Lady Marmalade: Blood Orange Marmalade

So, you know how I've been going on and on about winter citrus and its restorative effects on the dying winter soul? Well, let me tell you. I have not been returning the favor--I've had a whole pile of Meyer lemons and blood oranges languishing in my refrigerator for weeks, barely hanging on to this mortal coil. It got to the point where my guilt was so significant that I embarked upon the unthinkable: I decided to make marmalade.

This was An Event for two major reasons:

1. I've never made jam of any sort
2. Despite being half English, I've never really had much of a taste for the stuff.

However! When one is talking wasted citrus, one must rise to the unexpected challenge! Or attempt to, anyway. I'll admit it: it took me a few tries to get this one right. I didn't have a real recipe to work with, and I'd never worked with pectin; I also failed to properly measure the amount of fruit I was using, so I ended up with marmalade soup at the end of the first cooking. Cooking it twice, while probably not ideal, didn't seem to hurt the concoction too much. If anything, I think it may have intensified the citrus flavor.

Things I learned:

• Using only the zest of the orange (discarding the pith and most of the rind) cut the bitterness factor significantly while still allowing the extreme...well...citrusness of the fruit to really shine.
• Marmalade is far more delicious than I'd given it credit for (though, admittedly, my marmalade may not be...well...traditional.)
• Many marmalade recipes call for a metric shedload of sugar. I believe that if you boil longer, you can get a similar effect without as much. I mean, 7 cups? Really?
• Canning and jarring and jamming is nowhere near as daunting as I'd once thought. All you need are a big pot, a pair of tongs, a spatula (for getting the filled jars in and out) and a good book to read while you stir the pot.
  

Blood orange marmalade

8 Whole blood oranges.
3 Meyer lemons, sliced thinly
4c sugar
Pectin (I used one pouch of Certo brand liquid pectin, by Sure-jell)

1. Remove the outer layer of zest from the orange (if you want the marmalade texture, do this with a vegetable peeler; if you're lazy like me, you can use your microplane), taking care not to get too much of the bitter white layer beneath. Set the zest aside.
2. Peel the oranges and then slice them thinly and chop them roughly. remove any tough pith or seeds that you encounter, but save as much of the juice as you can!
3. Put the oranges and lemons in a deep saucepan; add the pectin and let sit for a moment.
   
4. Add the zest.
5. Add the sugar and then bring the contents of the pan up to a boil. Boil, boil, boil away (stirring as much as you can reasonably bear) merrily until it's thick, syrupy, and passes the spoon test.

To preserve your marmalade:

1. Get a bunch of canning jars.
2. Wash them in hot, soapy water
3. Boil them mercilessly for about 15 minutes, then remove them from the pot.
4. Ladle your marmalade into your clean, sterilized jars. Gently seal the tops and boil them at a rollicking, high temperature (with at least 1 inch of water covering them) for 5 more minutes. Turn off the heat, but leave the jars in there until the water is lukewarm (I tend to leave the jars in the waterbath overnight). This should activate the vacuum seal on the jar, characterized by the sort of dip in the middle. If you don't have a vacuum seal by the time the water cools, remove the jar and try again with a new lid.
   

Valentine's day massacre: Four cheese macaroni

If you heard a large clanging noise this past Sunday night, it was probably the sound of my arteries slamming shut. I took a page from Maggie's book and decided to make mac and cheese as a post-Valentine's Day-Valentine meal; I knew full well that it was going to be a cholesterol nightmare, but I threw caution to the wind and went for it anyway. If you are looking for a lighter or lower fat mac and cheese, this is not the recipe for you. Consider yourself warned.

So! What made this macaroni so crazy? Well, let's start with a solid pound of grated cheese (four kinds). And then move on to the quarter pound of prosciutto. And from there, to the caramelized shallots and two heads of roasted garlic.

Hungry yet?



Just devising this recipe made me drool like some prehistoric beast; I certainly growled like one once or twice as I assembled it--I lost some quality acreage on my knuckles while grating the cheese. I based the recipe on one that I found in Bon Appetit last month; I was intrigued by their tip to use eggs instead of bechamel for the custard. Though it took some care to achieve (you have to be very careful when mixing the eggs and the cheese sauce if you want to avoid scrambled eggs), it was worth it--the casserole was cheesy, gooey, creamy deliciousness from top to tail, without the trauma of whisking hot milk into flour (though the addition of some tangy buttermilk to the cheesy custard certainly didn't hurt the cause, either).

