What do you eat when you’re feeling too busy to cook? If you’re like me, you’ll fall into one of these camps: Take-out (pizza, burritos); “Cooking” (quesadilla, grilled cheese, pasta). Not a lot of vegetable matter. A lot of food that is not really that satisfying but feels fine for one meal. But not, I repeat not, fine for more than one meal. Because — and this is the true sign that I am turning into an adult — I like eating vegetables. And I do not want or like to eat several meals lacking vegetables in a row.

But sometimes, cooking is hard. The pasta is staring at you saying, boil me. Just boil me, and add some olive oil and salt and a little bit of whatever you have in the fridge, and I will be delicious. Or, if you are me, and live where I live, then Chipotle is literally across the street, and I swear that they are pumping the scent of carnitas out their exhaust fumes.

This, then, is when I turn to kale salad. As evidenced by my recent lack of posts (and my apologies about that!), I am having a very busy day/week/month. Full discretion: I am actually eating a quesadilla right now, as I type. One made with corn tortillas (good local ones) and grated cheese, and that’s it. Not even any hot sauce. It’s a busy time.

Too often, I forget about kale salad. It’s a little counterintuitive, eating such a hearty green that I am so used to cooking absolutely raw. But it’s become my favorite way to eat kale, and one of — if not my absolute — favorite ways to eat salad. It’s so filling and so satisfying — the snap and crunch of the kale between your teeth actually make you feel like you are growing stronger as you eat it, not unlike Popeye and his spinach. And the zing and the cheesiness of the dressing makes the whole thing feel utterly decadent, even though it’s one billion times healthier than a slice of pizza.

All you have to do is buy a head of kale (which should run you about $3) and a few ingredients for dressing, ones that you might well already be stocking. You want Tuscan kale (some types: black, lacinto) — the good, thick, pebbled stuff that is closed in relatively tightly on itself. It’s the most common kind, I think, but I’ve seen other, frillier ones that won’t work.

Then all you do is chop of the stems (you don’t even have to de-rib), slice into ribbons, and toss with a couple magical ingredients (garlic, lemon, cheese, oil, salt), and voila, served with toast, you have a light supper. If you’re feeling up to a modicum more work, hard-boil an egg and slice it into quarters, add half an avocado, a tomato, some red onion.

If you’re feeling even lazier/more stressed, simply toss the cleaned, sliced kale with some store-bought Caesar dressing (I like Brianna’s), and you’ll be ready to eat even faster.

The original recipe calls for bread crumbs (preferably freshly made), but if I had to make bread crumbs, or even bother toasting bread crumbs, I would probably never manage to make this salad. The whole beauty here, for me at least, is how delicious such an extremely simple recipe can be. And so, I’ve made the recipe even simpler, the way I make this salad when I make it at home, on a tired night. (For the original, bread crumb including recipe, try one of the links below.)

Going on a little mini-roadtrip/vacay this afternoon to the Pizza Farm in Stockholm, WI. Photos and more later this week!

Raw Kale Salad

Adapted from Melissa Clark, via 101 Cookbooks

Serves 2 as a side

Ingredients

-       ½ bunch Tuscan kale (black, lacinto, etc.), rinsed and dried

-       1 garlic clove, minced

-       ¼ tsp. kosher salt

-       ¼ cup finely grated pecorino cheese (or Parmesan)

-       3 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

-       juice of one lemon

-       1/8 tsp. red pepper flakes

-       fresh ground black pepper, to taste

1. Cut bottom stems off of kale. Cut kale leaves into horizontal ribbons, about ½ inch wide. Place in a large salad bowl.
2. Combine garlic, salt, cheese, oil, lemon juice, and red pepper flakes in a small bowl. Whisk to combine. Pour dressing over salad and toss to combine.
3. Let salad sit for about five minutes (this is to let the flavors meld slightly, but it can also survive for longer – the kale is pretty hearty). Serve, grinding black pepper over if desired.

I think the pictures say it all today. The garden was full of green tomatoes that ran out of time to ripen. 20+ lb. of tomatoes. Which meant only one thing: time for a fried green tomato party. What you need: fried green tomatoes, a big pot of red beans, a pan of cornbread, a big ol’ tub of sour cream, 2 kinds of hot sauce (Tapatío and Louisiana), and, optionally, some preserves. Plus, booze and friends willing to bring more food and more booze. And some good tunes, of course.

