Yesterday was officially the last hot day of the year in Minnesota. After a weekend and a Monday teetering around 90 degrees, today the weather is down to the low 70s and tomorrow it’s supposed to drop down to 60 or so, where it looks like it’s going to stay for a little while.

And so on Saturday, I went on an expedition North, to eat burgers and root beer floats at a drive-in and to tour a sculpture park and to trawl estate sales. And yesterday, the last hot day of the year, I put my work aside for the day and headed to the lake for a final (surprisingly bracing) swim.

But you know, and I’m sure I’ll regret saying this later, I’m kind of looking forward to it cooling down around here. Because cool weather means sweaters and blustery days and leaves falling, but mostly because cool weather means dishes that are cooked in the oven for a while, quite possibly with cream.



This here is a dish that will take you straight from summer to fall, using the best of summer produce (chard) with the best of fall (melty casserole). There’s been a glut of chard in the garden this summer; we only allotted it a single row (about two feet by five feet), but who knew how much chard could grow in just that much space? And while I thought I’d never tire of simply sauteing onions and chard together, letting the greens barely wilt…well, eventually I did.

And we were having a garden dinner party, and I had seen this very intriguing recipe in a new cookbook that I’d been eying on my shelf, Michael’s Genuine Food (c/o Clarkson Potter). I had never heard of a panade before, so I was a little skeptical, but as the authors say in the intro, “Panade sounds kind of ‘chefy’ but in truth, the dish, made from crusty bread and lots of cheese, is just a cross between a savory bread pudding and holiday stuffing.” Bread pudding? Holiday stuffing? Caramelized onion? Lots of cheese? Count me in.



Needless to say, the panade — chefy term or no — did not disappoint. It was utterly rich, but not in that cloying flavorless way that creamy, bready things can sometimes be. The flavors here are strong, but complementary: the sweet tang of the caramelized onion, the nutty bite of the Parmesan and fontina, the slight bit of sour from the bread, and then, of course, the deep earthy green flavor of the chard.

If the recipe sounds a little finicky (panade and a water bath?), try not to persevere. You do need the water bath in order for the dish to come out properly custardy, but it’s as simple as making sure you have some other oven-safe container — a roasting pan, a pie plate, another casserole — that is one size larger than the one you’re going to use for the panade.

And with that first cheesy, custardy, altogether wonderful bite, you’ll know the tiny bit of extra effort was worth it. I promise.



Swiss Chard and Caramelized Onion Panade

Serves 6

Adapted from Michael’s Genuine Food (c/o Clarkson Potter)

Ingredients

-       1 bunch Swiss chard (about ¾ lb.), rinsed well

-       2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

-       1 large white onion, thinly sliced

-       2 garlic cloves, smashed and chopped

-       1 crusty sourdough baguette, cut into 1-inch pieces (6 cups), or the same amount of a sourdough boule

-       1 Tbsp. unsalted butter

-       2 cups chicken stock

-       ½ cup heavy cream

-       3 large egg yolks

-       6 oz. Fontina cheese, grated (about 2 cups)

-       1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1. Preheat oven to 325º F. Butter an baking dish that’s approximately 8×8 (I used a circular dish). Also, butter one side of a piece of foil (large enough to cover the dish).

2. Cut stems off of leaves (I don’t bother to cut the ribs out of the leaves anymore, as I find they tend to cook down fine). Cut stems crosswise into ¼-inch-or-so slices; set aside. Cut leaves horizontally into ribbons about 1-inch wide.

3. Heat a large pot over high heat with the oil. Add onion; season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is caramelized (about 8 minutes). Add chard stems; cook until they’re soft (about 4 minutes). Add garlic, and cook for a minute or so until it’s fragrant. Add the chard leaves; stirring and turning until chard wilts and cooks down (about 3 minutes).

4. Put the bread cubes in a large bowl. Add the chard mixture on top.

5. Return the pot to medium heat; add the stock and cream. While they heat, whisk the egg yolks until they increase slightly in volume (the book recommends a stainless steel bowl, but I used a regular one fine). Once the stock/cream is hot, add it to the eggs in a gradual stream, whisking constantly (if you add it too fast, the eggs will scramble). Add mixture to bread and chard, then add the Fontina, salt, and pepper, and toss it all together.