The topping might have been my favorite part, though--breadcrumbs with parmesan, garlic, and a hint of nutmeg, just to keep things interesting. It's a flavor that most will find hard to place, but it adds a lovely complexity.

Basically, this is a panful of cardiac arrest--and worth every single bite. Make it for someone you love (especially if that someone is yourself) today.

Death mac: Four cheese mac and cheese

1/4 stick butter
6-8 medium sized shallots, sliced thinly
1/4c all purpose flour
1 1/2 c buttermilk
2 c milk
1 lb shredded cheese (a good mix: parmesan, gruyere, manchego, cheddar)
1 tbsp dijon mustard
6 oz pancetta or prosciutto, diced
2 large eggs
2 heads roasted garlic, pureed

1 lb shell pasta (I used whole wheat in an attempt to be...um. Healthy. Yeah.)

Topping
1/2 c breadcrumbs
1/2 c parmesan cheese, grated
2 tbsp onion powder
2 tbsp garlic powder
1/2 tsp nutmeg
salt

1. Heat the butter in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the shallots and saute until caramelized.
2. Add prosciutto/pancetta; saute for 3-4 minutes more
3. Add flour, cook for 2 more minutes
4. Add milk; bring to a simmer
5. Add cheese, mustard, and garlic puree. Continue to simmer until cheese is melted. Season to taste with salt
6. Whisk eggs into medium bowl; gradually whisk in 1 c cheese sauce. GRADUALLY is key--you don't want the eggs to curdle
7. Add egg mixture back into cheese sauce
8. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 400 and cook the pasta in salted water according to package directions.
9. Prepare topping: breadcrumbs, parmesan, onion and garlic powders, salt.
10. Add cooked pasta to sauce; turn out into buttered casserole dish.
11. Top with breadcrumb topping.
12. Bake 25 min or so, until everything is bubbly and brown and irresistible.

Less tang, more character: Mushroom risotto

When I was but a wee whippersnapper and newbie to the world of cooking, the first "complex" dish I undertook was risotto. This was right after Jamie Oliver's first cookbook came out, and people were starting to figure out that you could actually make this crazy stuff at home! Of course, with that knowledge came plenty of grousing, largely about how tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime consuming it was, how teeeeeeemperameeeeeeeeental it was. You know the drill. Naturally, this wave of petulance and frustration attracted me to the dish like nothing else (you may have noticed a behavioral pattern here): it was hard, which meant I had to master it! Of course.

The part that confused me: it wasn't that hard at all. It wasn't that persnickety. Yes, it was time consuming, yes it required a certain amount of my attention. But as I discovered (to my extreme surprise), risotto is ultimately a pretty simple basic formula (rice, liquid, patience), which you can then dress up any way you like. The first risotto I made featured goat's cheese and dried cranberries; since then, I've come up with several lovely variations that I pull out on various occasions, including the mushroom variety I whipped out the other day at dinner for our lovely friend Claire.



I'm particularly fond of this risotto because it is so light--the original recipe doesn't even call for any cheese (though, really. Like I'm going to skip the cheese. Come on. But it can be done!)--but so incredibly flavorful that it feels terribly indulgent. I am inclined to credit the inclusion of the liquid trifecta (a combination of marsala or madeira, white wine, and stock) that is used to pull out the creamy starch in the rice; it's unexpected and subtle, but adds a certain sweetness (as do the peas) that complements the meatiness of the mushrooms.

I won't lie: you do need to be kind of vigilant. To get the right consistency, you will need to stand at your stovetop for 40 minutes or so, gently massaging the starch out of the rice (emphasis on gently) and plying it with liquid. But, it's not a complicated endeavor--you can quite merrily drink wine and chat with guests while you do it, as it won't really require a great deal of concentrated focus. Your guests, however, will not need to know that. I encourage you heartily to let them think that you are, in fact, the most brilliant multitasking chef-host-genius ever to walk the earth. No one will dare question your bold statement once they taste this stuff.

