I’ve been battling some kind of very persistent stuffy nose for the past couple of weeks here, as Minnesota weather goes back and forth between spring and winter. This is the kind of weather that brings on illness, it seems, especially when one (me) gallivants around on the rare fifty degree day without a proper coat.

That’s where this soup comes in. Not only is it delicious, warming, and fortifying, but it only takes about 20 minutes, max, to put it all together and on the table, and very few minutes to clean up, as well (all you should have to clean up is a cutting board and a pot). It will take longer if you want to use dried beans, and usually I do, but sometimes that’s just not an option. And, honestly, I don’t think it hurt this dish in the least.

You do, however, want to use the best quality chicken stock you can, homemade if possible (if you have some hanging out in your freezer, you can just dump it in the pot still partially frozen and it will melt fine — that’s what I did). Good quality chicken stock, I think, is what really makes this soup seem like it’s been bubbling away on the stove for hours, rather than minutes.

Spicy Sausage, White Bean, and Kale Soup

Ingredients

-       1 package Andouille sausage, chicken or pork (four sausages), sausages sliced horizontally into ½ inch slices or so

-       2 14-oz cans white beans, drained

-       1 bunch kale (or other hearty green), sliced horizontally

-       2-3 cloves of garlic, minced

-       1 large onion, sliced vertically into rough strips

-       1 quart chicken stock (preferably homemade, but at least good quality)

-       pinch of crushed red pepper flakes

-       pinch of dried oregano

-       salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

-       olive oil

1. In a large pot, heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil. When oil is hot, add garlic and onion. Cook until beginning to soften. Add sausage. Cook until sausages brown.
2. Add beans and chicken stock, bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer. Add kale. Cook for a few minutes, until kale is wilted and then a few minutes past that, to let flavors blend.
3. Season with crushed red pepper, dried oregano, salt, and pepper.

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.

You don’t need a rainy day or a cold winter’s night as an excuse for cooking something hot and hearty, just a pot and a need for satisfaction. So the next time you feel an itch for a comforting meal, no matter what the thermometer says, you can’t go wrong with chicken and dumplings.

This recipe comes from Martha Stewart’s latest colorful and compendious tome, Everyday Food: Fresh Flavor Fast, which I was flattered to receive a review copy of a a couple of months ago. I’ve enjoyed giving it a test drive, and I promise to share my thoughts on the book as a whole sometime in the next few weeks.  In the meantime, I can give this recipe my unqualified endorsement.

No major changes to the original recipe this time, but I did make a few small substitutions. Although I passionately love dill pickles, I’m not a big fan of dill in other contexts. So I skipped it entirely here and used more thyme in its place. I also used baby carrots, which I had on hand, don’t require peeling or washing, and are a nice size for stew. Finally I had boneless, skinless chicken breasts in the fridge, so I used those instead of thighs. Thighs are moister than breasts (wow that sounds dirty), but since you are braising the meat in liquid, that’s not a big concern. If you or your eating companion(s) are vegetarian, I think you could use vegetable broth and skip the meat and still wind up with a tasty dish. You could also try adding an additional vegetable, such as potatoes or corn.

The first night I prepared this dish, we ate all of the dumplings, but still had plenty of soup left; so later in the week, I reheated the remainder on the stove, added some more liquid (broth or water are both fine), and made a fresh batch of dumplings. I was pretty loosey-goosey with the measurements for the dumpling ingredients both times, but both batches turned out great, so you can rest assured that the ratio there is pretty forgiving.

So weather be damned. Go wild. No matter how hot it is, you can always make some dumplings for your dumplin’.

Chicken and Dumplings

3 Tbs. unsalted butter
1 onion, cut into 1 inch pieces
5 carrots, sliced into 1.5 inch thick pieces
1 Tbs. coarsely chopped fresh thyme (or 1/2 tsp. dried)
1 C All-purpose flour
1 can (14.5 oz.) low-sodium chicken broth
salt and pepper
1.5 lbs. boneless, skinless, chicken thighs, cut into two inch pieces
2 Tbs. coarsely chopped dill (or 3/4 tsp. dried)
1.75 tsp. baking powder
1/2 C milk, plus more if needed
1 package (10 oz.) frozen peas, unthawed

1. In a dutch oven or heavy 5 qt. pot with a lid, melt butter over medium heat. Add onion, carrots and thyme. Cover; cook, stirring occasionally, until onion softens, about 5 minutes. Add 1/4 cup flour; cook, stirring, about 30 seconds. Add chicken broth and bring to a boil, stirring constantly; season with salt and pepper. Nestle chicken in pot; reduce heat to medium-low. Cover; cook, stirring occasionally, 20 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, make dumplings: Whisk remaining 3/4 flour with the dill, baking powder, and 1/2 tsp. salt. With a fork, gradually stir in 1/2 cup milk to form a moist and soft batter. (It should be just a little thicker than pancake batter and easily drop from the tip of a spoon; add up to 2 Tbs. more milk if batter is too thick.)