Still so many green tomatoes — for salsa, for jam, for green tomato tart. Any other green tomato ideas?

Recipe for fried green tomatoes after the jump!

Fried Green Tomatoes

For 6 people as a side dish or brunch; more people if it’s a party and everyone’s having just a couple (though you may still want to increase the recipe)

Adapted from the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, by Matt and Ted Lee

Ingredients

-       3 lb. green tomatoes (about 6-8 medium tomatoes), washed and sliced into 1/4 – inch slices (Lee bros. say to core them, but I just sliced them vertically through the core, and didn’t notice a thing once they were fried)

-       3 large eggs, beaten

-       ¾ cup whole milk (I used low-fat because it was what I had, and it was fine)

-       1 ½ c. all-purpose flour

-       ½ c. plus 1 Tbsp. stone-ground cornmeal (polenta works well here – you want the coarser grain for crunch)

-       2 Tbsp. salt

-       4 ½ tsp. finely ground black pepper

-       oil for frying (the Lee bros. recommend peanut oil, but I had vegetable oil on hand, and it worked well, plus it’s cheaper)

-       Optional, to sprinkle over: Salt, torn basil leaves, hot sauce (Tapatío or Louisiana style)

1. Whisk egg and milk together in a shallow bowl.
2. Mix flour, cornmeal, salt, and black pepper together in another shallow bowl to make the dredge.
3. Pour about a ½ inch of oil in a skillet (I used a cast-iron pan). Heat over medium-high heat.
4. To fry tomatoes: Dip one slice of tomato in dredge, make sure both sides are covered. Then, dip in egg/milk mixture, so both sides are covered. Then, dip back in dredge, again making sure both sides are covered. Place in oil.
5. You can test the heat of the oil by putting a slice of the dredged tomato on. The oil should sizzle around it. If it doesn’t, just leave that one tomato on until the oil starts going. If the oil does sizzle, then get dredging, until you’ve filled (but not crowded) the pan.
6. Flip the tomatoes once they’re golden brown on one side, about 2 minutes. Cook the other side until golden brown (about 2 minutes more), adding more oil as needed. Remove the fried tomatoes with a spatula to a platter lined with paper towel. Sprinkle with salt or basil, if desired.
7. Serve immediately, and repeat!

My apartment building turned the heat on for the first time yesterday. The radiators were hissing and spitting, and I went around closing up the storm windows for maximum heat efficiency. (I’ve never seen storm windows before moving to Minnesota, not even on the East Coast.) And the heat was only on for a brief few minutes, but it was enough to warm the place up, and I slept better than I have for several nights.

This caponata contributed to the heat of the apartment in a big way, as well. Making this stew was actually a pretty big occasion for me — it Christened my brand new Le Creuset. I’ve been wanting a Le Creuset for a long time now, but it’s such an investment, not just in price, but also since it will last for my entire life and probably beyond, I really wanted to absolutely love the color I ended up with. And, I was continually reluctant to spend that much money on a pan. I knew it was worth it, but still…it was a lot of money. But then, I discovered that there’s a Le Creuset outlet right outside of Minneapolis! A Le Creuset outlet, people! (And there could well be one near you — there are a lot.) And they were having a sale on the Valencia color. And then I was sold, and a beautiful 7.25 quart round dutch oven was mine.

As easy as it was, after two nights of roasting tomatoes, I was getting a little tired of it, and I used the rest in an easy tomato sauce. That plus a small ton of mini eggplant from the farmers’ market was the inspiration for this dish, a nice bridge between summer and fall, and a perfect first use for the LC.

I get such a kick out of these eggplants — they’re adorable. They’re a little bit more work, but not much, and I think they’re a little more flavorful (the usual benefit of a mini version of a vegetable) and also they have a higher skin to flesh ratio (perfect for the caponata, not so perfect for, say, baba ghanoush, where you’re supposed to only use the flesh).

Caponata is a Sicilian sweet-sour eggplant stew — sweet from a touch of sugar, sour from a glug of red wine vinegar. Along with the incredible influx of salty-savory flavor from anchovies, capers, and olives, it makes for a dish full of wonderfully complex flavor, that still tastes very fresh.

