Living in an old house usually means you can come home and gaze smuggly up at your ten-foot high ceilings, rub your hands on the plaster walls, and feel pity for the little people in houses of dry wall and hollow doors, even if they live in better school districts and have more insulation.

And then there are the days when it means you live without heat. That’s what you get for feeling like you were somehow better than someone else. Yes, my friends, it’s happened, and just in time for the first snap of seasonally cold weather in our old bungalow. I come home to eat lunch, and it’s warmer sitting outside in the weak November sunshine than it is in the kitchen. We are crossing off the days on a calendar. It’s a long story, but one leaky, underground oil tank (yes, I, too, thought we had a Superfund site on our hands), many dirty-booted burly workmen tracking red North Carolina clay across our heart pine (ok, the dogs have given them a worn and “rustic” look), a minor basement flood, lots of cursing, lots of jumping up and down in anger (kind of like cartoon characters do), a few margaritas and some feel-sorry-for-ourselves queso fundido later…we are getting a new furnace. Damn. Home ownership. But it’s probably the best choice. It’s the sensible one, even though, say, that money that we don’t have any way would have better put to use going to visit our friend living in southern France.

Really, this house has been a good one, solid and dependable and a real beauty under all the vinyl siding we yanked off this spring…but not this week. But we are still coming to France in April, Tara! Come hell or high water or terrible dollar-euro exchange rate.

On the plus side, we may get the fireplace working! It’s now going to probably be cheaper to get gas logs (our new furnace will be gas) than get the chimney lined. What a damn shame it’s not safe to use now, when we could really use it.

As we go around the house, cooking and working and writing and watching America’s Next Top Model (OK, that’s just me), we drag around two little heaters. One of them was loaned to us by our dear friend Mary K. It’s cute - squat and oval-shaped, with an upright button that looks like a cocked ear - but one of our dogs has taken a dislike to it and throws a growl over her shoulder when she passes it.

To warm the place up, I made beef bourginon on Sunday night - it cooks for 2 1/2 to 3 hours, and fills the house with the kind of warmth oil and gas can’t create. Man and woman cannot live on braised beef and mushrooms and lots of Pinot Noir alone, though, and our vegetables were a a perfect contrast, cool, crunchy and racy. I made a version of this for a pair of clients last weekend, destined to nestle up next to warm slices of butternut squash, fontina, and carmelized onion galette. I dare say this sort of salad is a close contender for my Thanksgiving menu plans, and a crispy foil for any rich groaning table in the coming months. If you don’t have mache - which I didn’t when I took these photos - you can use any other sort of lettuce you prefer. For me, it was the perfect resting place for half a head of butter lettuce languishing in a refridgerator drawer, but I’ve also made this salad with just endive and radish. Then it takes on a very astringent and bracing quality, just the kind of redemption you need alongside a plate of the holidays.

Endive, Mache, and Radish Salad with Champagne Vinaigrette
Adapted from Epicurious
Serves 8

The dressing:
2 tablespoons Champagne vinegar
1 tablespoon finely chopped shallot
1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh chives

The salad:
1 1/2 lb Belgian endive (6 heads), cut crosswise into 1-inch pieces
8 oz mâche (lamb’s lettuce), trimmed (8 cups) or an equivalent amount of butter lettuce
1 bunch radishes (1/2 lb), very thinly sliced - paper thin, if you can do it, so use a sharp knife

Whisk together vinegar, shallot, mustard, salt, and pepper in a small bowl. Add oil in a slow stream, whisking constantly until dressing is emulsified, then whisk in chives.

Toss together endive, mâche, and radishes in a large bowl, then drizzle with dressing and toss gently to coat. Serve immediately.

Chimichurri sounds surely like some exotic Spanish-tinged shimmy, not as sexy as the tango, but definitely better than any line dance - I’m looking at you, Macarena - we’ve got up these ways.

At home, this is a sauce we come back to again and again, and we did so last night for supper, given that summer has returned and our beautiful Webber grill is still like a new toy. The classic, rather machismo way of eating it dripped over slices of a broiled, rare steak, and that’s plenty good. But I think it would work splendidly with some charred chicken, too, or just dripped over a plate of ripe tomatoes and mopped up with crusty bread.

I fall hard for anything that’s heavy on cilantro, but I’ve heard the stories. To some people, cilantro tastes like soap. That it’s not just that they dislike it, but they honestly don’t taste the bright, spritly zing that the rest of us crave. How can these be? Rumor has it that there is a genetic reason for this. I can’t fathom the disappointment of imagine biting into a carnitas taco, only to find your mouth full of the taste of Dial or Downy or Dove. Yikes. I am really sorry for you guys. Really. But come on, is an entire website dedicated to eradicating the herb really necessary? Sheesh. I mean, these guys sell t-shirts. Pink ones, even, for the girls.

So if you’re a member of the above group, or now an aspiring one, you may want to skip this next recipe. Oh sure, a quickly seared flank steak rubbed with a handful of cumin and kosher salt and ground coriander (which, truth be told, is actually dried cilantro seed. This topic is apparently one of great debate on the afore-mentioned website.) and black pepper is just divine on its own. But without The Sauce it just won’t, well, dance.

Flank Steak with Chimichurri adapted from the Gourmet Cookbook

Serves 4 to 6, depending on the size of the steak. Leftovers are a worthy goal. With a fistful of spicy arugula, some toasted hazelnuts or pine nuts, and cucumber, you’d have the makings of a terrific salad.

This cut of steak is really best rare to medium rare. And ensure that it is tender, always slice flank steak very thin on the bias and against the grain.

For the steak:
about 1 1/2 pounds trimmed flank steak
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

For chimichurri sauce:
1 large garlic clove
1 1/2 cups loosely packed fresh cilantro leaves
1 1/2 cups loosely packed fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves
1/4 cup distilled white vinegar
1/3 cup olive oil
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Ready the grill or preheat the broiler. Pat steak dry. Stir together salt, cumin, coriander, and pepper in a small bowl and rub on both sides of steak. Broil steak on hot broiler pan about 4 inches from the heat, turning once, for 12 minutes total for medium-rare. Transfer to a cutting board and let stand, loosely covered with foil, for five minutes. If grilling, grill directly over hot coals, about six minutes each side, to medium-rare and let stand covered with foil after taking off heat.

With a motor running, add garlic to a food processor or blender and finely chop. Add cilantro, parsley, vinegar, oil, cayenne, and salt and pulse until herbs are finely chopped.

Slice steak against grain and on the bias (hold the knife at a 45-degree angle). Serve with lots of sauce.