Mushroom Risotto

1c arborio rice
2 large portobello caps, cut into pieces 1/2"x1/2"
6oz shiitake mushrooms (stems removed and reserved), coarsely chopped
6oz white button mushrooms (stems removed and reserved), finely chopped
2 shallots, chopped fine
1c frozen peas
1 head garlic (roasted and pureed)
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp olive oil
1/2c grated parmesan cheese

1c marsala wine
1c white wine
2-3c stock (ideally, a combination of mushroom--which you can make by simmering the stems you reserved above in some water--and chicken)

1. Saute the mushrooms in 1 tbsp oil, 1 tbsp butter on medium-low heat until reduced in size by approx 2/3. Deglaze pan with slug of marsala wine, set liquid aside.
2. Saute the shallot in remaining butter and oil (and some salt) until shallots are golden
3. Add rice, stir until coated with oil and translucent (about 1 min)
4. Turn up heat to medium, add 1c of the stock and stir until all absorbed.
5. Add the cooked mushrooms and garlic puree.
6. Add the remaining stock and wine, 1 cup at a time, until the rice is soft and creamy.
7. Add peas and cheese. Cover and set aside for 10 mins or so. Serve with a shaving of parmesan on top.
   

Sunshine in a bowl: Triple garlic chickpea soup

In my neverending quest to poke Winter in the eye, I have three stalwart friends: sharp cheese, sunny citrus, bright garlic. The holy trinity of deep winter, if you will. Rare, however, is the occasion where I manage to give them all equal prominence; usually one will take the wheel while the other two bicker in the backseat. So, I'm sure you can imagine my thrill when I devised a recipe that allowed all of them to shine equally.

I was inspired by Orangette's chickpea salad, a quick recipe that, in its simplicity, transforms the humble ingredients to something ethereal in its deliciousness. It being Winter, I decided to transform it from a salad to a soup; being me, I also opted to chuck in plenty of garlic, done up three ways: roasted, sauteed, and raw (I know, I know--raw garlic sounds kind of scary; but I promise you, it just adds a wonderful sharpness to the flavors).



The triple garlic action gave the soup a wonderfully heady, complex flavor (at once mellow and sharp), while the parmesan imbued a creamy saltiness that balanced it perfectly. The lemons sang without screaming. All the flavors were present and accounted for, clear without being overwhelming.

Next time, I think I might add a bit of sauteed pancetta--I think the salty chewiness of it would accent the rest of the flavors beautifully--but I would not go so far as to say that this tangy bowl of sunshine NEEDS such an accent; I'm just a little greedy that way.

Triple garlic chickpea soup

3x15 oz cans chickpeas, rinsed and drained
2 heads garlic (1 roasted, one separated into cloves, peeled and sliced)
1/2c shredded parmesan cheese
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1-2 medium sized onions, peeled and diced
2 quarts water or stock

1. Preheat your oven to 350.
2. Slice the top off one of the heads of garlic; drizzle it with olive oil and wrap loosely in foil. Meanwhile, rinse and drain one of the cans of chickpeas; toss with some olive oil and salt and place on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake until the garlic is soft (about 1 hour) and the chickpeas are golden but not burnt (about 20 minutes)
3. Meanwhile, heat some olive oil over medium-low heat in a heavy-bottomed saucepan; saute the onions until translucent and then add half the sliced garlic. Sautee for another minute or two, until everything is extremely aromatic.
4. Add the remaining two cans of chickpeas to the saucepan and let cook for a moment with the onions.
5. Add the water (or stock); bring to a boil then reduce heat. Add salt and pepper to taste.
6. Add lemon juice, parmesan cheese, roasted garlic, and the remaining garlic.
   
7. Using a hand blender, puree the soup until a nice smooth consistency, adding more water/stock if it seems too thick
8. Add roasted chickpeas
9. Serve with a garnish of lemon zest and parmesan cheese.
   

Something a little more straightforward: Blood orange grain salad.

I'll come out and say it in explicit terms: I hate winter. I hate being cold, I hate that the MTA freaks right the hell out the second there is a drop of precipitation, I hate hat hair, I hate that I appear to return to my primordial reptile roots (or, at least, my skin does) as soon as the central heating gets turned on. Hate.

I love, however, Winter citrus. And while it is not an acceptable substitute for Spring, this California dreamer accepts that sometimes, it is as good as it gets. And, frankly, one could do a lot worse than this seasonal bounty--Tangerines! Meyer lemons! Blood oranges! Little puffs of sunshine in an otherwise bleak and depressing season!

