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.

Well, friends, here we are, in mid-September, and it is time to start preserving tomatoes. This is the perfect moment — the moment when tomatoes are rolling, abundantly, into farmers’ markets for the cheapest prices of the season (at least here in Minnesota), the moment when other produce is not rolling quite so abundantly into the markets anymore, the moment when it is cold enough at night to blast the oven, and the moment when it’s about to get a lot colder.

I was never really one for preserving tomatoes. People would talk about blanching them, peeling them, canning them whole, or else making them into a sauce and canning that. It all seemed too fussy for me; so much work for something that is so simple. And, truth be told, I think you can buy pretty good canned tomatoes for pretty cheap. (Muir Glen was actually just doing a giveaway near my house of its reserve tomatoes, which are being sold on its web site in a Reserve Kit for members of the Tomato Connoisseurs’ Club. Wild!)



But everything changed when I found out about slow-roasted (or, when cooked a little longer, oven-dried) tomatoes. This is the simplest way I can think of to preserve tomatoes, requiring extremely little active time on your part, meaning…no canning! Liberation from the water bath! It doesn’t get easier than that. (You just need some space in your fridge or freezer.)



Slow-Roasted/Oven-Dried Tomatoes

Inspiration and Information from Kinfolk, Pinch My Salt, Martha Stewart

Ingredients

- tomatoes (preferably Roma)

- a little extra-virgin olive oil (plus lots more if you plan to preserve them)

- kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

- herbs of your choice (I like dried thyme; coriander is also good)

There are two ways to slow-roast tomatoes. Your choice all comes down to the question…Are you feeling lucky?

To start: Get a bunch of tomatoes (I think Romas are best for purposes of preservation; you can also use cherry or grape tomatoes, especially if eating immediately — they will need much less time in the oven). Rinse them well. Line several baking sheets with parchment paper. Slice tomatoes in half, length-wise, placing them cut-side up on the baking sheet. Drizzle olive oil on top of tomatoes, and sprinkle with salt, pepper, and herbs.

Then…

Method One: Roast tomatoes at the lowest heat in your oven (about 200º F) for 6-8 hours. The only time to do this, probably, is while you sleep. When I followed this method last summer, I spent a relatively restless night worrying that I was going to burn down my apartment building, and I set my alarm for 4 am to check the tomats mid-way through. Not the best. The tomatoes, for the most part, came out very well, though more of them were burned than I would have liked.

Method Two: Blast the tomatoes at high heat (450º F or so) for about 20 minutes (depending on what kind of tomato you’re roasting). Turn heat off; do not open oven. Let tomatoes sit in the cooling oven overnight (or for 6-8 hours, or until the oven is cool). I found that this method did not quite get the Romas roasted in one go, but, overall, it was much less stressful and also much easier to control how roasty toasty they got. When they weren’t as roasted as I wanted, I just blasted them a second time for about 20 minutes, and let them sit for 4 hours or so.

I really prefer Method Two, but maybe you like to live on the edge.

To end: You know you’re done when the edges are shriveled and the tomatoes have shrunken considerably. I like mine still a little plump, but to be on the safest side (see below), you’ll want them to be completely dry (no juices running). Then…

1. Put in a Ziploc freezer bag and freeze them — no extra oil needed. Tomatoes should keep in the freezer for up to a year.

OR

2. Pack them into jars and cover them with olive oil (preferably extra-virgin); make sure they are fully submerged in the oil (by at least one inch). Seal tight and keep in the refrigerator. The oil will condense in the cold, so make sure to check the jars after a day or two to see if you should top them off. Tomatoes should keep in the fridge for at least a month (some sources say up to six).

*Note: The National Center for Home Food Preservation no longer recommends preserving tomatoes in oil, for fear of botulism (which is extremely rare, but fatal or paralyzing). This mostly, I think, refers to preserving at room temperature, as Martha and others say it’s okay to refrigerate the tomats in oil. But you may want to look into it yourself.

‘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).

Well, it is back to winter in Minneapolis. After a glorious week of temperatures in the fifties, of rivers of melting snow, of sneakers and runs outside, the ground is entirely covered in snow again, I’m wearing my boots again, I’m going to have to shovel my car out again.

Enter warm lentils with mustard vinaigrette. This is a dish that spans the seasons. I made this in that beautiful winter/spring period I mentioned before, but it would be just as good on a snowy winter day, a rainy spring day, a blazing summer day, or a blustery fall day. It’s quick and it’s all on the stovetop, and it can be served piping hot, warmish, or room temperature (or even eaten straight, cold, from the fridge, if we’re telling the truth here). And it’s totally, mind-bogglingly delicious.

