Two weekends ago I found myself supine in a pumpkin patch. It was the first perfect fall day, the air cold and the sun out, and Sebastian and I were at the Red Hook Community Farm for their harvest festival. Because it was a small event at the end of a dead end street, it felt like a little square of Little House on the Prairie plunked down in an industrial section of Brooklyn with live hip hop. There were scads of children carving pumpkins and having their faces painted as they sat atop bales of hay. There were vegetables for sale, tacos made to order and served with some of the freshest guacamole I've ever tasted, artisanal soaps and silk-screened totebags for purchase. I spent all my money on honeycrisp apples and it felt like the most worthy splurge of my life.

We ate pumpkin pizza and mustard greens with bacon and pecans, but what sent me into raptures was the apple juice. Some scruffy, cool-looking kids were operating a very ancient looking apple press and handing out cups filled with juice. I don't go crazy for juice of any kind, but I do love what is sweet, and I admit I was seduced by the charm of the operation. The fresh apple juice was a revelation and a reminder: the simplest things are the best. When you have delicious ingredients, let them shine.

This pumpkin soup is as simple as can be and makes use of a vegetable that usually sits on doorsteps. Pumpkins, like most winter squashes, are rich and sweet and need little fussying to be delicious. I tried the soup both with and without the roasted garlic and it is great both ways, but adding the creme fraiche at the end will really send your heart aflutter.



Halloween Pumpkin Soup and Spicy Pumpkin Seeds

olive oil
salt
pepper
cayenne
1-3 cloves garlic
6 sprigs of thyme
1 small pumpkin, about 5 pounds
4 cups chicken stock
creme fraiche
chives

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Using a serrated knife, cut the pumpkin in half and remove the seeds to a bowl. Rub each cleaned half with 1/2 tablespoon olive oil, and season with salt and pepper.
2. Roast in the oven for 45 minutes to an hour until the pumpkin is fork tender. Let cool.
3. Once you get the pumpkin in the oven, it's time to clean the seeds. This is best accomplished by running them under water and pulling away the pumpkin innards. Dry seeds with a paper towel, toss with a teaspoon olive oil, and season with salt and cayenne. Pop them in the oven, and every five minutes or so, give the seeds a toss and sprinkle on some more salt.
4. Cut the flesh away from the skin of one half of the pumpkin and add to food processor. Add 1/2 cup chicken stock to help things along, and puree. Remove to soup pot and repeat with second pumpkin half. Add remaining 3 cups chicken stock to the pumpkin puree and stir until hot and smooth. Serve with creme fraiche and chopped chives.

Posted by sarah at 1:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Although they are a lot more dense, on the inside, mini pumpkins look a lot like regular-sized pumpkins. I found this out last Sunday when, tired of trying to wrestle my dear Duncan's attention away from the football game on TV, I decided to pry one open and find out what's going on in there.

I used a drill to create a series of holes around the top, which I then "connected" using a knife, and dug out the pulp with a spoon. Once the top was off, I realized the opening was the perfect size to squeeze in a tea light. Since you can buy a bag of 1000 tea lights at Ikea for something like $5, and since every market in town sells those tiny pumpkins 2-for-a-dollar, this little project only costs about fifty-one cents. Which is something even Duncan can appreciate...as soon as the football game is over.

Editor's note: You don't need to use a drill if you don't have one. A serrated knife will suffice.

Posted by alison at 8:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Congratulations to Sarah for getting featured on Jane Magazine's website!



Sarah teaches Jane readers how to design a centerpiece with panache. And a lot of oranges.

Read the article here.

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Since 1886, the State Fair of Texas has been held every fall at Dallas' 277 acre landmark Fair Park, where stately art deco buildings co-exist with the flashy midway. Students are allowed a day off school to attend what is the en masse social event of the season. Couples two-step, kids are pulled in wagons, city slickers ogle the live turkeys while farmers watch over protectively and with some amusement. Everyone comes to the State Fair, and everyone has a good time. Frankly, It's hard not to.

There are the rides, of course (the same ones that have been there for years - little changes at the State Fair), the livestock and sheepdog herding demonstrations, the bands with that infectious country twang, and pavillions filled with the newest models of automobiles, arts and crafts, and packaged food products from all over the state (wickedly hot hot sauce, clover honey and more). With all that walking and dancing, you will want to eat while you are there, and you will eat well.



I think the food at the State Fair is so legendary simply because of the principle of sheer overstimulation. You have had so much fun watching the parade, posing with the Marilyn Monroe impersonator, shooting bb guns, and petting the baby goats that when finally take a bite of fair food, your senses are primed and at the ready to enjoy.

