a delicata morning

Our first delicatas never made it past the kitchen counter. My husband and I love winter squashes and look forward to them each year. In our travels in Europe we have found that colorful seasonal squashes like acorn, butternut and delicata are just beginning to find a place on the table. The stores are just filled with them around this time each year but people use them as seasonal decorations and can't imagine that they are edible. I like to think that my darling mother-in-law really fell in love with me, the new loudish, quirky, American bride, when I cooked her centerpiece. She didn't know that those squashes were edible and I didn't know that they were part of the decor. So I say fill a bowl with your share of colorful squash. They are a feast for the eyes and soul as well as the tummy. And they are just too practical, as natural in savory dishes as in sweet. There are so many lovely recipes for stuffed roasted squash and I really should try one someday but during the Autumn and Winter the container of roasted squash puree in my refrigerator is as ubiquitous as hummus or jam. I just slice, scrape out the seeds and roast in a baking dish with about a cup of water poured into the bottom until the squash is tender enough to be scraped from the skins. From there it may be stirred into a pot of tomato soup for extra richness. I frequently replace a cup or so of cheddar cheese with an equal amount of roast squash in macaroni and cheese. That macaroni, let me tell you, is greedily gobbled down by a three and a half year old who will   remove bits of squash with surgical precision from a plate of risotto.
I hope you can enjoy the simple spicy squash muffins I baked just this morning.  A cup of squash puree to one lightly beaten egg, three quarters of a cup of milk, a table spoon of oil, two heaped tablespoons of wheat bran, one third a cup of sugar, a shake of nutmeg, a sprinkle of clove and a dousing of ground cinnamon, one and a half cups of flour and a teaspoon of baking powder and a half teaspoon of baking soda. Into a buttered muffin pan, top lightly sprinkled with crunchy sparkles of raw sugar and off to a 400 degree oven for about ten minutes.    I pulled those fragrant, fluffy beauties from the oven this morning right as my husband was rushing frantic out the door and as a trio of riotous little ones played hide and seek. But when the plate of warm muffins, cups of milk and coffee and a dish of butter made it to the table for a small handful of precious moments there was nothing but the sounds of quiet, satisfied chewing. I may have never come across a magic pumpkin but this, certainly, is the magic of winter squash.

behold the parsnip

I do love a good parsnip, such a herald of fall, such a carroty crispness. Even the name parsnip is just so peppy. I find that a little extra pep is a good thing as summer sizzles to an end. So, welcome parsnips. I've been waiting. I got my greatest exposure to this humble root veggie while teaching in the Czech Republic, a country so renown for craft beer that I rarely hear it referenced in regard to cooking. Which is a shame really. I had more than my fair share of rich, lovingly prepared meals all over the country. And if there were ever a people who embraced the parsnip whole heartedly it would be the Czechs. There were just piles of them at every market I shopped. I ate them fried and funneled into paper cones like french fries, roasted alongside pork and mushrooms and creamed with potatoes and celery root. I bought a bottle of homemade wine at a little family run deli on the side of the highway one evening on the way to a dinner party expecting a rough sherry-ish concoction. When the host pulled the cork before dinner he inhaled deeply at the neck of the open bottle and his face softened into a dreamy wistfulness. It was a bottle of parsnip wine, something he had made with his grandmother and grandfather every fall of his childhood.  The wine was unlike anything I'd had. A bit sweet from the natural sugars in parsnips but deeply earthy and mineral. I wished I had bought more.
I'm no wine maker and It is unlikely that I will have another chance to sip a glass of parsnip wine but that is okay so long as the parsnips keep coming I will be ready with a recipe for savory parsnip strudle.
Just peel and slice about a pound of parsnips into rounds. In a heavy bottomed skillet slowly caramelize the parsnips and two large sliced onions in a bit of butter until soft and golden, adding salt and black pepper to taste. Transfer the vegetables to a baking dish and dot everything with about four ounces of fresh goat cheese. In a separate bowl combine a generous pinch of salt  half a stick of ice cold butter, a teaspoon of dried or fresh thyme and a cupful of whole grain flour. Use your hands to squeeze and blend the mixture until you have a bowlful of buttery herb-scented crumb topping. Sprinkle over the parsnips and onions and bake in a 350 degree oven four about thirty minutes until everything is golden and bubbly. This and a simple green salad is lovely to find on an early autumn supper table.