3. Stir peas into pot. Return to a simmer, and drop batter in heaping tablespoonfuls, leaving space between (dumplings will swell as they cook). Cover, and simmer until chicken is tender and dumplings are firm, 20 minutes. Serve immediately.

I love cookbooks. I collect cookbooks. Sometimes, I read cookbooks in bed before going to sleep. I have been gratified in recent months to realize that a number of people also treat cookbooks as literature, but then I had this realization: I was only using them as literature.

Somehow, despite having already accrued 34 cookbooks here in Minneapolis (in addition to the maybe more than 100 I have at home in Berkeley), I never cook out of cookbooks anymore. Blame the internets. Somehow, somewhere along the way, cooking out of a book became a rarity for me, and one that seemed like a greater undertaking than pulling a recipe from the world wide webs. This was, of course, totally irrational: recipes from cookbooks don’t, by definition, take any more effort than recipes from the internet, plus most of the recipes I get from the internets came from books originally.

So, I decided to reacquaint myself with my cookbook shelves, beginning with this wonderful, Wonderful stew from my beloved, Beloved Jamie Oliver.

I love Jamie Oliver, and whether it is cool to love him or not, I don’t know, but I credit him with the beginnings of my interest in cooking. Well, him and my mom (who truly deserves the credit), but Jamie is the one who taught me that you don’t have to measure most things, that you don’t have to pull parsley or cilantro leaves off the stem, and that you can juice a lemon directly into a dish, using your fingers to catch the seeds.

His books are beautiful and lush, brimming with beautiful dishes that frequently avoid exact recipes, providing guidelines instead. And, most recently, he is doing really, really good work with school lunches and the obesity epidemic in America. And he has a show about all that coming out on abc! He is my hero.

He is my hero because of all the extra-good stuff he does, but he wouldn’t be able to do all that extra-good stuff if he hadn’t laid a foundation of really really delicious food. A Jamie Oliver recipe has never done me wrong, and this stew was no exception. Hearty, smoky, and easy-peasy, to last for days and only get better as leftovers (smokier, more complex). This is like a really upgraded chili, all the more classed up with chopped hardboiled egg as a garnish, for a little contrast. Go make it, tonight, from my cookbook to your computer, and perfect for this inbetween time of year that’s not quite winter and not quite spring.

Chorizo and Chickpea Stew

Adapted from Jamie’s Dinners

Serves 8

Ingredients

-       6 oz. chorizo sausage, chopped

-       1 onion, peeled and chopped

-       1 clove of garlic (or more!), peeled and finely chopped

-       2 sticks of celery, chopped

-       2 bunches (maybe 1.5 lb) spinach, washed and chopped

-       1 – 28 oz. can tomatoes, with juice (either pre-diced, or you can chop them; also, JO calls for fresh tomatoes here, but it’s winter in Minnesota, and so that’s just not happening)

-       1 – 28 oz. can chickpeas, drained

-       5 cups chicken stock

-       2 oz. prosciutto (or Spanish ham)

-       hard boiled eggs

-       olive oil

-       salt and freshly ground pepper

1. Heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil in a large pot. Add the chorizo. Cook for a few minutes until fat is rendered, then add onion, garlic, and celery. Reduce heat and cover, cooking for about 15 minutes (without coloring the onions, though no harm will really befall you if they get a little brown).
2. Add spinach, tomatoes, chickpeas, and chicken stock. (Add more chicken stock or water if you think you need more liquid.) Bring to a boil, then lower heat and let simmer for about 40 minutes.
3. You don’t have to (but I did): Remove about a third of the soup and puree it in the food processor. This will make things more stew-y, rather than soup-y. Return puree to pot and give everything a stir. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
4. Remove from heat. Stir in prosciutto and 2-3 tablespoons olive oil.
5. Serve with grated (or finely-chopped) hardboiled egg on top.