There are lots of fried delights like the singular Texas corny dog, deep-fried peanut butter, jelly, and banana sandwiches, and for the first time this year, fried coke. The fried coke took home the creativity award, and the buzz surrounding it was so deafening it could be heard from New York. I could only manage about two bites of this sticky sweet invention before passing it off to my dad, who can always be trusted to finish off whatever is left on your plate. No matter the yearly fad, it's the classics that continue to steal my heart: frito pie, gorditas and tacos from local Mexican restaurants, corn on the cob, and fried okra.



I have one of those nascent childhood memories of an early Sunday morning at the fair with my dad, perhaps its biggest fan, and my sister. This was when parts of the midway weren't even paved, and my legs were dusted with red clay from my white ankle socks up to my knees. We went from ride to ride without having to wait in line: from the mechanical swings, to the bobsled, to the haunted house. Before we left we sat next to the reflecting pools towered by those imposing limestone-colored buildings, and the three of us shared my first and only Belgian waffle. It was, like most everything at the State Fair, incredible.

Posted by sarah at 11:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

I wish I were someone who could suss her way through the grocery store letting what's on sale and what looks best inspire her. The times I have done that, I look in the refrigerator two days later to find an artichoke and some dark chocolate and wonder how exactly I thought I would cook dinner from these.

With its overpriced produce that is not exactly farm fresh, the New York grocery store poses a particular challenge; it's rare to be inspired by either good looks or a good deal. Imagine my surprise this Monday night when I arrived at the local C-Town, recipe for a quick vegetable soup in hand, and beautiful red peppers were being given away. When I saw the mountainous pile of okra, I was compelled to grab some of that, too. Suddenly, my soup wanted to sing an entirely different tune. I picked up a fragrant bundle of cilantro, a can of tomatoes diced with jalapenos, and some black-eyed peas. Perhaps I was missing the southern state I'd just returned from or was having a prescient moment, sensing the cold that would seize my spirits and sinuses just a day later, but my soup was getting spicy.

Back at home, I circled the pot excitedly, so proud of my first off-the-cuff soup. The sweet red peppers kept the jalapeno-spiced tomatoes in check and the okra thickened the soup beautifully. Later in the week, slumped over a bowl with the cold, the sight of the okra reminded me of the cornmeal crusted version I'd eaten hot from the frier just a few days earlier at the State Fair. And that made me feel a little better.



Red Pepper, Okra, and Black-Eyed Pea Soup

olive oil
onion
2 or 3 fat cloves garlic
1/2 teaspoon dried red pepper
2 celery ribs
2 carrots
2 red peppers
about 2 cups okra
14.5 oz can diced tomatoes with jalapenos (Rotel or Del Monte)
3 cups chicken stock or broth
15.5 oz can black-eyed peas
10 oz box frozen corn (or fresh, of course, if it's in season)

1. Over medium-high heat, coat the bottom of a large soup pot with a thin film of olive oil. Add minced onion and while that's turning translucent, mince the garlic and add to the pot with the dried red pepper.
2. While that's cooking, chop the carrot and celery on the diagonal (looks a little prettier) and add. Continue this pattern of letting the vegetables in the pot soften and cook down a bit while you chop and add the red pepper and okra.
3. Add the tomatoes and chicken stock, raise the heat and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for about 10-15 minutes.
4. Add the black-eyed peas (no need to drain them) and frozen corn. Simmer for 5 minutes or so. Sprinkle with cilantro and serve.
Serves 6; or, serves one on a rainy night, three days of at-work lunches, and some for the freezer

Posted by sarah at 7:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Dan introduced himself to me by whipping up a peach caipirinha from my parents' scanty liquor cabinet offerings. He had driven out to the farm in a rental convertible to meet his best friend's new girl (that's me). I asked him some very uptight question about where he learned so much about "mixology," and he shrugged off an answer about "trial and error."

That is just Dan's way. With everything he has skillful ease, and what's more, he is modest through it all. This is an intoxicating combination for someone who is good at just about everything. Dan seems charmed, and when you are with him, your life feels charmed, too. This might make you want to be with him all the time, but face time requires an international life that pivots on Buenos Aires and Hong Kong. Would that we are all professional bloggers.