This dish is really a cinch, and it’s also a match made in heaven. Give me some lentils and mustard, and I will just close my eyes and pretend that I’m at a picnic in the French countryside.

Oh, and I should mention: The recipe comes from Ina Garten’s How Easy Is That?, which I got as a review copy. It’s not the kind of book I would immediately think of to buy — I tend to stay away from Food Network personalities these days — but Ina is different. She’s the real deal, with an approachable Hamptons style and lots of elegant, easy dishes that are surprisingly affordable (or at least affordably adaptable). She calls for somewhat pricey Le Puy lentils for this dish, for example, but I found it totally excellent with the cheapo green lentils from the chain supermarket by my house. So while this might not be where I’d immediately gravitate in the bookstore, I was surprised by how many recipes in this book I really want to cook. And this recipe, at least, has definitely made it into my regular rotation, and that’s saying a lot.

So far, the only real bone I have to pick with Ina is the absolutely extreme amount of salt in every recipe; but maybe that’s more the bone I have to pick with the general American palate. All I can say is, if you check out the book, add salt with caution. (I’ve made it to taste here.)

Warm Lentil Salad with Mustard Vinaigrette

Serves 3

Adapted from Ina Garten’s How Easy is That?

Ingredients

For lentils:

-       2 Tbsp. olive oil

-       1 leek (the white and light green parts only, sliced)

-       2 carrots, scrubbed and sliced in half lengthwise and then sliced horizontally

-       1 tsp. (or more) minced garlic

-       1 cup green lentils (Ina says Le Puy, but you don’t have to get that fancy)

-       1 whole onion, peeled

-       6 whole cloves, stuck into the onion

-       1 turnip, cut in half

-       1 tsp. unsalted butter

For vinaigrette:

-       ¼ c. olive oil

-       4 tsp. Dijon mustard

-       2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar

-       1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

-       kosher salt, to taste

1. Heat 2 Tbsp. of olive oil in a pan. Add the leek and carrots; cook for about 5 minutes, until leek is beginning to soften and become fragrant. Add garlic; cook for one more minute, just to soften garlic.
2. Meanwhile, put the lentils, 4 cups of water, the onion (stuck with cloves), and the turnip in a large pot. Bring to a boil. Lower the heat, add the leeks/carrots, and simmer uncovered until the lentils absorb all the water (about 15-20 minutes). The lentils should be tender at this point, but test them to make sure; if they’re not tender, add more water little by little and let it absorb until they do get tender.
3. Remove from heat; remove the onion and turnip. Add the butter and stir in.
4. While the lentils, etc. have been cooking, make the vinaigrette: whisk together all vinaigrette ingredients. Add to lentils when they’re off the heat and stir to combine. Let lentils cool for a few minutes (this will help the flavors meld). Adjust salt and pepper to taste.

Well, it is my spring break, and it is actually, miraculously, starting to look like spring in Minnesota. Temperatures are crawling up toward fifty degrees, everything is melting into a disgusting but welcome slush that means soon we’ll see some green. I have shed my heaviest down jacket for my lightest (because, yes, in Minnesota, one has to own several).

It is not yet spring here, not quite, but I wouldn’t say it’s still winter either. It’s the strange, slushy middle ground, we might call wing or sprinter, both of which seem kind of appropriate, actually, with their connotations of flight, of speed, of ease.

This stew is an ideal wing/sprinter dish; it would be fine in either winter or spring, too, but really, it’s perfect for this in between period, when you still want something warming, but not too bone-sticking. This is a meal that not only tastes like a breath from another land (particularly welcome when one is staycationing), but also will make you feel good about yourself, virtuous.

Everything in here is good for you, but not in a holier than thou way. Just in a simple, matter-of-fact goodness way, all the more enhanced by the addition of preserved lemons at the end. Their rich perfume really can just envelope you. Try to make this stew a day ahead (or at least try to have some leftovers the next day) to experience their full power.

Moroccan Chickpea and Squash Stew

Serves 6 to 8

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen, originally from Aida Mollencamp

Note: Try to make this at least one day ahead; the perfume from the lemons will be otherworldly after sitting and melding for a day.

Note: I’ve suggested you hold off on adding seasoning until the end; this is because the preserved lemons and olives are pretty salty, so I think it’s best to adjust things after they’ve been added.