Caponata is traditionally served cold, as part of an antipasto platter, or as a side dish. But, actually, I think it makes a lovely vegetarian entree, served over quinoa or pasta or any number of other grains. And it would make a lovely vegetarian centerpiece for a Rosh Hashanah dinner, I think. It calls to fall and the harvest, and it feels a little special and festive and fertile.

I’ll be posting some other Rosh Hashanah ideas later today.

Caponata

Makes about 4 cups (to serve 2-4 as an entrée, more as part of an antipasto; can be increased extremely easily)

Adapted from The Art of Simple Food, by Alice Waters

Ingredients

-       2 medium eggplants, trimmed and cut into 1-inch cubes

-       2/3 cup thinly sliced celery

-       1 small onion, diced

-       1 ½ cups simple tomato sauce (recipe below) or any tomato sauce you like

-       ½ cup green olives pitted, chopped

-       2-3 Tbsp. capers (rinsed if packed in salt)

-       2 anchovies, chopped (rinsed if packed in salt)

-       ¼ cup red wine vinegar

-       1 ½ tsp. sugar (Waters uses white, but I was out and used brown with no problem)

-       olive oil

-       salt and freshly ground black pepper

-       Optional: basil, parsley, chopped up hard-boiled egg

1. Season the eggplant with salt and place in a large colander in the sink or over a bowl to drain for about 15 minutes. (Getting the water out of the eggplant helps it to soak up less oil when it fries.)

2. After eggplant has drained, warm up 1 Tbsp. or so olive oil in a heavy pot over medium heat (enough to coat the bottom). Add eggplant cubes to cover the bottom of the pan (I added a little bit more, not wanting to wait through so many batches). Sauté until golden. Remove to another bowl, and add another batch of eggplant, replacing the oil as necessary

3. After all eggplant is done, add a bit more oil and then the celery. Sauté until golden. Remove to the bowl with the eggplant.

4. Add a bit more oil, and then the onion. Sauté until soft and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the tomato sauce. Cook for about 7 minutes.

5. Then add olives, capers, anchovies, vinegar, sugar, eggplant, and celery. Cook for a final 10 minutes or so. Taste and adjust seasoning (vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper) as needed.

6. You can garnish this with chopped herbs and/or chopped up hard-boiled egg.

Note: Caponata, like many stews, tastes even better the day after, when the flavors have had a chance to meld.

Note: You can make this recipe healthier by baking the eggplant. Toss the salted and drained eggplant with a couple tablespoons of oil and spread on a baking sheet; bake at 375ºF until golden brown, about 30 minutes.

Simple Tomato Sauce

Makes about 2 cups

Adapted from The Art of Simple Food, by Alice Waters

Ingredients

-       2 lb. ripe tomatoes, diced

-       5 large garlic cloves, peeled and chopped

-       ¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil

-       salt (preferably kosher salt)

1. Heat a heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. When hot, add oil. When the oil has heated, add the garlic. When the garlic starts to sizzle, immediately add the tomatoes with all their juices and a large pinch of salt.

2. Simmer until the tomatoes break down, 15-30 minutes.

Note: I don’t mind skins in my tomato sauce (I like them, in fact), and I can’t stand the work of peeling tomatoes. If you want a perfectly smooth sauce, however, you have to blanch the tomatoes in boiling water until their skins are loose; then you can peel them. Alternatively, you can also run this sauce through a food mill after you’re done simmering it.

Here in Minnesota, the weather has turned very suddenly to Fall. On Thursday, I was at the State Fair on a 95-degree day, eating chocolate-covered bacon, fried pickles, cheese curds, craft root beer, beer-on-a-stick, and fried apple pie. The next day, the temperature had dropped by at least 20 degrees, and now nighttime is cold enough that I’m thinking it might already be time to pull my comforter out of the closet.

But while I love Fall here in the Midwest — I venture to say that it dwarfs the beauty of East Coast Fall — I’m not quite ready to say farewell to summer yet. After a late start, produce is still coming into the farmers’ markets here, and I’m trying to squeeze out a few last bites of the bounty.

