Pink of Perfection

Did you ever read that book Stone Soup? I didn’t remember the plot of the story, so I looked it up (the best kind of con — greedy villagers are tricked into sharing supper with hungry soldiers). What I do remember about the book, as is the case with some of my favorite books from childhood, is more a sense. Just as The Runaway Bunny made it safe to hunker down into my bed and fall asleep alone for the night, Stone Soup gave me the feeling that something could come from nothing. I don’t even really remember if this is one of the morals of the book itself, but it is, in any event, a lesson I took away.

Isn’t it sort of amazing the way those picture books of our childhood shape our interests in adulthood? Miss Rumphius solidly informed my desire to make the world a more beautiful place and encouraged my wide independent streak (who could resist the way she strode, pink-cheeked, hands tucked inside a fur muff, into that greenhouse in the dead of winter; or sat, thoughtful and alone in a bedroom painted somewhere between pale lilac and dream-hued blue, the curtains blowing in the sea air).

And I credit Stone Soup, a story I can’t even remember, for my deep love of alchemy recipes. The recipes where the humblest ingredients come together to make something, in the end, far greater than the sum of their parts. You put in this and that in an underwhelmed fashion, and you can hardly believe, 20 minutes later, in what surprising and mysterious ways the world works. From garlic and beans comes something voluptuous.

This meal is peasanty in the best sort of way. The way that is wholesome and honest and unassuming and feels eminently springlike. And perhaps more practically, if you have a husband who has been buying a fresh loaf of sourdough every day, it’s a good way to make use of that fragrant bread.

Continue reading “$5 Dinner: Tomato Soup with Poached Eggs” »

I feel these days a little bit like the cat’s got my tongue. I hope it hasn’t been terribly noticeable. Maybe it’s just that my mouth’s full of cookies and my attention’s on books. Who knows, really, but for whatever reason, I am suffering from a blogger’s worst nightmare: I just don’t have much to say.

There were the daffodils that I wanted to tell you about, and how glad I am that the sun has come out today after a weekend of gray. And there are these recipes that I make and want to tell you about, like this one-pan pork chop meal that was divine and went straight towards fortifying my plummeting energy reserves. But when it comes to the larger story, the bigger things I often want us to talk about in regards to life and figuring out how to live it with grace, gratitude, and whimsy, I’m afraid I’m frightfully mute. Maybe it’s a necessary moment to have in early spring, like a tree that’s still bare but will soon bear blossoms. I hope that’s the case.

Until the moment when I am full and lush with soft, soft petals, I may only drop in here with purely utilitarian remarks, such as here’s a nice salad to make or don’t you love these vintage plates or this is the dinner you should make tonight. And this is, actually, the dinner you should make tonight. But I look forward to those more meandering and dreamy conversations when the trees come into full bloom. It won’t be long.

Continue reading “Pork Chops with Escarole, Chickpeas and Apples” »

When we were still in the darkest days of February, Sebastian and I threw a Scandinavian-themed dinner party. Ever since I read this this, I’ve been wishing I were born Danish. Perhaps this would mean I were tall, effortlessly cool, and blond, but it would certainly mean my home was a white canvas of zero clutter punctuated by bright bursts of color. Without a plane ticket to take me to Copenhagen or a time machine to travel back and screw with the family tree, the only way I know how to access the culture of another place is to eat their food. And what more visceral method is there, really?

Our dinner party didn’t give grant me blondness, but it was a chance to drink Aquavit with some of our dearest friends, eat smoked salmon, and revel in one of my favorite dinner party dishes of roast pork with apples and prunes in a mustard cream sauce. My clutter problems didn’t magically evaporate, but we did have a good laugh at the pictures of Max von Sydow demonstrating a skoal in my fantastically musty-smelling copy of The Cooking of Scandinavia procured in a church basement (along with the rest of the complete Time Life cooking series — the find of a lifetime). What more can one really ask from a dinner with friends?

Continue reading “Pork Loin with Apples, Prunes, and Mustard Cream Sauce” »

If the weather’s going to warm up and get all spring-y, I better hurry up and tell you about the last lingering hearty cold-weather recipes before it’s too late. Which leads me, with no ado at all, to a no-holds-barred chilly night dinner of bolognese.

Do you have a restaurant that is your go-to for all sorts of occasions, be it a celebration, lazy brunch, or candlelit dinner? Ours is a little Italian brasserie (is that an oxymoron?) a few blocks down the street. The prices are reasonable enough that we can swing in for lunch or dinner, but the atmosphere is sexy enough to feel like a treat. They have ridonkulously good fries (not quite shoe string, but skinnier than most), a steak that can bring tears to your eyes, and a burger that will make you forget the worst hangover. But for a cold weather lunch, I can’t resist their bolognese served with thick paparadelle. With a glass of wine and a seat on the black banquet across from my husband, I’m in heaven.

There are few things more comforting than shuffling around the house on a weekend with a pot of ragu simmering on the stove. It is the same sensation as puttering around the house with a roast chicken in the oven. The fragrance of a wholesome, sustaining dinner fills the air and fills you with a historic, elemental sense of satisfaction: I have put together this and that and now it cooks away while I sit here and read, you think. How glorious! And it is glorious. Even more so when you spoon out some of the rich sauce on top of a bowl of noodles, and settle down on the couch for a movie (thanks, Margaret!). This is the type of cooking and eating that ranks sky high in the book of satisfaction: nominal effort, slow-cooking, and a deeply luxurious result.