I took my first real stand against Winter this past weekend, when I got my hands on some blood oranges. I had gotten it into my head to make something involving tempeh (pulled pork had been on the previous night's menu, and I was feeling a need to be a bit more virtuous), but wanted to veer away from my traditional Mirin-soy glaze; I wanted something comforting, something almost autumnal, but still bright and brisk. Sort of the culinary equivalent of walking in the deep woods on a crisp but sunny day. So, I snagged some radiant, bloody beauties, some sprouts and some squash, and decided to see what sort of random alchemy I could muster in my kitchen.



I ended up making a warm grain salad with a blood-orange, maple syrup and white balsamic glaze; it worked beautifully upon serving, the dressing's sweetness offset perfectly offset by the delightful tang of some soft, creamy goat's cheese. I will fully admit, however, that it lost a little something when consumed as the next day's lunch--the goat's cheese is vital to the dish really achieving on a flavor level (it really wakes up the citrus), and I didn't pack any. I hope to remedy that next time I make this--I would really like the dressing to stand on its own. My suspicion is that this can be fixed by changing up the acid; I will probably use a dark balsamic next time, as opposed to a fig-infused white balsamic, possibly mixed with a little bit of cider vinegar for kick. A bit of lemon juice might not go terribly amiss, either.

Don't let my conjectures put you off this recipe, however--for an experiment, I was happy with it--its soft, complex sweetness sated the cravings my body was experiencing for something warm and comforting, and it cheered me up immeasurably with its sunny charm. I hope it will do the same for you!

Recipe has been adjusted to reflect my musings.

Blood orange tempeh and kamut salad

DRESSING:
1/2 c maple syrup
Juice of 3 blood oranges
1/3 c olive oil
1/2 c balsamic vinegar (at this point, i'd recommend avoiding anything fruit-infused or of the white balsamic variety)
salt
1 tbsp fresh thyme

1 packet tempeh

1 butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/8" cubes
2-3 red onions, peeled and cut into eighths
8 oz brussels sprouts, outer leaves removed, quartered
1/4 c dried cranberries

1c kamut
3c water

1. Preheat your oven to 350;make the dressing: combine maple syrup, orange juice, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and salt.
2. Place squash, onion, and sprouts in a roasting dish. Add 1/3 dressing. Cover with foil and roast for 30min. Remove the foil after 30 min, then continue to roast until squash is nice and soft
3. Prepare the kamut as per packet directions (typically 3 parts liquid to 1 part grain).
4. Cut tempeh into 1" cubes. In a skillet, heat some olive oil and fry the tempeh over medium-high heat until golden brown. Reduce the heat and add 1/3 dressing, stirring until the liquid is nice and syrupy.
   
5. Add thyme to final 1/3 of dressing
6. Combine tempeh, vegetables, kamut, and cranberries in a large bowl with remaining 1/3 dressing. Toss well.
7. Serve with a garnish of goat's cheese!

Slow Cooker Lamb and Lentil Soup

Hey readers, we've moved! Please come check us out at our new site: pithyandcleaver.com! You can view this recipe and many more over there.


At Fromaggio in Essex Market, I spied a box of French Puy lentils for eight dollars. Seriously? Eight dollars for lentils? I knew if I brought them home Matt would be unimpressed. Unless, of course, they sprouted into a magic beanstalk.

Luckily, I live near a little Indian market with shelves piled with inexpensive spices (amchoor powder, anyone?) and dried goods. Squelching my desire for a collection of curry powders and mango pickles, I scored a cheaper bag of pretty green french lentils and headed home to look at recipes.

Maybe it's just me, but I'm stingy with my homemade stock. We can only store a few containers of it in our teeny freezer, and I hate to be caught without any. It's hard to deem an unknown recipe stock-worthy. (Remember Elaine carefully budgeting her sponges on Seinfeld? It's like that...sort of.) So I was pleased to realize I could make a huge pot of hearty lentil soup while still saving some stock for a winter cold. I used lamb to deepen the flavor of the tomato broth, and spiked it with a little sake (sherry would work great if you have it.)


In a flash of inspiration before I served this up, I added a bit of homemade pesto to the pot. I save this in ice cube-sized portions in the freezer, and it deepened the flavor nicely.

I hate to give exact times in a recipe for slow cookers. You alone know how hot or slow your machine cooks, and how mushy you like your lentils. In my six-quart Cuisinart slow cooker, this took a long time. You could probably speed it up by cranking up the heat. Or just go about your business and let it cook all night and the next day unsupervised. That's the beauty of these things.