Which brings me to these eggs, which taste like a mouthful of summer. I know that everyone waits for tomatoes and corn and strawberries, and I love those, too, but for me, the best part of summer might be the basil. Basil, basil everywhere. Basil that is so cheap at the market for such a big bunch that it’s hardly worth taking up space in the garden. Basil that will keep for days and days in a jar of water, making everything around it fragrant.

I love deviled eggs, but I had never tried to make them before. I had always heard that they were an excruciatingly time-consuming process, which must be a myth perpetuated by delis and caterers everywhere. Because I’m here to tell you, my friends, they’re not! They’re not exactly easy or quick, but they’re not excruciating, either, even with the extra garnishes here.

And let me tell you about the garnishes here. I think this quick basil mayo may have changed my life. Used to making aioli from scratch, I was looking down my nose at it a bit, but I was cooking a lot of other things, so I thought why not. And it was remarkable.

I used the leftover mayo on everything — grilled cheese sandwiches, spread on toast with tomatoes for breakfast — and it kept just fine in the fridge for about a week, which was as long as that test could go before it disappeared. Before the basil disappears entirely, I’m planning to make a jar or two, and see how long they’ll keep in the fridge. The better question, though, might be how well I can restrain myself from eating it all immediately.

Deviled Eggs with Basil Mayo and Fried Capers

Adapted from Molly Wizenberg at Orangette

Serves about 4 as a pre-dinner snack

Ingredients

- 6 large eggs

- ½ Tbsp. olive oil

- 1 Tbsp. jarred capers

- 3 Tbsp. mayo

- ½ Tbsp. Dijon mustard

- ¼ tsp. lemon juice

- pinch of salt

- 1 recipe Basil Mayo, below

1. Hardboil the eggs. The way I do it: put the eggs in a pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil; turn off the heat; cover the pot; let sit approximately 10 minutes. Drain immediately and rinse with cool water (or put in a bowl of cold water).

2. When eggs are cool enough to handle (preferably fully cool, but we all know how timing goes), peel and cut in half lengthwise. Scoop out the yolk into a medium bowl. Add mayo, mustard, lemon juice, and salt to the yolks. Using a fork, mash everything together. Taste and adjust as needed.

3. Heat oil in a skillet. Add capers (fish them out of the jar so they’re not super liquidy). Fry until they are starting to split and get brown. Remove from pan onto a plate lined with paper towel.

4. To assemble eggs: Arrange egg whites on a platter. Spoon filling into a sandwich-size Ziploc. Cut a small bit of the corner off (opposite the zip part). Now you can squeeze the filling into the egg whites, as if you have a pastry bag. Fill egg whites with yolk mixture. Put a dollop of the basil mayo on each, and finish off with a fried caper or two.

Quick Basil Mayo

Adapted from Molly Wizenberg at Orangette

Makes a little more than ½ cup (you will have some leftover)

Ingredients

- 2 Tbsp. olive oil
- ¼ cup packed basil leaves
- ½ tsp. lemon juice
- 1 medium garlic clove, pressed
- pinch of salt
- ½ cup mayonnaise

1. Put olive oil, basil, lemon juice, garlic, and salt in a blender or food processor. Process until mixture is smooth, scraping down the sides if needed.

2. When mixture is smooth, combine with mayo.

‘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.

Spring has finally — finally, finally — arrived in Minnesota. If you look hard, you can still find a patch of snow here and there (not to mention the giant glaciers of snow that were created by all the plowing and will probably melt sometime in July). Also, it’s supposed to snow this weekend. The little frosty snowflake icon is back on my weather forecast. And that’s not great.

For now, though, it’s spring, and the weather is conducive to all kinds of frolicking. The produce aisle, however, has yet to really get the memo. You’d think it was still the very depths of winter if you looked at the sad array of fruits and veg that I saw when I went grocery shopping last week (no farmer’s markets for us here in the upper midwest, not yet).

The one high point of the shopping trip was strawberries. Strawberries prominently featured, strawberries hugely on sale. Strawberries that were probably hugely on sale because, unsurprisingly, they were hugely flavorless. Big gobs of pink-colored water, is what they were. And you know, I knew they would be when I bought them, but I still couldn’t resist, because, hey, it’s spring!