I am back in Minnesota, land of snow and ice, for my second semester of writer school. My first week back was a bit of a downer: all ice and no snow (and strangely balmy 40 degree temperatures). But now we’re back to the way I like it here during the winter, with a fresh layer of snow and an 8 degree chill. I must be going native, because I hardly notice the 8 degrees anymore (that, weather gods, is not an invitation for 20 below). But really, I’m being sincere, I like the little jump it gives me when I walk out my door, and I like the feeling of hibernation in my apartment doing my writerly (and non-writerly) things, and I like the whole feeling of winter wonderland that I think is really a uniquely midwestern phenomenon.

But as much as I like my world of snow, I was in Mexico for a week over winter break, and that was even better. Banish all images of beaches from your mind; this was cold Mexico, the Mexico of the mountains, and still, it was glorious, because how could a vacation with friends and food and fireplaces not be? I would like to be there…now.

In the meantime, however, I have this stew. Have the loyal readers among you been noticing a trend in my posts lately? Mexican chocolate cake, tortilla chips, ceviche…all from my Mexican Christmas feast. As is this, from the pages of Gourmet, rather than some hideaway authentic Mexican cooking school (recipes from there to come). But, you know what, I had posole twice while in Mexico itself and this one is right on up there with the source.

It probably helps this recipe’s case that 26 garlic cloves are involved (pick some good music to listen to while prepping this baby). Also long-stewed meat. And also a topping of cotija cheese, which never hurt anyone or anything. To simplify matters, when I served this, I just made a simple little slaw on the side of cabbage and radish with a cilantro-lime dressing. If you want to be more authentic about it, however, you’d serve all those components separately (cabbage, radish, cilantro, lime), plus maybe chopped red onion and chile powder.

Assembling the ingredients for this may take you a little longer than your usual grocery shopping, but you will be forever grateful to know where to buy dried chiles and hominy. Other than peeling the garlic cloves, the rest of this recipe moves by surprisingly fast, especially once you start tasting how incredibly it’s going after just the second step of cooking the pork.

I think the superior of the two Mexican posoles was actually a green chile posole, so that’s next on my list. And also this similar version from Bon Appetit. (I can never get enough posole.) And also, a hot tip: if you live in San Francisco and want to try this, but don’t want to, say, invest the effort in peeling 26 cloves of garlic before you know what the pay-off is, you can try a very similar version at Little Chihuahua, which just added posole to its menu (but maybe as a special? not sure).

Posole Rojo (Pork and Hominy Stew)

Serves 8-10

From Gourmet

Ingredients

- 1 bunch mint (1 ounce)
- 1 bunch cilantro (1 ounce)
- 4 pound country-style pork ribs (not lean)
- 10 cups water
- 26 garlic cloves (about 1 1/2 heads), peeled, divided
- 1 (1/2-pound) white onion, quartered, plus 1/2 cup, chopped
- 1 teaspoon dried oregano (preferably Mexican)
- 5 whole black peppercorns
- 2 ounces dried guajillo or New Mexico chiles (6 to 9), wiped clean
- 1 1/2 ounces dried ancho chiles (2 to 4), wiped clean
- 1 whole clove
- 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
- 3 (15-ounce) cans hominy (also called pozole), rinsed and drained

Accompaniments: diced avocado; crema; queso fresco; thinly sliced iceberg or romaine lettuce; chopped white onion; sliced radishes; fried tortilla strips or chips; lime wedges; dried oregano; dried hot red-pepper flake

1. Tie together mint and cilantro with kitchen string.

2. Bring pork and water to a boil in a large pot, skimming froth, then reduce heat to a simmer. Add tied herbs, 20 garlic cloves, quartered onion, oregano, peppercorns, and 2 teaspoons salt and gently simmer, uncovered, until pork is very tender, about 2 hours.

3. Strain broth through a large sieve into a large heatproof bowl. Return broth to pot. Discard mint and cilantro.

4. Transfer cooked onion and garlic to a blender with 1 1/2 cups broth and purée until smooth (use caution when blending hot liquids). Add purée to broth. Discard bones and coarsely shred pork into broth.

5. Meanwhile, slit chiles lengthwise, then stem and seed. Heat a large cast-iron skillet (or heavy skillet) over medium heat until hot, then toast chiles in batches, opened flat, turning and pressing with tongs, until more pliable and slightly changed in color, about 30 seconds per batch. Transfer to a bowl and pour 2 1/2 cups boiling water over chiles. Soak, covered, until softened, about 30 minutes.