Slow Cooker Lamb and Lentil Soup
Serves at least 4 with leftovers

2 lamb shoulder chops with bone or about 1 pound other stew meat
1 strip bacon, chopped roughly
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 cup chopped mushrooms
1 clove garlic, chopped roughly
3 carrots, chopped
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 teaspoon harissa (optional)
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried basil or a bunch of fresh basil leaves if you have them
1/2 teaspoon oregano
freshly ground pepper
1 28-oz can whole tomatoes with liquid
3 cups chicken or turkey stock
2 teaspoons sherry or sake or wine
1 cup green lentils
2 tablespoons prepared pesto
Pasta (corkscrews or shells are good)
grated cheese for serving
Salt and pepper

Place first twelve ingredients in the slow cooker. Pour tomatoes over. Fill empty can with water and add that water to slow cooker as well. Add stock, sherry or sake or wine, and lentils, stir, leaving meat on the bottom of the pan. Cook on high one to two hours, depending how hot your slow cooker is. Turn to low and cook at least 8 hours. Check lentils and carrots at this point. If they seem too crisp to you, keep cooking. When ready to serve, remove meat from bones and discard bones. If you like, whir this for thirty seconds with an immersion blender to thicken the broth, or blend a few ladlesfull in a food processor. Leave the rest chunky. Stir in the pesto. Boil water on the stovetop and prepare pasta according to package instructions, a large handful per person is plenty. Place pasta in bowls and ladle soup over, garnishing generously with grated cheese, salt, and freshly ground pepper.

Fair and fowl: Cherryaki Roast Duck

When I first took a stab at cooking poultry, I did so with a silent promise to myself: Thou shalt take these lessons you learn and ultimately use them to cook a duck. Why this particular piece of fowl was so important to me, I couldn't begin to tell you; why I couldn't bring myself to START with this is no easier to explain. Suffice it to say, it had something to do with compressed air blowers, chinese restaurants, and the general fatty nature of the duck.

Mostly the fatty part, I think. Despite the fact that it is, truly, what makes the duck delicious, I find the sheer volume of fat that comes attached to a duck a little daunting. But, after our little trip to the Essex market, I was determined to be daunted no longer. So, I turned (as I so often do when looking for info about basic technique) to Mark Bittmann, who not only had several excellent tips on roasting duck, but an excellent suggestion for how to solve the fat conundrum: harness the power of steam!

By steaming the duck before roasting, you melt some of the prodigious fat layer, allowing it to drip out of the duck before you commit it to the oven. You're left with a delicious bird (with a significantly more manageable fat quotient) and a cup or two of nicely rendered duck fat, which you can whack in your freezer and use intermittently in place of butter or oil. Steaming the duck also gives you an early opportunity to add flavor to the bird; flavoring the steaming water imparts a subtle flavor to the meat. Since I decided I wanted an asian-style duck (I have a moderate obsession with peking duck), I used star anise, mustardseed and cinnamon; I used the same flavors during the roast itself, and in the sauce/glaze. Hitting the seasonings three times made the taste of the meat unbelievably delicate and luscious.




Being the sensible, frugal girl that I am, I used some of the fat I'd rendered out to roast up the potatoes. Believe me when I tell you that you should try doing that, too. It's not for the faint of heart, but good goddamn, it is delicious.

Roast Cherryaki Duck

1 duckling, 4-6 lb

To steam:
2-4 c water
2 sticks cinnamon
2 tsp mustard seed
3-4 star anise, whole

To roast:
2 tsp cinnamon
kosher salt
1 orange, zested and then sliced
1/2 large yellow onion (or one small red onion), sliced

For the sauce:
1/2c cherry preserves
1/2c soy sauce
1/2c chicken stock
1/4c white wine vinegar
2 cinnamon sticks
3 pieces star anise
1/4c honey

1. Start by steaming the duck on your stovetop--put a rack in a nice, large pan, and then fill it with about 1-2 inches of water. Add spices. Prick the skin of the duck all over with a sharp knife or fork (take care not to prick the meat--you have about 1/4 inch of fat before you hit it), and then place it breast side down on the rack. Set heat to high, cover tightly and steam for about 45 minutes, replenishing the boiling water when it starts to run a little dry. I used my wok for this, wrapped in about eight hundred wasteful (yet effective!) layers of foil. Let it cool for at least 15 minutes before doing anything else with it.
2. While it's cooling crank up your oven to 375 and start the sauce--put the preserves, soy sauce, honey, cinnamon, star anise, stock, and vinegar in a small saucepan; bring to a boil, then drop the heat to keep it simmering.
   