And then, when I got home from the grocery store, what was waiting for me but Super Natural Every Day, the latest Heidi Swanson joint, that I preordered from Amazon (oh, the shame) however many moons ago. It’s so breathtakingly gorgeous, people — I sat down and flipped through it before I even put my perishables away, and that is saying something. I mean, stunning.

And then, to make it even better, smack dab in her “Accompaniments” section, what else but a recipe for Roasted Strawberries. I love it when life, every so once in a while, hands you a little help like that.

I’ve never thought of roasting strawberries, but it turns out to be the perfect way to deal with these irresistible yet inevitably disappointing hunks o’ berry that come out at the start of the season. And, it turns out that Heidi couldn’t agree more — she chose this recipe as her favorite from the book (the whole beautiful book!) when she was featured on Design*Sponge (another favorite blog of mine) last week.

These berries came out just grand. And the aroma while they cook will fast forward you straight to summer. We ate these straight from the bowl, along with a chocolatey chocolatey cookie. In the future, I would probably use them more sparingly, on a biscuit or muffin like Heidi suggests. They are potent. That or you could tone them down a bit by foregoing the port and balsamic at the end.

Roasted Strawberries

Adapted from Heidi Swanson’s Super Natural Every Day

Makes about ½ cup

Ingredients

-       8 oz. strawberries

-       2 Tbsp. maple syrup, grade B

-       1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

-       ¼ tsp. fine-grain sea salt

-       1 Tbsp. port wine

-       a few drops balsamic vinegar

1. Preheat oven to 350º F.
2. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper (important that it be rimmed, so there isn’t sugar all over your oven, and also important that there be parchment paper, so there isn’t sugar all over your baking sheet). You can also use a baking dish; it may require a little scrubbing afterward.
3. Prepare strawberries: Hull them (take the tops off). If they’re small to medium sized, cut them in half. If they’re the monolith strawberries, cut them into quarters.
4. Go ahead and toss this all right on the baking sheet: Strawberries, maple syrup, olive oil, salt. Make sure berries are coated, and shake them so they fall in a single layer.
5. Roast for about 40 minutes, beginning to check after 30. The berry juices should be thick and darkened, and the berries should be roasty looking (smaller, denser, darker), but not burned.
6. Remove from oven and let cool for a few minutes (the sugar is hot!). Once cool enough to handle (but still warm), scoop into a small bowl. Add port and balsamic and stir gently to combine.
7. You can use immediately or store in the fridge for up to a week (to eat cold, room temp, or heated up).

The two faces of cornbread: sweet (above) — toasted for breakfast, with homemade strawberry jam; and savory (below) — fresh from the oven, served with hoppin’ john and collards on New Year’s Day.

This cornbread, you may have noticed, has something particularly distinct about its appearance. You can see it in the photos above — it’s filled, or rather, more like layered. From the bottom up, there’s a bit of browned crust (just a sliver) and then an inch or so of what is actually custard before you get to the bread of the matter (and the nicely browned upper crust).

Often when I get a new cookbook, I curiously flip through from cover to cover, ooh and aah over the photos, possibly even mark a few recipes (actually mark them with a sticky or just mentally mark them)…and then the cookbook sits on my shelf for a while before I finally rediscover it (lovingly again).

This also happened, sort of, with Molly Wizenberg’s A Homemade Life. That is, I bought it in the midst of a busy semester, and, as excited as I was about it, it was nonetheless relegated to my bookshelf. But then, a few weeks later, I picked it up and read it — it’s a memoir with recipes, rather than a cookbook — in one day. Every time I had to put it down, I couldn’t wait to get back to it. And I couldn’t wait to cook from it. In the last month since I’ve read it, I’ve made three of the recipes, which for me is a pretty good batting average.

The recipes are just so welcoming. Headnotes (that sentence or two before the recipe) have always been my favorite part of cookbooks; with Molly’s book, the reader gets a whole mini-essay of headnotes. And there’s something about reading a few pages about what this recipe means in a person’s life helps make the recipe itself come alive. These aren’t recipes that you cook once and forget about; these are recipes you fold into your life, just as they are a part of Molly’s.

