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.

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.

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).

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).

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.