Continue reading “Before Winter’s Over Bolognese” »

I’ve been having one of those blah weeks. Know that feeling? There’s nothing actually wrong — in fact, besides a scratchy throat that makes me sound at turns like Kathleen Turner, everything’s going quite well — but there’s something that I just can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s this last leg of winter gray or that I need a shot in the arm of get-out-of-town or learn-something-new excitement. Whatever it is, there it is. In fact, just saying it out loud feels like I’ve thrown the ballasts overboard. It’s out there now, hopefully sinking to the bottom of the dark oceanic depths from which it came. Now maybe something fabulous can come and take its place.

This isn’t the kind of psychic ennui that can be undone with a fantastic dinner, but if it were, this recipe would be the cure. I’m filing this one away in the “quick and easy but in line with my fantasy vision of myself” folder. I have always thought of the recipes in How to Cook Everything as little more than utilitarian; this, however, is simple but otherworldly. You pop the sliced potatoes and onions in the oven with nothing more than a bit of olive oil, turning them every 10 minutes until the onions turn languorous and the potatoes become golden and crisp in patches. They you lay the fish on top, drizzle a bit of olive oil over the fillets, and in 8-12 more minutes you have a supper that is wonderously simple but perfect in every way: lush with flavor, and easy but refined, like a woman with a very expensive haircut who wears it in a just-rolled-out-of-bed sort of fashion.

Continue reading “Roast Cod with Potatoes and Onions” »

Can I tell you a secret? This winter I made a discovery born completely out of pure, unadulterated laziness. One of my most abhorred kitchen tasks is peeling butternut squash. I hate the thick skin, the irregular shape. Just writing about it my nose has assumed a position of crinkled-up-in-annoyance. See, I don’t even like to think about it. Which is a shame, really, because I love the stuff once the hard work is done. That is why, when I once saw butternut squash already peeled and chopped in the grocery store, it was the kind of convenience food I could really get behind. When I didn’t see it again, though, I decided to just stop peeling. That’s right. Whether roasting (which Sara Rose convinced me was a-ok) or chopping up for a soup, I just left the skin on. What’s a little bit of extra fiber?

And that, my friends, is the only way I could bring myself to make this vegetarian winter stew. And it’s a good thing I found a work-around, because I really loved this, rich as it is with red lentils and topped with a smattering of chopped peanuts, yogurt, and cilantro. It’s the sort of decadent yet basically healthy food that gets me through winter without consuming a truckload of extra sharp New York State cheddar cheese and 40 gallons of tea.

Come to think of it — holy hey, it’s March! Did you read your Astrologyzone horoscope? Are you hanging in, or so deeply sick of winter that if you have to pull on your tights once more you just might yip?

Continue reading “Winter Squash, Red Lentil, and Chickpea Stew” »

I didn’t know it at the time, though I had an inkling, that the first meeting of my new book club was a godsend. When you first get back from a honeymoon, you need a diversion to distract you from the fact that you are no longer sipping a piña colada on the sand. This is where a roomful of strangers and a lot of wine comes in handy. The book club was born in the forums, and when we had eight takers (the magic party number), we decided to meet (and if you’ve since written in wanting to join, I highly recommend starting your own party-of-eight chapters!).

You certainly take a leap of faith when you form a reading group of strangers, but you take the biggest chance when you decide to host the first meeting. Beth’s home was on the top floor of a brownstone. Her bookshelves were lined with all my favorites creating an instant, if sort of superficial, kinship. But it was when she brought out dinner that I decided she was an absolute genius. What do you serve to 7 strangers in the dead of winter when you have no mind for their predilections and preferences and don’t want to break the bank? Why, you make scalloped potatoes and ham, of course, just the way your mama taught you. Beth brought out an oval Le Creuset pot nearly as big as her filled with the sort of honest supper that makes my heart skip a beat: creamy potatoes flecked with fatty nubs of ham. I had seconds, and could have easily had thirds. But it was our first date, and I managed to restrain myself.

Of course, it’s not just that they are clever cooks, able to whip up dishes of delicious economy that’s made me so love my book club (we’re coming up on our fifth date and things are getting serious). Yes, they tell funny stories, and make wise observations — not only about literature, but about life — but I love a bigger lesson that they’ve taught me so far and that is this: All it takes to convert someone from stranger to intimate in this big crowded world of anonymity is an evening together. You don’t have to read the same books or share a love of cheese to bond (although all that helps). You just have to walk into a home with an open heart. And when you do, you’ll find that your neighborhood is rife with smarties, women who you’ll gladly let bend your ear, who turn you onto new podcasts, can recommend your next Netflix rental, and who remind you why the word copain means someone you break bread with.

Continue reading “$5 Dinner: Beth’s Scalloped Potatoes and Ham” »

If there’s one thing worth loving about winter, it’s how right red wine tastes when a cold wind’s at your door. To keep this habit from breaking the bank, I’ve developed a bit of a script. I walk into a wine store and say, “Hi. I’m looking for a great [insert desired wine varietal here] for under $10. Oh, and I want it to go really well with [insert what we're having for dinner here].” Wine store clerks love a challenge, and this is how I’ve found so many great wines, like the outstanding #4 below. To get you a really great list, I also turned to my friend Dan, who you may remember from his quick 3 course Italian feast, and who knows a thing or two about sleuthing out a great wine. Bottoms up, friends!

1. Casillero del Diablo Cabernet Sauvignon, $9
2. Alamos Malbec, $10
3. Colores del Sol Malbec, $10
4. Lancatay Cabernet Sauvignon, $9
5. Two Brothers Cabernet Sauvignon Reserva, $11
6. Santa Cristina Sangiovese , $10
7. Trapiche Oak Cask Malbec, $9
8. The Footbolt Shiraz, $13
9. Cline Cellars California Zinfandel, $13
10. Campo Viejo Tempranillo Rioja Crianza, $10
11. Jaboulet Cotes du Rhone blend Parallele 45, $12