3. Once the duck's cooled a bit, rub the skin (on both sides) with a little kosher salt, orange zest and cinnamon, and stuff the body cavity with sliced onions and oranges. Place breast-side down on a rack in a roasting dish, and baste. Cook for 15-20 minutes (depending on the size of the bird). Remove from oven, flip over, baste the other side. Crank your oven to 425, then roast for 15-20 more minutes, until the skin is nice and crispy.
   

Winter Vitamins: Pomegranate Spiced Carrots

It's January, and I think we're all feeling it. A bit too much sugar (I'm looking at you, peppermint brownies), a little too much bubbly (though this was a great discovery), and the first long rainy trudge back to work. And it's really just the beginning of winter. In these situations, colorful vegetables help.

Something is always broken in our tiny East Village home. Water drips from all corners of the ceiling when it rains, the chimney smokes until you can't breathe, and the sliding "doors" to the bedroom don't QUITE close. This week, as soon as it went down below freezing outside, the thermostat went on the blink. It was cccccold, so I really wanted to crank the oven on and leave it on a long time. (I suppose I could have really warmed myself up by doing an exercise video, but really, I wasn't feeling that virtuous.)

This recipe scored on both the vegetable and hot oven counts, plus it promised to use up the last few cups of pomegranate juice lurking in my fridge from a long-ago brunch. The recipe called for pomegranate molasses, which I fully intend to try someday when I can snag a cheap bottle, but cooking down juice on your own works fine. Heeding the warnings on Epicurious, I cooked the carrots halfway before adding the sweet glaze. It caramelized up nicely and didn't set off the fire alarm. (Well, I had already unplugged the fire alarm. That thing goes off if you cough in our apartment, and it's really loud.)


These are really zingy, with really bright flavors. They're not your regular sleepy roasted root veg. The cardamom and cumin are a strong foil for the fresh sweetness of pomegranate, mint, and basil. It's a little loud, as winter vegetable dishes go, but packs a welcome vitamin punch. Which might be what we all need.


Pomegranate Spiced Carrots
adapted from Bon Appetit

Serves two generously as a side dish

2 cups pomegranate juice
1 cup orange juice
olive oil for roasting
2 tablespoons finely grated peeled fresh ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
pinch ground nutmeg
pinch cayenne pepper
2 pounds medium carrots, peeled, halved lengthwise
1/3 cup pomegranate seeds (optional, I didn't have them.
1/3 cup pine nuts, toasted
2 tablespoons thinly sliced fresh basil leaves
2 tablespoons thinly sliced fresh mint leaves

Preheat oven to 400°F. Put carrots in roasting pan, sprinkle with olive oil, toss to coat. Roast carrots 30 minutes, stirring once. Meanwhile, pour pomegranate and orange juice in a small saucepan. Boil to reduce by half. Mixture will be not quite thick. Add ginger, cumin, cardamom, nutmeg, and pepper to pomegranate mixture. After carrots have cooked 30 minutes, reduce heat to 350°. Toss carrots with glaze and roast until carrots are tender and liquids are reduced to glaze, stirring twice and mixing in water by tablespoonfuls if needed to prevent burning, about 30 more minutes. Season with salt and pepper. (Can be made 4 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature. Rewarm in 375°F oven 10 minutes before serving.)

Transfer carrots to platter. Sprinkle pomegranate seeds (if using), pine nuts, basil, and mint over carrots and serve.

The jackpot question in advance: New Year's Eve.

So, I never actually got around to baking anything for the holidays. The spirit, as they say, did not move me (something about airports and snowstorms pulled the thunder from my kitchenaid). I'm hoping to turn the tides this week, having questionably decided to throw a New Year's Eve party!

The party itself is to be styled as a Black and White ball, so my initial plan was to make two cakes (one for each color). I then determined that that was more or less guaranteed to drive me utterly mad, given that the day job required at least some of my attention over the first few days of the week. So, instead I compromised on cookies--one dark (dark chocolate and crystallized ginger crinkles) and one light (amaretti). I have made neither in my lifetime--it's a whole new world of cookie!

I will keep you posted!