6. Pour bread mixture into the buttered dish and pat it down evenly. Sprinkle Parmesan on top. Cover baking dish with foil, buttered side down.

7. Fill a pan bigger than the baking dish (I used a pie dish, but you can also use a roasting pan) with ½ inch of water (not enough to go over the sides of the casserole). This is your water bath. Carefully place the baking dish in the water bath and put in the oven.

8. Bake until the center only jiggles slightly when you shake the dish, about 1 hour. Remove from oven and the water bath, and remove the foil.

9. Switch the oven to broil. Broil the casserole dish only (not with the water bath) until the top is brown, about 3 minutes (you may want to check every minute or so).

‘Tis the season, here in the dog days of summer, to be squirreling away as much of all the fresh, cheap, readily-available produce that you can. The last couple weeks, I’ve been indulging in some overexuberant canning, and I just bought another flat of pint jars today (and about ten pounds of stone fruit).

But canning really means some serious slaving over a hot stove — we are talking blood, sweat, and tears territory. And sometimes, you want to preserve some bounty, but you don’t want to be fussing with hot water baths (and hot water burns) and jars, and all the rest. Enter fermenting. Enter sauerkraut.

Way back in the day, I said that one of my New Year’s resolutions (along with redesigning this site, check!) was to make sauerkraut from scratch. And while the redesign sat on the back burner for a while, I got going on the sauerkraut pretty quickly. Nothing, after all, can really stand between a girl and her fermented cabbage.

My first attempts, however, were utter disasters. All the web sites I looked at assumed that I was starting with jarred sauerkraut that I simply wanted to kick up a notch (with the universal advice to cook it with juniper berries and butter). Few cookbooks had anything about sauerkraut, and those that did (ranging from a 1940s vintage farm cookbook to a modern-day book on preserving) all said the same thing: mix cabbage and salt and wait for the cabbage to release enough liquid to cover itself. Well, folks, maybe something is screwy with my cabbages, but they never ever came remotely close to releasing more than a tablespoon or two of liquid. Meaning only one thing: my first two (two!) attempts at sauerkraut rotted. They rotted in my closet. Thankfully, cabbage (strangely?) doesn’t smell very much at all when it rots; doubly thankfully, cabbage is cheap.

But, oh, what was I doing wrong? Enter the beautiful, amazing cookbook Cooking for the Moment, by Andrea Reusing (which I received c/o Clarkson Potter). This book not only had a recipe for homemade sauerkraut (a rarity, let me tell you), but it worked. And it was easier than all the ones that failed. The secret was simple: don’t rely on the cabbages to create their own liquid. Take matters into your own hands, and create a brine. Meaning: Just add water.

At any rate, now that I know the secret, making homemade cabbage could not be easier. So far, my attempts have tasted a little different than the store-bought stuff, mellower in flavor, and also more cabbage-y. More vegetal. At first, I was dismayed by the difference, but then, one of my friends pointed out to me: Wouldn’t you hope the homemade version would be different than the processed, store-bought version? Yes, I would think so.

All I know is that once you try this, you will never buy $7/jar sauerkraut again (in fact, you will be outraged that it even exists).

And, as a final note, I cannot sing the praises of this cookbook enough. Not only is it the only book I’ve found (in my extensive search) with an accurate recipe for sauerkraut, but everything in it is just my kind of food — simple enough, but with one easy flourish you could never think of on your own. And, as if that weren’t endorsement enough, I saw it on the shelf of one of my most food-savvy friends, with one of the most carefully curated cookbook collections I know. This one is seriously a keeper.

Homemade Sauerkraut

Adapted from Cooking in the Moment

Makes about 6 quarts

Ingredients

- 2 large heads of green cabbage (about 5 lbs.) — you want the kind that’s tightly wound, not frilly and loose

- 1/2 cup plus 3 Tbsp. kosher salt, or more as needed

1. Remove outer leaves from cabbage, discard. Core cabbage (cut off base stem of cabbage, then cut into quarters; remove the more solid-looking core on each quarter). Cut cabbage into thin slices, horizontally.