6. Purée chiles with 1 1/2 cups soaking liquid, chopped onion, remaining 6 garlic cloves, clove, and 3/4 teaspoon salt in cleaned blender until a smooth paste forms, about 2 minutes.

7. Heat oil in cast-iron skillet over medium heat until it shimmers, then add chile paste (it will spatter) and cook, stirring occasionally, until slightly thickened, 5 minutes.

8. Add chile paste and hominy and simmer 5 minutes. Season with salt.

This one’s going to be short. I am applying to law school and so am (1) stressed out and (2) pouring all of my creative writing energy into essays describing what a beautiful and unique legal sunflower I am. It really takes it out of you.

This stew is straight out of the Times Recipes for Health section, which I think I’ve said before is a great place to turn when you’re feeling uninspired. And so it was when my roommate and I were searching for something new to do with chard.

This stew fit the bill and was also perfect for the cold rainy days we’ve been having in New York.

To quote the Times, “This comforting stew makes a hearty meal when served with a salad and crusty bread.” That pretty much sums it up.

I skipped the bouquet garni and so can you. The chard need not be red either, but definitely follow their instructions about the stems, because I think sauteing them really boosted the flavor. Uncharacteristically, I also recommend fresh thyme, but I really think it adds something here.

I could tell you what, but I’m too tired.

Red Chard, Potato, and White Bean Ragout
From the New York Times

1 cup dried white beans, soaked for 6 hours or overnight in 1 quart water
A bouquet garni made with 1 bay leaf, a couple of sprigs of fresh thyme, and a Parmesan rind, tied together with kitchen stringSalt
1 generous bunch red chard (3/4 to 1 pound)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 to 4 garlic cloves (to taste), sliced
1 pound Yukon gold potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 1/2-inch dice
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
Freshly ground pepper
1 to 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley (optional
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese for serving

1. Drain the beans and combine with 1 quart of fresh water in a casserole or Dutch oven. Bring to a simmer. Skim off any foam, then add the bouquet garni. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer 1 hour. Add 1 teaspoon salt.

2. Meanwhile, stem and clean the red chard leaves in 2 changes of water. Rinse the stems and dice. Set aside. Cut the leaves in ribbons, or coarsely chop, and set aside.

3. Heat the olive oil in a heavy nonstick skillet over medium heat and add the onion and chard stems. Cook, stirring often, until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and continue to cook, stirring, until the garlic is fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the potatoes and stir together, then transfer to the pot with the beans. Bring back to a simmer, cover and simmer 30 minutes, or until the potatoes and beans are tender. Salt to taste.

4. Add the chard and thyme leaves to the pot, cover and simmer for 15 minutes. The chard should be very tender. Stir in freshly ground pepper to taste and the parsley. Taste, adjust seasonings and serve, passing the Parmesan to sprinkle on the top.

Yield: Serves 4 to

Strap on your lederhosen meine damen und herren, and if you don’t have a pair then for God’s sake get thee to a lederhosiery: it’s time for Oktoberfest. In most parts of the country October means leaves changing color. Here in Los Angeles we traditionally celebrate it with earthquakes and wildfires, but this year, just to keep us on our toes, the entire state has been blanketed in cold, damp, grey misery. This wasn’t part of our deal, Satan! We want our souls back! But you know what they say: every cloud has a savory, braised lining, and in this case the frigid temperatures gave me a chance to ring in fall with one of my favorite winter dishes, carbonnades a la flamande. If the name doesn’t sound particularly Deutsch that’s because it’s the national dish of Belgium, but Belgium of course is the small Francophone country known for waffles, chocololate, mustachioed detectives and being invaded by… anyone? anyone? Germany! Happy Oktoberfest! All tangential geopolitical connections aside, carbonnades a la flamande is a simple recipe of beef and onions braised in lots and lots of beer, and that makes it a perfect match for this uniquely boozocentric holiday.

As with any beloved “national” dish, there are as many different versions of carbonnades a la flamandes as there are Belgian grandmothers, so what I’m presenting today is a Franken-recipe cobbled together from parts of this one, this one and this one. Before I get into the specifics, here are a few words on the three building blocks of this simple recipe:

BEEF: As with most any other stew-like recipes, carbonnades flamandes uses big, tough cuts of meat, chuck or rump roast in this case, which is great on the one hand because you end up with a lot of food, cheaply, but on the other hand does require some extra strategizing to actually make the meat chewable:

• First divide and conquer: Trim off the excess fat and cut the meat into strips, 2”x4”x¾” sounds about right.
• Second braise the meat (from the French braiser – “ to cook the shit out of”; from the Olde Frenche brese – “yea, verily, to cook the shit out of”) in liquid for 2 to 2 ½ hours. A long time, I know, but the upside is that while you’re waiting for a meal that promises to warm you from the inside, you wind up heating your apartment up as well. It’s a win-win.

