle with a benign tumor on her spine kicked into high gear.

I masquerade as a rational being, but deep within I harbor superstitions worthy of a medieval sorceress. I hold my breath and lift my feet when we drive over railroad tracks. I say "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit" first thing on the first of every month. Because if there is such a thing as luck, I want some. What directs your hand to that winning ticket? Guides you into the path of your soulmate? Chance, fate, destiny, luck...I'll do whatever I can to tip the scale in my favor, won't you? So join me in embracing this bit of Southern lore on January 1st. C'mon, get lucky.

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Summer has such momentum to it. All that sunshine and daylight just winds you up and you go, go, go. Then suddenly the light begins to wane and all around things start to curl inward. Where green once predominated, yellow is now creeping in. The goldenrod has exploded, a few sunflowers still remain and the leaves are tinged with jaundice. We cling to the last vestiges of the season, even as we reach for our sweaters, lay the first fire in the hearth and prepare to hunker down. I want to share with you some photos of the garden I took that show the last blooms. And then I'm going to tell you about a rice salad I invented earlier this summer that was a big hit at a couple of different parties. So cheer up, there are good things ahead!
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Hello, gentle readers, here I am a day late but arriving with more surprises for you! The penultimate giveaway in the Glutton for Life Grand Holiday Gift Extravaganza is the above selection of homemade treats, including gooseberry chutney, apricot preserves and a jar of that pickled cauliflower I was telling you about the other day. Tempting? To be a contender for these 3 jars, all you have to do is leave a comment below by midnight on Monday 12/23. I'll post the winner on 12/24, along with the final giveaway, something truly special and unique. As for the cookbooks, those are headed all the way to Alberta, Canada, to the waiting hands of Celina!

In the meantime, I want to tell you about a fantastic, easy side dish that is the perfect thing to accompany your roast beast, or whatever you're making for your upcoming feasts. It's from the fabulous Suzanne Goin, by way of the possibly even more fabulous Julia Child and if that's not enough to pique your interest, just know it involves onions, rice, cheese and cream but is still rather light and relatively healthy.
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Few things make me happier than cooking for the people I love. I had a great time making the most of summer's last days when I co-hosted a dinner party right smack in the middle of a friend's lovely and prolific garden. We featured the late-season produce that was overflowing on all sides and the weather cooperated, offering balmy breezes late into the night. The menu was organized around a main course of paella, which we cooked outside on a big burner that belongs to the deep fryer we use for our Thanksgiving turkey. You can use your grill instead, or cook it inside on the stove if you prefer. Paella is actually pretty forgiving, and the recipe can be scaled up or down as you will.
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I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you that the firm white head of the cauliflower is referred to as "the white curd," for it looks like nothing so much as a big virginal cheese. Of course it comes in other colors—orange, green, even purple—but it is the white that is the most common, the most classic and perhaps the most invitingly pristine. It's lovely baked with cheese sauce, pureed into a creamy soup or steamed whole and dressed with a caper vinaigrette and toasted breadcrumbs, but it's also a rather surprisingly capable foil to far more assertive flavors. This Indian "dum," a type of steaming done in a tightly sealed pot, traditionally over a wood or charcoal fire, transforms the cauliflower into a velvety heap cloaked in a fragrant and highly-spiced sauce. You can make a simple meal of it along with a pile of nutty basmati rice, or serve it as part of a larger repast with braised lamb or grilled chicken. Either way, it's certainly no wallflower.
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In my quest to offer you more alternatives to the dreaded, over-processed, denatured, cardboard-like breakfast cereals we should all be rejecting forever, I hereby tempt you with a delicious bowl of nutty, nutritious and quite comforting grits. As you can see, I've gotten all fancy with purple rice and, though you need not be so esoteric, I highly recommend you source your grits from somewhere like Bob's Red Mill or Anson Mills. Both offer a variety of organic heirloom rices and grains, all painstakingly milled and very fresh. The taste really illustrates the difference, as does the quality of the nutrition you get from products like these. Please don't feed your kids (or yourself) instant oats or Rice Krispies or cornflakes when you can give them healthy, whole foods instead. And grits are a great vehicle for other flavors, like soft-cooked eggs, crispy bacon, spicy Tabasco, creamy yogurt, maple syrup, strawberry jam, cultured butter—pretty much anything tastes good plopped on top of or stirred into this yummy bowl of mush. This particular bowl I ate with a dollop of crème fraîche and some crunchy smoked sea salt.
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Remember that glorious tasso ham we smoked up for the latest Charcutepalooza challenge? (Read all about it here.) Well, I found a classic way to use it that really maximizes its smoky, spicy flavor. I came across a recipe for jambalaya by Chef Paul Prudhomme, the Louisiana legend whose blackened entrees were horribly bastardized by chain restaurants in the 80s. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “jambalaya” comes from the Provençal word "jambalaia," meaning a mish-mash or mix-up, and also a pilau (pilaf) of rice. Originally a humble combination of rice and vegetables, it has evolved into a rich expression of local New Orleans cuisine. There are two types of jambalaya: Creole, also known as “red jambalaya,” which contains tomatoes and is usually made with chicken and smoked meat; and Cajun, “brown jambalaya,” without tomatoes, which is more characteristic of southwestern Louisiana. The Creole version, which originates from New Orleans’ French quarter, was undoubtedly influenced by Spanish paella. As saffron was scarce, tomatoes were added for their vibrant color. Ultimately, Caribbean spices and the addition of tasso ham or andouille sausage make this a dish unique unto itself.
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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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With the recent conclusion of his popular cooking column, The Minimalist, Mark Bittman has announced he will now write a regular blog for the Times' online commentary, The Opinionator; his first post is here. In a nutshell, these are the issues he will be dealing with: "If you cook, you think about what goes into your mouth; you shop more carefully; you begin to think about where the food you’re shopping for came from, and how it was produced; you begin to think about what you’re throwing out, and how you might use it instead of waste it; and so on." If you read this blog, you're probably interested in all this, so you will want to keep up on what Bittman has to say. Unfamiliar with his story? Check out his latest book, Food Matters, where he tells of his transition to VB46 (vegan before 6pm), which helped him lose 35 pounds, lower his cholesterol and blood sugar, cure his sleep apnea and painful knees, and gain a new consciousness of the politics of food. He's a big proponent of shifting the ratio of meat to vegetables on our plates, but he loves good food and does not have a Spartan approach to life. He believes in wine and dessert and the abolition of CAFOs.
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