That said, my excitement about this custard-filled cornbread may have outweighed my judgment. This is not a savory cornbread. It easily overwhelms anything else you serve it with, both in terms of flavor/texture and also, mostly, in terms of your appetite. This cornbread is serious. It is also perfect for toasting in thin slices for breakfast or tea, a wonderful item to have around the house when you are around the house, snowed in on a staycation (or just on a single snow day). And, while it does need a good amount of time in the oven, it’s otherwise a cinch. And the custard is like magic. Where does it come from? How does it create such a perfect, beautiful layer? Cornbread mysteries.

Custard-Filled Cornbread

Adapted from Molly Wizenberg, A Homemade Life

Makes one 8-9 inch cornbread, to serve 8-10

Ingredients

-       3 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted (use a large bowl)

-       1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

-       ¾ cup yellow cornmeal

-       1 tsp. baking powder

-       ½ tsp. baking soda

-       2 eggs

-       3 Tbsp. sugar

-       ½ tsp. salt

-       2 cups whole milk (don’t use low or non-fat)

-       1 ½ Tbsp. distilled vinegar

-       1 cup heavy cream

1. Preheat oven to 350º F. Butter an 8-inch square or 9-inch round pan (or you can use a cast-iron skillet, if you want extra-crispy edges). Place buttered dish in oven to warm up.
2. Meanwhile, make batter. In a small bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, baking powder, and baking soda.
3. After the butter has cooled a little, add the eggs to the butter, whisk to blend. Next add sugar, salt, milk, and vinegar, whisking well to blend. Then, whisking constantly, add the flour mixture. Mix until batter is smooth, with no visible lumps.
4. Remove heated pan from oven (carefully!). Pour in batter. Pour cream into center of batter; do not stir! Carefully slide the pan back into the oven, trying not to jostle it around too much. Bake until golden brown on top, 50 minutes to an hour.

Notes: Cornbread will keep, covered in plastic wrap, for one day at room temperature or three days (or more?) in the refrigerator. I think this tastes best toasted, for breakfast or a snack, rather than alongside lunch or dinner.

There was an epic blizzard in Minneapolis this past weekend — an epic, city-halting blizzard. And when it’s city-halting in a city as used to snow as Minneapolis, you know it means something. It means that public transportation is suspended, that schools are closed, that football games are rescheduled (and that, not only because the airport was closed, but also because the football stadium was all but destroyed).

It’s best, in blizzard conditions, to be holed up in a warm place with good booze, good movies, a soul record or two, and maybe a tray of biscuits. I say maybe because unfortunately, this tray of biscuits was nowhere to be seen in the midst of this blizzard. I made these first for Thanksgiving and then a second batch the week after. Instead, I was eating buckwheat pancakes spread with whole-milk yogurt, and miso soup with udon and kale, and a bitters cocktail with egg white that I just must tell you about soon. And eggs, fried deep and crispy in oil. And sauerkraut, heated in butter with crushed cloves and juniper berries.

But still, these biscuits wouldn’t have hurt anything.

I don’t know that it’s totally accurate to be calling these biscuits. In fact, I guess it’s probably not, because the recipe they’re based on calls them scones. What is the difference between a biscuit and a scone? Apparently, opinions vary. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that these use cream as their only real fat. At any rate, I am calling them biscuits, because I reshaped them to look that way, and because they went perfectly with turkey and gravy. They also went perfectly with coffee and scrambled eggs for a following breakfast. Or just on their own, heated up a bit.

The only other change I made here is that the original recipe called for chives instead of green onions, but green onions are considerably cheaper and also more flavorful, so I used them instead. You could use chives instead if you want something more delicate, more subtle — a scone, rather than a biscuit, say.

I am notoriously (notorious in my own head, at least) bad with biscuits, but these were a breeze (along the same lines, but a little more involved, as these buttery drop biscuits). So maybe scones in biscuit’s clothing it is for me, from now on.