2. Put all the sliced cabbage into some large vessel. Reusing suggests a 10-12 quart crock or food-safe plastic bucket. I used a large glass punch bowl that I got at a thrift store for less than a dollar and washed the living hell out of (I now use it for all fermenting needs, and I highly suggest this option).

3. Combine salt with 1 gallon of water; stir until salt is dissolved. (If you are somewhat lazy, like me, you can simply toss the cabbage with salt and then add water to cover.) Either way, the cabbage should be covered by several inches of water. (If it isn’t, add more water, along with more salt — 2 tsp salt/1 cup of water.)

4. Use a plate to weigh down the cabbage so that it doesn’t float up (it needs to be fully submerged in the brine).

5. Cover with plastic wrap or a towel. Put in a dark, cool place (I used my hall closet).

6. Check every day or so, skimming off any impurities that form on the surface (I didn’t have any problems, really with that). It probably won’t be ready to go for a week or so, but the warmer it is, the faster it ferments. You may want to start tasting it after three or four days.

7. When it reaches the desired flavor (level of tang), drain the sauerkraut, reserving all liquid. Pack the kraut into containers (I just use old yogurt containers, but you can use glass mason jars if you’re feeling fancy). Cover kraut with reserved liquid. Store in refrigerator.

8. That method lasts for at least a couple weeks, but Reusing adds that if you want the kraut to keep longer, you can bring the liquid to a bare simmer in a large pot. Let simmer for 2 minutes, then let cool. Use the simmered liquid to cover the kraut in Step #7 above and store in the refrigerator. It should keep longer. (I haven’t actually tried, as my kraut seems to disappear fast enough as is.)

*NOTE: This should work out just fine, but if for some reason anything looks or smells funky, throw it out and start again (and feel free to ask for help in the comments). Cabbage is cheap; no reason to get yourself or anyone else sick.

Not that much of it, but a little, including a few cookbooks. I want to share my thoughts on these books with you – and to keep getting free stuff – but I also want to be careful in navigating the potential ethical issues at play here, so I’ve come up with a little policy. It’s mine, not FJ’s, so you can think I’m a shill if you want, but Claire maintains her integrity. My ethical policy has two parts: First, I promise that when I discuss a book or product I’ve gotten for free, I will very clearly disclose that fact. Second, since I don’t really consider myself an authority on much of anything, I won’t do real reviews. Instead, I’ll recommend anything that comes my way that I think you, the loyal reader, might be interested in. Sound fair? Here we go:

Martha Stewart’s Everyday Food: Fresh Flavor Fast (which I received for free from the publisher)  is a welcome addition to my cookbook shelf. It has good recipes and gorgeous full-page pictures, but the reason I really like this book is that it is an extremely well-curated collection of dishes. Weighing in at 250 recipes, the book is actually pretty concise as cookbooks go, but that just makes choosing something to cook all that much easier. And I haven’t found any bad choices yet…

I’ve been using this cookbook for a few months now, and I am quite pleased. I already told you how good the Chicken and Dumplings and the Chicken, Edamame, and Udon Stirfry recipes are, and there’s lots more here worth your while. The second in her “Everyday Food” series (the first is subtitled Great Food Fast), the book is obviously marketed as a guide to quick and easy meals. But the recipes all reflect a good balance between quality and convenience. The recipes are simple dishes with a minimum of ingredients, not weird casseroles using prepared foods.

I described the book as “well-curated,” and here’s what I mean by that: There’s been a trend in cookbooks recently toward the encyclopedic. The most obvious example is Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything, which comes surprisingly close to delivering on its titular promise. I love HTCE, and it will always have a prime position on my bookshelf. But the problem with these gargantuan cookbooks is that they don’t really work when you want a book to flip through for inspiration. There aren’t many pictures – if any – and there are just too many recipes. Fresh Flavor Fast, on the other hand, is perfect for this purpose. There aren’t thousands of recipes here, but the 250 that are included are well-chosen and intriguing. Every time I pick this book up, I find something new I want to make, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is a good thing.

My only real complaint about the book is that the binding comes apart almost immediately, but a well-loved cookbook is a beat-up cookbook, so I don’t really mind. Plus, it’s actually kind of nice to be able to take a page out of the book rather than trying to keep the whole thing propped open. So: Really not a big deal.