how fresh corn can save your life

If only  every summer were just a long strand of hot, sunshiny days filled with watermelon, tomatoes and butterflies. Certainly, some summers are. I've been lucky enough to stockpile a number of seemingly endless, easy summers. This has not been that summer. This has been the summer of the persistant chest cold, reoccurring strep throat, serious emotional growing pains from my three and a half year old (who has taken to standing outside the bathroom door while I shower banging endlessly and shouting like a tiny Stanley Kowalski "Mamaaaa Maaaaaaaamaaaaa!") Admittedly, this is a pregnancy summer and while it is wonderful quietly waiting, watching this new baby grow, a lot of time that could have been better spent hiking, swimming in the river and eating on the porch has been devoted to resting a puny Mama. Blue skied, beach tripping, golden Summer has unspooled without me. So it was a gift, a blessing in the purest form when silky, green husked ears of sweet golden and silver queen corn started arriving in our weekly CSA share. Even with my immune system on vacation I would not miss the opportunity to sit on the porch and shuck ear after perfectly squeaking fresh ear of corn with my little one while my husband mows the grass. I tried to soak up every minute of it. And when all that corn was shucked and brushed clean of its silk I carried it inside and roasted it. Spread the rows of blistered kernels with fresh goat cheese, squeezed over the juice of a lime and sprinkled it all with a dusting of spicy, smokey cayenne pepper. Summer had found me at last.  

the goodness of greens

It has been an eventful week in our kitchen processing all of that beautiful food that is flowing in from the garden and our CSA share. With temperatures as high as they have been it has gotten a bit hot over the stove and I caught myself letting go of a bit of a sigh of relief when those bags of lovely heart shaped leaves started turing up. For me sweet potato greens are on of the first signs of fall coming on. Will I miss summer? I always do but I welcome Autumn with a happy heart and a pot full of sweet potato greens.
Sweet potato greens are mild and tender. I think I've heard Trisha describe them as summer spinach which is a good way to think about them. They are packed with nutrition and especially good raw in smoothies or in salads with a sharp citrusy dressing. That actually sounds good right now. Tossed in at the very end of cooking a pot of rice or couscous makes a nice quick side dish. But as light and delicate as sweet potato greens are they stand up beautifully in a braise with say  caramelized onion and garlic, pork chops and sliced sweet apples. A flavorful one pot meal to welcome Autumn, just not right away.

brace yourself for cutting celery

I had my first encounter with cutting celery only about two years ago during my tenure as a cook in Innisfree's community kitchen. Trisha brought us, picture this, wheelbarrow load after wheelbarrow load of this delicate leafy celery. The harvest was astounding and as a gathering of extended community members approached, we cooks wracked our brain about how to best showcase our abundance of cutting celery. A cream of celery soup was decided upon which sounded, admittedly, kind of bland. Good thing we were wrong. The soup was a huge hit and is always in the back of my mind when the cutting celery begins turning up in my weekly share. All you need to know is that this in not your grocery store celery. The flavor is pungent, fresh and bracing and it stands up beautifully to a long, slow simmer in a bath of rich flavors. Make some for a rainy day and save some for your freezer. One night in December you will come home damp, chilled to the bone and pleased to find a comforting meal ready to warm on the stove without any added effort.
Wash and roughly chop a large head of celery, including the leaves, a large sweet onion, three cloves of garlic and the tender parts of two leeks. Brown the veggies in three tablespoons of butter over a low flame in a heavy bottomed pot. Add a large pinch of salt to help the aromatics render and deglaze the bottom of the pot with about two cups of dry white wine.
When the celery and onion mixture is tender and slightly browned add two quarts of flavorful stock to the pot along with six gold potatoes, peeled and quartered. Bring the pot to a gentle boil and cooking the potatoes through and reducing the stock by about a quarter.
Remove the soup pot from the heat. Using either an immersion blender or a potato masher blend the potatoes into the soup until thickened. Add to this crushed red and black pepper to taste, a handful of fresh chopped parsley and a  heaped teaspoon of finely tarragon, a generous slosh of heavy whipping cream (do yourself a favor and do not skip the cream it is absolutely worth it) and a couple handfuls of grated parmesan. This recipe is as good as it sounds and begs only for a loaf of rustic, grainy bread and a tableful of hungry people to enjoy it together. My freezer will be full of it before the first snowflakes fall.

Photos this week

white wonder tomatoes

Ahhh, yes. Another tomato post. But, I imagine that entire odes have been written upon first taste of a white wonder tomato. Friends,  I hope you have been lucky enough to receive a few of these excellent tomatoes in your share since the tomatoes started coming on strong. The color is unique and beautiful, of course, but the flavor is truly rich and outstanding. Plenty of sugar, plenty of acid, they do not last long in my kitchen  Pale yellow and cream colored tomatoes are often piled up en masse at the grocery store around this time each year and I have, admittedly, paid good money for them. Alas, a grocery store tomato is a grocery store tomato no matter how pretty. I promise myself that the next white wonder to grace my kitchen will not be eaten out of hand like an apple, but prepared simply and with deep reverence.  Sliced, peppered, salted and stacked high on rough, white bread spread with ripe avocado. We'll probably add a few crisp leaves of lettuce and a couple strips of  bacon hot from the pan. A perfect summer meal.