Ingredients

- 2 Tbsp. olive oil

- 1 medium yellow onion, small dice
- 4 medium cloves garlic, thinly sliced
- 2 teaspoons ground cumin
- 1 (3-inch) cinnamon stick
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper
- 1 butternut squash, a little more than 1 lb.
- 3/4 pound red potatoes, large dice
- 2 cups low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
- 2 cups cooked chickpeas, drained
- 1 (14-ounce) can diced tomatoes, with juices
- 1/2 preserved lemon, finely chopped
- 1 cup brined green olives
- Steamed couscous, for serving
- Fresh cilantro leaves, roughly chopped, for garnish
- Toasted slivered almonds, for garnish
- Plain yogurt, for garnish
- Hot sauce of your choice (for serving)

1. Prep butternut squash: You want to end up with about 1 lb. of large dice. I find it totally death-defying to try to peel raw butternut squash and dice it. So, the easy way out is buying pre-peeled and cubed butternut squash (you can get it at TJ’s). The slightly harder but much cheaper (and less death-defying) way is soften the squash up a little first, so that it’s easier to deal with. To do this, first cut off the top; then, carefully, cut the squash in half lengthwise; scoop out the seeds; place in a small baking dish with a little water; microwave for a few minutes, until beginning to soften. Then  it should be easier to peel the squash, with a sharp paring knife. Then, you can cut it up into cubes.

2. Now, get cooking! Heat olive oil in a large pot. When hot, add onion, garlic, cumin, and cinnamon stick. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions are soft and translucent and spices are fragrant (but not burned!).

3. Add squash and potatoes and give a stir. Cook just until tender, about 3 minutes.

4. Add broth, chickpeas, tomatoes (and juices). Bring everything to a boil, then cover and reduce to a simmer. Cook until squash is fork-tender, 10-15 minutes.

5. Remove from heat and stir in preserved lemon and olives. Add salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Serve over couscous, with lots of little bowls of delightful garnishes.

When the snow is still knee-deep outside as we crawl towards spring break, it’s hard to remember that there ever was a thing such as summer. Ever was such a thing as heat on my skin, as sandals, as swimming. And then I take a whiff of these preserved lemons, and the aroma is so heady, so positively perfumey, that all seems right again with the world, if only for a second.

This right here is a jar of warmth, a jar of exotic otherworldliness, made only of lemons, lemon juice, and salt.

My lemons were Meyers, from my parents’ backyard tree in Berkeley. (Meyers are preferred in the traditional Moroccan version, but yours can definitely be the regular supermarket kind, Eureka.) I gathered them in the sunny warmth of August last year and brought them back to Minnesota. They’ve been ready for months now, but became a kind of sacred jar to me. I needed to think of a dish worthy of them before I was willing to take the first scoop.

Of course, all kinds of things are good for them, and now that I’ve started cooking with them, I can’t wait to do more. They’re perfect (and often called for) in all sorts of Moroccan and Middle Eastern dishes, particularly tagines. I have it in my head to make a pasta with them, green olives, feta, and almonds; and also a pizza with similar toppings (sans almonds). I think they’d be great added to just about any sauteed vegetable or tossed at the last minute with some roasted ones. And, I read a recipe lately for preserved lemon budino, which you can bet is coming up here.

What do preserved lemons taste like? Well, the taste is almost beside the point. They are salty (you can either rinse them off before using or wait to salt your dish until you’ve added them). They have some citrus zing. But really, with preserved lemons, it’s all about their incredible perfume. The flavor of any dish will get brighter, and the aroma will get unbelievable. For stews, especially, I recommend trying to make your dish at least a day before serving; the smell will just intensify as it sits, and when you open the lid of your pot, it will whoosh out at you in the most electrifying way.

Preserved lemons are about as simple as it gets. No water baths, no pectin, no nothing else. And best of all, a preserving project you can do in the winter, when the blues is starting to overtake your kitchen.

Preserved Lemons

Makes 1 quart (note, you can easily adjust this recipe to howver many lemons you have, you’ll just need a different size jar – or additional jars)

Adapted from Simply Recipes

Ingredients

-       8-10 lemons, preferably Meyer lemons, but Eureka (the supermarket lemon) is fine – you do want them to be organic or non-sprayed, though, as you’ll be eating the peel

-       ½ c. kosher salt, possibly more (it’s important this be coarse salt, not table salt)

-       extra fresh squeezed juice (this can be from regular lemons)

-       1 sterilized quart jar

1. Prepare the lemons: Give them a good wash, scrubbing the peel with a vegetable scrubber. Let dry. Cut off any protruding stems. Cut ¼ inch off the tip of each lemon. Now, cut the lemon in an X shape vertically, so that it is still attached at the base. Pull the lemons open and generously sprinkle salt all over the inside and outside of the lemons.