Cheddar-Green Onion Biscuits

Adapted from the SoNo Baking Company Cookbook

Makes 10 biscuits

Ingredients

-       2 cups all-purpose flour

-       1 Tbsp. baking powder

-       1 tsp. coarse salt

-       1 bunch green onions (scallions), ends discarded, sliced (or 1/4 c. chives, chopped)

-       1 cup (2 oz.) freshly grated extra-sharp Cheddar cheese, plus 1-2 Tbps. for sprinkling

-       1 ¼ cups heavy cream, chilled, plus ¼ cup for brushing

1. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a non-stick baking mat (like a silpat).
2. In a large bowl, whisk the flour, baking powder, salt, and green onions together. Stir in cheese.
3. Add 1 cup of cream and mix with your hands until cream is fully absorbed. (You can use a utensil of some kind, but I found that I couldn’t really get everything mixed together without getting down and dirty with it. Using your hands also gives you a better grasp of how much more liquid you might need.) Continue adding cream, 1 Tbsp. at a time, until the dough comes completely together, with no dry patches (you should be able to smush it into a ball and have it stick).
4. Lightly flour a cutting board or other work surface. Make dough into a loose ball in the bowl, then turn out on cutting board, along with any scraps. Shape dough into a rectangle, roughly 3 by 10 inches, that is ¾-inch to 1-inch thick.
5. Using a sharp knife, cut the dough into 10 squares. As you transfer each square to the parchment-lined cutting board, give it a few pats to make it into more of a dome.
6. Transfer all the biscuits to the prepared baking sheet. Refrigerate until firm, at least one hour. (On my second batch, I refrigerated them overnight, to no ill effects.)
7. Preheat oven to 400ºF, with the rack in the middle.
8. Brush scones with remaining cream (if you, like me, don’t have a pastry brush, you can improvise with a spoon and your fingers). Sprinkle each with a pinch of grated cheese.
9. Bake about 20 minutes, until golden brown. If you remember, rotate the tray halfway or 2/3 of the way through. (I never remember, and it always turns out fine.) Let cool, either on a metal rack, or by picking up the parchment (carefully!) and transferring the whole shebang to a cooler surface.

Mashed potatoes may be the stand-by: buttery, garlicy, soft, comforting. And they used to be the stand-by on my Thanksgiving table. But at some point in my life, I’m not sure when, I made the switch. To roasted potatoes.

Crispy, crunchy, still with a little bit of that creamy softness buried within, roasted potatoes are my preferred holiday potato (although latkes trump all, because frying trumps all). Mashed potatoes still have their place, of course, but for me it’s roasted potatoes, all the way. And particularly since I finally solved the mystery of how to make the perfect, crispy, crunchy, delectable roasted potatoes that I knew existed, somewhere out there.

Whenever I roasted potatoes at home, I just cut them up, tossed them with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and stuck them in the oven for about 45 minutes. This produced a perfectly delicious roasted potato, but I knew there could be more. And so, when Clotilde posted about her perfect roasted potatoes, my ears perked up. And then, coincidentally, I checked Nigella Lawson’s gorgeous book Feast out from the library, which had her take on perfect roasted potatoes (which is mentioned numerous times in the comments on Clotilde’s post).

In the end, Nigella won out over Clotilde in my kitchen, because the idea of adding semolina was just so intriguing. These potatoes were, in fact, so popular in Britain (thanks to “the Nigella effect”) that supermarkets were actually running out of semolina in the days leading up to Christmas.

But besides the semolina, they’re basically the same recipe, so if you have trouble finding semolina (I got mine from the bulk foods aisle of the local co-op), then you’re probably still doing fine. The semolina probably gives an added edge of crispness, but the really important thing, I gather, is very, very hot oil, and some properly bashed potatoes — you’re going to want to beat those taters up between par-boiling and roasting, to get them all fuzzy and full of nooks and crannies that will get beautifully crisp.

The only thing I really changed from Nigella’s version (Nigella, whom I adore) was that I didn’t peel my potatoes. Who has time? Who cares? And, for that matter, I think mine may have even turned out better, if I do say so myself. Because the potato skins peeled back a bit in the bashing, and then they got separately crisp themselves, and then the whole thing became a delightful marvel, with shockingly little time spent on my end.

If you are making this for the holidays, the one thing you will want to watch out for is timing, as these should really be served hot (or at least warm) from the oven. The holidays are not a time for stress, though! So if they do get cold, just have another glass of wine, stick ‘em back in, and a few minutes later, you’ll be all set.