With clear descriptions of basic cooking techniques, Everyday Food: Fresh Flavor Fast is a great guide for the kitchen novice and with creative recipes for easy weekday meals, it’s a good resource for everyone else as well. Consider it shilled.

Fact: 1780294 out of 1780294 American Gladiator contestants who ate this for breakfast kicked the patooties of contestants who ate Wheaties or Kurt Vonnegut’s 1973 novel for breakfast. You just can’t argue with those numbers.

For a long time, I always skewed to the “-unch” side of “brunch,” taking the non-breakfast savory route out whenever possible. In college, that usually meant settling for last night’s tofu parmigiana over danishes or “Eli’s Breakfast Sandwiches.” And I was one of roughly two people I can remember who could fathom touching the salad bar, even if brunch ran from 11 to 1h30. But now, in this post-mandatory meal plan age, I can create a happy compromise between my palate and gastronomic acceptability norms. It’s a breakfast salad. And it’s so freaking nutrient-packed that dietitians should shed low-sodium tears of hushed awe upon beholding its calcium-rich glory. And it tastes like sweet, nutty victory.

Ingredients:
- Salad greens (arugula is a must)
- Small (gala) apple, sliced any way you like–about half of one will do
- Greek yogurt–as much as you’d like
- 1-2 slices of your favorite hearty bread, sliced into bite-sized chunks
- Honey or agave nectar, to taste
- Black pepper
- Mixed seeds for garnish (optional; I had some from my multi-seed bread bag)

Create a bed of salad greens. Throw down half of the bread chunks. Spoon on as much yogurt as you want over them. Add the remaining bread chunks and top with the apples. Drizzle some sweet stuff over it. Sprinkle on the seeds. Crack a little pepper on top. Go out and kick some patootie. Or read some Vonnegut.

Quick–>minimal time.
Simple–>minimal ingredients.
Cold–>minimal end-user energy use.

And now, a word from our unpaid author: Got extra bread? Make your next meal with this same ingredient list for The Sandwich to Write Home About.

After all, who wants chocolates or roses when they could have pork? Or at least this kind of pork.

I’m talking about the kind presented in this beautiful, beautiful, enticing book. Written by third-generation French butcher Stéphane Reynaud and produced in a gorgeous volume by the art publisher Phaidon, this book is actually viscerally thrilling. The first 45 pages — called “Pig-Killing Time at Saint-Agreve” — describe Reynaud’s family, his town, his friends, and the roles they all play in the butchering process. The next 300 pages give recipes from his restaurant, each illustrated with a full-page color photo and covering the varied categories of barbecued pork, ham, pates and terrines, wild boar, and blood sausage. I have never been much of a fan of blood sausage, but I would give it another go in Reynaud’s hands. Every recipe looks amazing, and all the directions are short and sweet, as are the adorable pig cartoons that run throughout. No wonder this book was an immediate bestseller in France, where it also won the French Gourmand Cookbook Award. The hardest part is going to be picking the first thing to cook, although I will probably steer clear of the Stuffed Pig’s Ears. But it has a recipe for Stuffed Pig’s Ears! How amazing is that?

Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone
The title says it all. The recipes are entirely vegetarian – and many are vegan or have vegan variations – but the cooking in it will appeal to almost anyone. The reason, in my opinion, is that it’s not a book about how to make wheat gluten taste like bacon. It’s a book about how to bring out the best in vegetables and grains, which are pretty goddam good things on their own. And even if you love to chow down on some animal flesh from time to time as I do, there are a lot of good reasons to eat less meat these days whether for your health, for your wallet or for the environment. This book will show even the most vehement of carnivores that there’s more to vegetarian cooking than tofurkey.

Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything
OK, the title is probably an overstatement, but every time I’ve turned to this book for a particular dish, it’s been there. It was the first cookbook I ever bought, and I still use it regularly. A great primer for a novice chef and a good reference for anyone, it comes in a very soothing shade of yellow. Bittman now has international and vegetarian versions of this book, which I’m eager to have a look at and cook from. If anyone’s used them, I’d love to hear about it.