Sour cherries were a blip on the radar this year. Cold nights and then an unseasonal blast of crippling heat made for a small, early yield. And yet I scrounged up enough to make 6 precious jars of preserves and a batch of popsicles. In case you thought to buy up extras and throw them in your freezer, this is a great simple recipe for showcasing their unique tart flavor. It also works with regular cherries—just reduce the amount of honey—or any fruit really. Try it with chopped apricots or plums, with blackberries or raspberries, even with figs. It's hard to go wrong when you're mixing together fruit, honey and yogurt into a frozen confection. Put it on a stick and the child-like delight is instant.
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Certain foods just have a universal appeal. Consider the dumpling, for instance. It's found in so many cultures, this rose by any other name: knedlíky (Czech), kreplach (Jewish), pantrucas (Chile), manti (Armenia), ravioli (Italy), buuz (Mongolia), pangsit (Indonesia), dim sum (China), gyoza (Japan), mandu (Korea)...the list goes on and on. Yogurt—and soured milk of all kinds—may not be quite as common, especially given that many African and Asian countries don't do dairy, but among those that do it's a deeply-held tradition. From straight-up yogurt to crème fraîche to quark to ricotta to paneer to Mexico's indigenous Nahuatl jocoque árabe, people have long been introducing bacteria or acid to milk with delectable results. Greek yogurt has become hugely popular in this country over the last few years, thanks in no small part to the ubiquitous Fage (pronounced "fa-yeh") brand and now Chobani, too. It's simply yogurt which has been strained to remove the whey, giving it a much denser, creamier texture. Sometimes this style of yogurt is even enriched with extra butterfat or powdered milk.
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I arose this morning to the deep silence of new-fallen snow, a world blanketed white. Today is a holiday. An opportunity to putter about guilt-free, reading yesterday's paper, enjoying a leisurely cup of chai. Thoughts turn to the cubes of lamb I pulled from the freezer to defrost overnight. Something warming is in order, a comforting braise of some sort, but nothing that requires too much work. Perhaps a spicy vindaloo is just the thing. It can marinate for hours, and then G can stir it on the stovetop while I'm at yoga this evening. A group effort, and yet not much effort at all. Brown rice, sauteed spinach and a little raita. That's dinner on this Meaty Monday. A day off for you might mean ordering in, but it's actually much more indulgent to inhale the wonderful smells of aromatics and spices, knowing that a delicious curry is in your future.

Merry Christmas! I hope you're doing whatever makes you happy today, whether on your own or en famille. I know that this is a big time of year for loneliness and heartache. There is so much pressure on us to resemble the classic picture: parents, grandparents and children all gathered together in good health with plenty of food and lots of presents. Reality is so much messier, what with divorce, Alzheimer's, diabetes and all the human foibles that stand between us and perfection. The point is to do your best and to be grateful for what you have, whatever that may be. I launched this blog a year ago with the hope that I might be able to share my passions with kindred spirits, and the time has gone by in the blink of an eye. I've explored and learned a great deal, including how wonderful it is to get support from so many friends, both old and new. Thank you from the bottom of my heart: without you, I'm nothing.
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It's hot. And evidently it's hot everywhere. A record-setting year. 113 degrees in Baghdad. 122 in Kuwait. Tempers must be running high. Even the most verbose turn laconic. So I'll just say one word: Popsicles. And maybe I'll just add: Easy. Cooling. Refreshing. Light. (My cat looks like a mink throw tossed onto the windowsill.) Take these recipes and run with them. (Or walk very slowly, fanning yourself with a large palm leaf.) Substitute whatever fruits you have on hand; use a little sugar, honey or agave; try a bit of cream instead of the yogurt, or no dairy at all. G is about to try an herbal protocol from the multi-talented Bryan Thomson, and he can't have dairy for a minimum of 6 weeks, but I can't promise I'll be that restrained. (I'm quite addicted to my morning chai made with raw milk. I even had it today, and promptly almost passed out from the heat! Surely not an Ayurvedically-approved choice...) Anyway, basta with the chit-chat. Whiz up these popsicles in no time flat and you can lie prostrate on your hardwood floor, covered with a wet towel, and eat several while watching the entire season of Dexter which you've wisely downloaded from iTunes. I used these molds which I recommend with reservation. They make a nice shape but getting the stick in at the right height was challenging. (I really wanted these but they are expensive and weren't available right away. Plus they come from a site called The Tickle Trunk. WTF?) Even though Jake Godby, the wizard behind the Bay Area's Humphrey Slocombe, wouldn't deign to offer you such a pedestrian combo as strawberry-rhubarb, I do it with pride. For you flavor snobs out there (and I know none of you is actually reading this blog), there's always the esoteric tang of wild lime to the rescue.
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My love for cardamom knows no bounds. I covet its pungent, deliciously floral spice—to smell (I adore perfumes that contain it) and to eat. Is that strange? If you are not familiar with this gorgeous flavor, I suggest you give it a try in either a sweet or savory recipe. I have posted several previously (rich shortbread-like cookies, a vegetarian curry, and ice cream). Don’t miss the new ones posted below: the ultimate lassi for warm weather; lamb chops for the grill or stovetop; and an easy and highly armotic basmati rice.
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I can't stand the rain. OK, not true, but it did wreak a lot of havoc this summer. It was not the year for tomatoes, as you may have heard. Ahem. As you can see here, we started out with some very promising plants. They produced tons of big, gorgeous heirloom specimens that had us dreaming of fresh salads and BLTs and even an aspic or two. BUT THEN THE BLIGHT HIT. And wiped us out. That's right. All that compost and pampering amounted to a hill of beans when the torrential rains hit and the fungus came to town. (It's a strain of the very thing that wiped out all those potatoes in Ireland causing the famed famine.) From one day to the next, we went from tomato-rich to tomato-destitute. No love apples for us. One plant of yellow cherry tomatoes survived, bless her feisty little heart. If you've been luckier, then this recipe is for you.
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