Call me crazy, but in the midst of this heat wave, when the plants themselves seemed to cry out from thirst beneath their green ultrasuede coats of pollen, I got a craving for clam chowder. I guess it was because I happened across a recipe for it on Tasting Table ("the free daily email for adventurous eaters everywhere"). Also, it's a bit like my own Proustian madeleine, because it takes me right back to my first job as a hostess at Gilda's seafood restaurant on the pier (or the wharf, as it was called) in Santa Cruz. I love the seafood tang against the richness of fresh cream and buttery potatoes, and the hint of salty pork. So there I was yesterday, sweat pouring off me (I had actually closed the kitchen windows in an attempt to keep out the pollen and the dust and noise of the guys working on our roof), temperatures soaring towards 100º, boiling potatoes and steaming clams. And then, you'll never guess—the skies began to darken, the ominous rumble of thunder approached from a great distance, a breeze kicked up and suddenly it was pouring. By evening the air was clean and cool, perfect chowder weather.
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The snow's gone but it's not exactly shirtsleeves weather. My idea of a good time is still hunkering down in front of the fire, or under a duvet. Soon I'll be donning my linen overalls and running up and down the aisles of Silver Heights Nursery buying scented geranium and heirloom tomato plants. But today I'm not above a good braise. Get 'em while it's cold. One last chance to slowly simmer and stew, to watch those lazy bubbles and that mesmerizing cloud of steam. So put aside thoughts of spring things for the moment and haul out your lovingly broken-in Le Cresuet, your stalwart Staub. You've just got time for one more stew before the mercury rises. Make it oxtail, the ultimate slow-cooker. Ick, you say. How can you eat a cow's tail? How can you not? I firmly believe you honor that cow more by making use of its every beefy bit.
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I'm so tired. After more than a month, the construction on our bathroom has once again ground to a halt. It's too excruciating to even go into the details. Suffice it to say, we have a working toilet. But no shower, no sink and no door on the bathroom. It's been bliss to come home and sleep in our own bed for a couple of nights, but I just don't know how this is going to work. I am beyond tantrum and into fugue state. If you think it's hard to find a good contractor where you live, come up to the sticks and feel my pain. Soup helps. It's soothing and warming. Especially this delicious carrot version that I developed years ago when I was living in Los Angeles. It was originally meant to be eaten cold, but I've found that I also love it hot. It is very brightly flavored with sharp hits of ginger, and richly spiced. I've made it on the chunkier side, but I think I prefer it super-smooth and creamy. A handful of croutons on top are key to give it a bit of satisfying textural contrast. A bowl of this with a salad of roasted beets, mâche and goat cheese on the side, and you're golden.
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Is bigger better? Surely not. But it's nice to eat from every end of the spectrum, from the petite kishu to the gargantuan gigante bean. Though there is something to be said for the sheer meaty size of them, these creamy white beans, also known as gigandes or hija, deliver a lot of sweet flavor. Runner beans of Mediterranean origin—probably Spanish or Greek—you’ll see these on meze or antipasto plates, often coated in a dark orange tomato sauce. In Spain, they are sometimes referred to as judías, a word that also means Jews, though I couldn't find any connection. (Speaking of which, did you see John Galliano's drunken, anti-Semitic rant? Wonder how long Natalie Portman's new Sofia Coppola-directed Dior spot will continue to run...) If you can’t find gigantes, you may substitute limas or any large white bean. Dried beans are a delicious source of fiber and protein at any time of year, since they are as appetizing eaten hot in a soup as they are served at room temp. But until fresh beans are coming off the vine (Happy March, by the way), the dried version can be the centerpiece of many a meal. I do enjoy them in broth, but I think my favorite way to eat beans is cooked until they are very soft and have absorbed all the liquid, drizzled with some spicy green olive oil and sprinkled with crunchy sea salt.
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Actually, this wintry soup has none of those letter-shaped bits of pasta. This is a post-modern alphabet soup, one you can load up with vegetables that represent virtually every letter, from artichoke and broccoli to winter squash and yam. The more the merrier, basically. I'm not eating any grains or starches for a while, so I used shallots, leeks, onions, garlic, celery, fennel, carrots, mushrooms, green beans, chard and tomatoes. Potatoes, parsnips, wild rice, farro and/or pumpkin would also be lovely additions. You can make it with water, but vegetable stock—or beef or chicken—will vastly improve the flavor. I used stock made from our Christmas goose carcass! This is such an easy recipe. Throw it together in 20 minutes, let it bubble on the stove for a while and then serve it with some delicious bread. You don't even need a salad because it's so loaded with vegetable goodness.