Most recipes brown the meat on the stove and then transfer to the oven and simmer, covered, at 325 F. I had always used the oven in the past, but this week, in a triumph of laziness, I decided to leave the pot on the stove, uncovered, and stir occasionally. The results were great and it was much more convenient to stir, taste and control the heat with a pot on the stove. Also if you don’t have an oven-safe pot this allows you to do everything in one place, rather than browning in one pan, then transferring to a baking dish for the oven.

BEER: I chose Spaten Oktoberfest more for seasonal appropriateness and supermarket on-saleishness than anything else, but opinions vary on the best beer for carbonnades flamandes. Julia Child likes a pilsner, the Boston Globe says dark beer, and the FoodBeerTravel blog prescribes a Belgian dubbel. I’m told Jacques Pepin enjoys a fine Natural Light Lager which he loving refers to as “Natty Lite,” but he was unavailable for comment at press time. Honestly the brew in your stew (ugh… sorry) doesn’t matter much because you cook it for so long, and the subtler flavors that distinguish one beer from the other probably won’t survive hours of slow boiling. That said, you should still probably stay away from intensely bitter, hoppy beers like an IPA, which was after all invented to hold its flavor during the long, hot voyage from England to India. Chances are it’ll hold up pretty well in a bubbling stew pot too, and a taste that strong is not necessarily a good thing.

FAT: Some say you should brown the beef in oil or butter, then add bacon in a separate step; I decided to kill two birds with one blob of grease. Inspired by Claire’s Definitive Bacon Fat Primer from a few months back, I’ve been saving up a summer’s worth of bacon fat in my freezer – and since summer means tomatoes, and tomatoes mean BLTs, I now have what’s quickly becoming an annoyingly large surplus. So for this recipe I skipped the bacon entirely, and instead used the bacon fat to brown both the beef and the onions. If you’d rather make this the traditional way you can add 2-3 strips of bacon to the recipe, which follows below:

Carbonnades a la Flamande – about 6 servings

3 Tbsp oil, butter or… BACON FAT

3 lb. beef rump or chuck roast

3 large onions – 1.5 to 2 lbs

4 garlic cloves

1/2 cup beef stock

2-3 cups beer (about a bottle and a half)

2 Tbsp flour

1-2 bay leaves

6 sprigs parsley

1/2 tsp dried thyme

Occasional stirring

2-3 Tbsp red wine or sherry vinegar

• Brown chunks of beef, in batches if necessary, over high heat in half the bacon fat and then set aside. Each piece only takes a minute or two. And if you’re including bacon, fry it after the beef, set it aside too.

• Roughly chop onions and sauté in rest of the bacon fat until golden, ~15 minutes. Add minced garlic halfway through. Season with salt and pepper.
• Add broth, beer, parsley, bay leaves and thyme. Stir in flour until it dissolves.
• Return beef and juices to the pot and simmer over low heat for a looooong time. Two hours and eighteen minutes to be exact, or the full running time of Fellini’s 8 ½. It worked for me. Incidentally this is also the step where you’ll add the “occasional stirring,” especially towards the end, like around that press conference at the rocket ship. Oh sorry, also towards the end of the cooking time.
• Add vinegar. Seriously, don’t forget this at the end. It makes this dish. After hours of boiling I was a little disappointed when I finally sampled my stew; all the onions had made it surprisingly sweet. Was it undersalted? Should I not have used sweet yellow onions? (Probably not) But two tablespoons of sherry vinegar later the dish was completely transformed, restored to a savory balance with just enough acidic bite to wake up all the flavors that had mellowed and sweetened during the braising. Actually vinegar isn’t the only way to do this: one recipe I found left it out entirely and instead set two or three slices of French bread, crusts removed and spread with whole grain mustard, on top of the stew. Over the two hours of simmering the bread flotilla sinks and dissolves, thickening the stew, and leaving behind the sharp taste of mustard. Oh those clever Belgians. I can’t wait to try it myself this winter. But back to tonight’s dinner:

• Serve with egg noodles. Or potatoes. And spaetzle. And a pretzel. And a beer. And welcome to Fall.