I like best when Dan cooks (delicious and elegant), and second best how he came to cook. After teenage summers spent in Canada drinking legally, Dan was hardly impressed by the high school beerfests back at home. Rather than partake of a game of beer pong at a Friday night house party, he would wander into the kitchen, nose around, and cook. I love imagining this. Perhaps this is what makes Dan cool in the face of chaos. Utterly relaxed, he is a hospitable host even in the kitchen (where most hosts come unhinged), making sure you drink enough and barely batting an eye if you spill water all over the kitchen floor or the over-sensitive smoke detector blares on in the background. This is a lesson we could all jot down and keep in our pockets.

Posted by sarah at 7:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

The aiport is not a gourmand's paradise. And while I don't hate airplane food, it's not exactly Jean Georges. This time I'm prepared. Instead of chicken cordon bleu or American Airlines' sick interpretation of beef tacos, I've packed a delightful supper picnic for two: prosciutto and brie sandwiches, frozen grapes (freshing and hydrating in that dry cabin air!), fancy vegetable chips, wino juice boxes, and homemade chocolate chip cookies. I'll take imported meat and cheese over a Snack Pack any day. I'm just afraid security will feel the same way.

Posted by sarah at 9:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

There always seems to be an abundance of dressy scarves available at thrift shops--magnificent paisleys and polka-dots in poly, or if you are lucky, silk. At fifty cents a piece, I find them hard to pass up, but even more difficult to wear. Shirley Jones looked pretty hot with a scarf tied up in an ascot around her neck, but I look pretty ridiculous.

Headbands are totally of-the-moment, however, and can easily be made from your average thrift store scarf in no time flat. A headband can take you from too-lazy-for-a-shampoo-hair to ready-for-my-close-up-hair in two seconds. Here's how to make one.

Materials
1 scarf, long enough to wrap around your head
Thread
Needle
Fabric glue (optional)
1-2" of elastic



Sizing the scarf
For the width: cut the scarf into one long strip, about twice as wide as you'd like the headband to be. 4" works well.
For the length: Wrap the scarp around your head to measure the legnth. Cut the scarf about 2" shorter than the circumference of your head (the elastic will make up the difference)

Assembling the headband
Fold the scarf in half lengthwise and use fabric glue to fasten the raw, lengthwise edges together. Allow glue to dry thoroughly. You can sew them together instead, if you'd like. Turn the raw edges (ends) inward, and stitch in the elastic.

Posted by alison at 8:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

In an ordinary year when my mom's garden is overrun in late summer, zucchini makes a near nightly appearance on the dinner table. The rounds are sauteed with butter and onions or their whole long bodies hollowed out and stuffed with sausage. For breakfast and afternoon tea, they are grated into the zucchini bread recipe from the Silver Palate Cookbook that has practically been claimed as our own.

Often when I'm looking for a vegetable to wear green on my plate at home, I turn to the zucchini. Its mild, earthy sweetness plays well with others and, like a first class escort, is available and good-looking through most of the year. But I admit zucchini bats second string in my vegetable line-up, a cheap option when I can't spring for leeks or artichokes. It's a standby, a quiet supporter of whatever else is on the plate. I really like zucchini, but let's just say its no kale.

It seemed only fair to give zucchini its one night in the spotlight. I wanted to believe in zucchini's leading man potential, but I panicked at the grocery store and bought some salmon too. The moment of justice came almost instantly when the zucchini fritter's performance upstaged and outshone the salmon. Perhaps it wasn't the toughest night for a debut as the salmon was a bit overcooked (this was before I learned that my new broiler rack - which seemed frightfully close to the flame - is adjustable), but I like to think that zucchini scored the role it was born to play.

Zucchini Fritters

1 1/2 large farm fresh zucchinis (or two medium or three small grocery store ones)
1 egg, beaten
pepper
bread crumbs
1/4 c. vegetable oil

1. Grate the zucchini (this is an absolute zip in the food processor) and put in a large bowl.
2. Add egg and pepper and stir to combine. Avoid the desire to instinctively add salt, too. I did this and then sadly remembered that zucchini, like eggplant, sweats out its water when salted raw, making my mixture quite watery.
3. Add breadcrumbs until the mixture holds together when gathered in your hand and made into a small cake shape. Again, I had to use a disproportionate amount due to the salt mishap, but you will probably need about a 1/2 cup. Scooping up about 1/4 cup at a time, continue to form the fritters in your hands and place the patties on a cookie sheet. Refrigerate until they firm up a bit, about 20 minutes or so.
4. Heat a skillet with about 1/4 cup of vegetable oil and when the oil is hot, drop in the first batch of fritters and fry until golden, about 4 minutes a side.
5. To imitate the picture here, serve with broiled salmon fillets and aioli. To really let the zucchini have its night, forget the salmon. You won't miss it.

Posted by sarah at 8:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)