It's a Cass Blaster Blitzkrieg*: Chicken and mushroom casserole.

It's hardly uncommon knowledge that I loathe the cold. What can I say? I grew up in California, and ten years in New York has done NOTHING to thicken my blood. I hate not being able to feel my fingers. I hate the fact that the MTA pretty much shuts down when the slightest flurry occurs. I hate that I cannot wear cute shoes and/or skirts out in the world between November and May.

I do, however, love cold-weather food. You know what I mean--the heavy, creamy, dreamy foods of winter, resplendent in cheese and bacon and all manner of things bad for your cardiovascular system. Comfort foods, designed to take your mind off the fact that half your band is still stranded in Las Vegas (not that I'd know about that *ahem*) and that you stopped receiving messages from your toes about three days ago: Pastas. Fondue. Casserole.



Oh, casserole. I was so late to your party, and I'd like to apologize now. I love you even more now that I've determined that you don't actually have to be a crazy cholesterol bomb to be both hearty and satisfying. I credit Heidi over at 101 Cookbooks for showing me the light--I stumbled across her recipe for mushroom casserole, and it was like a shot of adrenaline straight to the brain. Heidi's exquisite site is all about healthy and delicious, so I knew that if SHE was exhibiting it, it had to be both amazing and extremely unlikely to strike you dead. Plus, it's easy and versatile--it was no trouble to satisfy my inner semivore and toss in some cooked chicken (from a bird I'd roasted earlier), or to swap out the rice in favor of kamut (a variety of whole wheat) instead of rice (which I certainly recommend trying--it's chewy and unlike anything else). I also found myself without cottage cheese or sour cream, so I substituted in some plain yogurt (my new favorite ingredient). Basically, it's a good, basic recipe that stands up beautifully to whatever you wish to throw at it. Frankly, I suspect it would rule with a mushroom medley and a little blue cheese, or perhaps something involving bacon. I will let you know if i try this.

So! If you're looking for something to eat this winter that is hearty and healthy, I say give this recipe a go--but feel free not to follow it too carefully!

And, my darlings, this is probably my last post before the holidays; as you can see, I did not get it together to make any cookies or find any holiday spirit, but I hope you had better luck with that than I. I also hope that wherever you are, you are warm, you are safe, and you are with the people you love.

Happy holidays, y'all.


Chicken and mushroom casserole
Adapted from the always awesome 101 cookbooks.

2 tbsp fresh tarragon, chopped
2 tbsp fresh thyme
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium-sized onion, diced
8-10 oz mushrooms, finely diced
2 large eggs
1c lowfat yogurt
2c prepared rice or grain of your choosing
1/2 c + 2 tbsp parmesan cheese
1/2c breadcrumbs
Optional: 1c cooked chicken, cut into small chunks

1. Prepare your grain; set aside in a nice, big mixing bowl.
2. In a large saute pan, heat a glug of olive oil over medium to medium-high heat. Saute the mushrooms until they're brown and juicy; then, add the onions. Once the onions start to get translucent, add the garlic and saute for a couple more minutes.
3. Turn off the heat, add the herbs.
4. Meanwhile, add the eggs to the yogurt, blending well.
5. Add the egg-yogurt mix (or rather, as much of it is needed to bind the other ingredients--you don't want this thing too wet), mushroom-onion mix, 1/2 c parmesan cheese, and chicken to the rice; mix well and then turn it out into a lightly buttered casserole dish.
6. Preheat your oven to 350. Then, mix the breadcrumbs and the remaining parmesan cheese (and some more herbs, if you're feeling festive) together; sprinkle this mixture liberally atop the casserole.
7. Bake covered for 20 minutes, then uncovered for 20.

* The first person to identify that quote gets a special prize (besides my undying respect and devotion, that is)! Leave your guess in the comments.

Snow and Crabs (No, Not Snow Crabs)

Greetings from the wild west.

We've gotten inches and inches of snow, and may well be trapped in the house for the duration of our holiday trip. They don't salt the roads out here, so you can stand at my parent's front window to watch the cars slide down the hill sideways.

But you could do worse than sitting at my mother's table with a giant Dungeness crab in one hand and a cracking utensil in the other. It's sort of a messy business, requiring a shower afterwards, but an incomparable treat. I've been to Baltimore, and I know they like their crabs, but these big guys are the real thing as far as I'm concerned.


Happy holidays—I hope you're not stuck in an airport somewhere.