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With all those rich roasts and braises, the patés and terrines, the confits and caramels, the puddings and petits fours, you need something tangy and vibrant to spark your palate, no? I've been enjoying cooling glasses of seltzer, lightly flavored with lemon-rosemary syrup. Quite a tonic. And a tart, juicy clementine can really hit the spot. I also rely on green juices to keep me honest, though I don't suppose that's actually a good way to kick off a holiday meal. But what about a bowl of brilliant orange carrot soup enlivened with lots of spicy ginger and a warming hint of cumin? The great thing about this soup is that you can adapt it to suit your mood and what you've got in your fridge. Stir in some buttermilk, or a tiny bit of cream. Add chopped jalapeño, or cilantro or dill. Got some stale bread? Make croutons to float in your soup. You can even forget the carrots and ginger and use broccoli, or potatoes, or squash. What I'm trying to say is that you can invent a fantastic vegetable soup by following a few basic steps I will lay out here for you.
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It's the day after and I'm a woman of few words. But I can't leave you hanging with all that turkey on your hands. Hopefully you did not, in a fit of weary pique, discard the carcass. There's soup in there! How about a delicious, soothing and very clean take on pho, the Vietnamese soup usually made with beef. Here's a winning recipe made with leftover turkey from WinnieAb on Food52. It does a body good.Or, check out my guest post for turkey tamales on UK site debate your plate. It's a great project for all those lazy, whining people you have hanging around your house. And the results are delicious!And last, but never least, here's Martha's recipe for turkey banh mi, full of crisp, refreshing vegetables and tangy, spicy flavors. What's with the ethnic theme? Guess I've had it up to here with classic American for the moment. Enjoy your naps...
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Here come the holidays and, with them, your family. Bickering, sibling rivalry, old grudges and the rapid backslide into childhood habits are mitigated by unconditional love and unlimited quantities of sugar and fat. Both my parents are dead, so I have absolutely no chance of recreating that perfect Rockwellian moment. Because I went to college so far from home, I have been glomming onto other people's Thanksgiving celebrations since I was 17 anyway. Now I am a part of G's family, and this year, along with his chef-in-training sister, I am responsible for the turkey. His mother has passed the torch. It's a big responsibility, but not one that can totally distract from the issue of side dishes. I suppose there are some families out there who are wildly experimental with their Thanksgiving menu, trying that mole sauce with the turkey one year, stirring coconut milk and chiles into their sweet potatoes, maybe even passing a post-prandial doobie. But it seems that, for the most part, people really like to stick with TRADITION, even if it means that repellent green bean casserole topped with canned onions. Or having both sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes. The root vegetable is really very popular at this meal, and rightly so. Its earthy sweetness is the essence of comfort food. Try making these sweet and spicy garnet yams (no marshmallows, please), cubed and blitzed in the oven along with some pancetta, while the turkey is being carved. And keep reading to discover the very best mashed potatoes ever. Trust me on this.
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This seductive soup is pronounced "fuh," like the word for fire in French. I had wanted to post a gorgeous "pho"-to of a big, steaming bowl of it, but we ate the entire pot before I got the chance. So instead, here's one of a woman in the market in Saigon scarfing down this wonderful national dish. Pho is traditionally eaten for breakfast in Vietnam, but it goes down like a charm for lunch and dinner, too. It's great stuff for cold weather eating, but that doesn't prevent South East Asians from having it in the raging heat. A rich but clear beef broth, infused with star anise, clove, cinnamon and ginger, it is traditionally served with slices of raw sirloin, shallots, bean sprouts, cilantro, Thai basil, mint, lots of slippery, chewy rice noodles, a squeeze of lime and maybe some chile. It's not so complicated; mostly, it just takes time. I love how you char ginger and onions directly over the flame of your burner; it imparts just a hint of smokiness that is very reminiscent of outdoor cooking in Asia. As with all stocks, you make this ahead so you can skim off the fat, and it's quite a healthful and nourishing dish because of the good nutrition from bones. Of course, I urge you to make this with meat from a happy cow, please. For its sake, and for yours.
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The tomatoes just keep on coming. Every morning, G goes out to the garden to poke around, and inevitably returns with a handful of cherry tomatoes, some kale, maybe a squash, and lately the big yellow beefhearts. This week I made an Indian dal with lentil-flour flatbreads and a tomato chutney spiced with curry leaves and black mustard seeds. Tomorrow, I'm planning to serve icy cold bloody marys made with fresh tomato juice and spiked with celery bitters and horseradish. What do you make when you have a surplus of tomatoes? It's been raining for about 24 hours straight at this point, so a pot of soup is really a no-brainer. I think this creamy, dairy-free version is just what the doctor ordered. 
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