2. Pour 2 Tbsp. of salt at the bottom of the jar.

3. Now, pack the lemons into the jar, squeezing as you go to push out all their juice (a wooden spoon works well for this). You want the jar to be filled with lemons, with lemon juice covering the top of the lemons. You may need to add additional lemon juice to make sure that the lemons are covered; I used regular lemon juice even with my Meyer lemons. Top with a few Tbsp. of salt.

4. Seal the jar (no need to process) and let sit at room temperature for about a week. Every day or so, turn the jar over (from right-side up to upside-down and back again).

5. After about a week, the lemons should be softening up. Put the jar in the refrigerator and continue to let sit for about three weeks, turning occasionally. The lemon rinds should be soft at the end of three weeks, ready to use.

6. To use: either remove a lemon from the jar and rinse off the excess salt, or go easy on the salt in the dish until you’ve added a lemon straight from the jar (which will add a lot of salt); then you can adjust.

Preserved lemons will keep, refrigerated, for at least six months.

In case these photos don’t speak for themselves, here’s what’s afoot in this dish. Three kinds of beans (lentils, chickpeas, pinto); noodles; spinach; dill; turmeric and cumin and fresh chilies; cilantro and lime. And toppings galore! Caramelized onion, toasted walnut, and a dollop of sour cream.

This is not a soup for the supermarket faint of heart. You will be doing some shopping; you will be doing some prepping. But it will all pay off, I promise, in the most gloriously restorative, most unendingly surprising soup, redolent of spice and full of good things — things that both taste good and are good for you, which is what we all need this time of year.

How can a soup be surprising, you might ask? A crunch of walnut here, the silky richness of caramelized onion there. Have you ever seen toppings like these? And, while sour cream is a pretty typical topping on your average chili, I can’t say I’ve ever seen sour cream on a soup like this — one that is more stock-based, more liquidy. And the things is, it works. Beautifully.

This is, however, a dish that takes some doing, as it can be a little difficult to keep track of this many ingredients in your kitchen. So choose an afternoon when you have some time and mental space free, lay out all your ingredients, and just enjoy the process. It will respond in kind.

Persian New Year Noodle (and Bean) Soup

Makes 4-6 servings

Adapted from 101 Cookbooks, originally from Saraban: A Chef’s Journey Through Persia

Ingredients:

Soup:

- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 onion, thinly sliced
- 2 long red chilis OR green serrano, finely chopped
- 1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 8 cups good-tasting vegetable stock/broth
- ½ cup yellow split peas or brown lentils
- 1 1/2 cups cooked chickpeas, rinsed if using canned
- 2 cups cooked pinto beans (original recipe calls for borlotti beans, but I couldn’t find them, and the Internets said that pintos were an okay substitute)
- fine grain sea salt
- 120 g thin spaghetti, fresh or dried
- 3 1/2 oz / 100g fresh spinach leaves, finely shredded
- 1/2 cup finely shredded cilantro leaves
- 2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill

Toppings:

- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
- 1 large onion, thinly sliced
- sour cream or creme fraiche
- handful of toasted, chopped walnuts
- 1 lime, cut into wedges

1. Heat the oil in a large, thick-bottomed soup pot over medium heat. Add the onion and the chilis and cook until they soften, or until the chilis start to smoke so much that you just have to get the stock in there.

2. Add the spices and cook for just a few seconds (anywhere from 10 – 30) for them to toast, then stir in the stock. Bring to a boil and add the split peas/lentils to the pot. Cook until they are just tender, about 25 minutes. Stir in the cooked chickpeas and pinto beans. Once the beans have heated throughout, season with salt to taste.

3. Meanwhile, prepare the toppings. Heat the olive oil and butter in a large frying pan over medium heat along with a couple big pinches of salt. Cook the onion, stirring occasionally, until golden and caramelized, 8 – 10+ minutes. Set aside.

4. Just before you’re ready to eat, add the noodles to the simmering soup and cook until al dente. Stir in the spinach, and cilantro and dill. Taste and adjust the seasoning to your liking.

5. Serve right away, each bowl topped with a big spoonful of caramelized onions, some creme fraiche, a sprinkling of walnuts, and a squeeze of lime.

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.