Perfect Roasted Potatoes

Adapted from Nigella Lawson

Serves 8-10

Ingredients

-       3 1/2 lb. small, yellow, waxy potatoes, rinsed (and optionally peeled)

-       1- 2 Tbsp. semolina flour

-       oil (vegetable oil or olive oil, or duck or goose fat)

-       salt, to taste

1. Heat the oil: Preheat the oven to 475ºF. Pour fat/oil of your choice into the bottom of a large roasting pan. Heat the pan (and fat) up in the oven while you’re prepping the potatoes, about 20-30 minutes.
2. Prep potatoes: Cut each potato into three parts on a slant, so you get a triangle in the middle. (If you’re working with bigger potatoes, just cut them up into good-sized chunks.)
3. Parboil potatoes: Place cut potatoes into salted, cold water in a big pot. Bring to a boil. Let boil for 4 minutes. Drain potatoes in colander, then return them to the pot.
4. Sprinkle a tablespoon or so of semolina flour over the whole business.
5. Now, this is the best part: give them a good bashing. Holding the lid on tight, shake that pot like a Polaroid picture. Shake it, shake it, shake it suga’! Really, shake until things are looking good and fuzzy in there.
6. At this point, you may need to take a break to wait for the oil to heat up all the way…maybe a good time to listen to some more Outkast.
7. After the oil has been heating for 20-30 minutes, carefully add the potatoes to the hot pan. The oil may spatter! Careful!
8. Roast for about an hour, turning occasionally (and checking on them to make sure they’re not burning), until they’re golden-brown. If they don’t absorb all the fat by the end, you can always discard it.
9. Perfection!

I have not bought lunch a single day this semester. I am on campus for lunch four, or sometimes five, days a week. This is a difficult proposition, but I have been adamant. For one, I don’t really have time. But, more importantly, for two: I don’t really have the inclination. I think the situation may be worse in a location that is crawling with thousands of undergrads (pizza, anyone? and…more pizza? and subs), but maybe you experience this problem, too. Lunch is often time-consuming (lines); not really what you want anyway (pizza); not that healthy (most anything take-out); and very often quite expensive, at least for what you’re getting.

Hence, my fervency about bringing my own lunch. This isn’t always a perfect system; sometimes it ends with me bringing a sad little jar of soup and coming home ravenous at the end of the day. Those aren’t the good brown-bagging days.

This chickpea salad, though. This made for some good brown-bagging days.

I got the idea for this after eating at a new Indian/Nepalase restaurant, where they served us a warm chickpea salad as a free starter. All of the food was delicious, but as my dining companion noted, there are only so many ways to improve on palak paneer. This chickpea dish, on the other hand, was something entirely new, and was one of the best — or at least most memorable — things we ate.

It wasn’t chana masala, but what was it? I may never know, or at least not until I return and inquire. (Any ideas would be appreciated!) Instead, I thought I’d make my own version. For some reason, I thought I’d be able to replicate the dish. This chickpea salad, in fact, comes nowhere close, but is super delicious in its own right — where the restaurant version was complex and thickly spiced, this version has a freshness and a purity to its flavors that is equally enticing, and maybe actually better for a workaday lunch, when it’s not in your best interest to be lulled into a food/spice coma.

I had all these ingredients in my fridge/pantry; that’s why this came together exactly as it did. You could substitute lemon (or maybe even vinegar) for lime; other chilies for the jalapeños; cilantro for parsley; other onion-family members for red onion; other vegetables (red bell pepper?) for tomatoes. Really, this should require minimal thought and minimal effort, for maximum satisfaction.

The result is kind of like a chickpea tabbouleh, but with the flavors pumped up a bit. I had to restrain myself from eating the whole thing immediately, in order to have any for my week’s lunch.

This would go well with any number of grains, but particularly well with quinoa. I threw some salad greens in my tupperware for good measure. And, in no time, lunch becomes something to look forward to again.

Chickpea Salad with Lime and Jalapeño

Makes 2 lunch-sized servings, with grains and lettuce

Ingredients

- 1 15-oz can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

- juice of 1 lime

- 1/2 red onion, chopped fine

- 1-2 jalapeños, seeded (carefully!) and minced

- 1 good handful parsley, chopped

- 1-2 tomatoes, chopped

- extra-virgin olive oil

- salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1. Combine all ingredients in medium-sized bowl. (Combine everything except olive oil first, then glug in as much olive oil as you want.) Add salt and pepper to taste. Will keep, in a tupperware, in the fridge, for at least a few days.