We have cheer. We have cozy. Thank God we also have heat. Oh yes, it’s back, and it feels so good. Hot damn, it’s efficient.

And now that the weather has dipped below 80 degrees and the wind and the chill have come back, things finally feel like Christmas. We got the tree up (a white pine - one string of lights was dangling from its branches for about a week until Kelly took over), the boughs and the branches scattered over the mantel and swooped along the front porch. We bought mistletoe from a scarred-face burly cop selling evergreens on the side of the road. He harvests his crop each year by shooting the stuff out of trees. Yee-haw!

I’ve been making toffee, OK, a lot of toffee, and giving it away, but otherwise I’ve kept Christmas under control this year.

I’m trying to slow down. Kelly and I actually spent part of this evening watching My So-Called Life. The flannel shirts, people, I can’t tell you! I’m not sure that anyone is ever going to consider them fashionable again, or worth re-incarnating. But they’re oddly comforting to see, along with scarlet-headed Angela Chase and fuzzy-headed nerd Brian Krakow. So, you can see I’ve managed to avoid obsessing over the glossy pages of tangerine Bavarian and passion fruit gelees and beef tenderloin with tomato confit. Sure, they look pretty, those tinsel-trimmed centerfolds, but when the going gets rough, or at least busy, sometimes it’s best to turn back to the simplest recipes, the ones printed on faded magazine pages sticky with time and sugar, dried egg white and lemon juice.

This recipe is one of those. I knew I had to make something with the Meyer lemons I picked up this weekend. They were drop dead gorgeous, golden ovals that glow in a way that no ordinary lemon can. I love how citrus season springs on me like a surprise each year. Hurray for this season of indie rock sweet Christmas songs, this season of evergreen-scented houses and…citrus. I was torn between the Meyer lemons and the blood oranges. Really, really torn.

For one thing, the pastry I use for this tart is one of the easiest I know. You push it into the tart pan - there’s no rolling out, no flour spilling down the counters and speckling the back of a dog vigilantly watching the floor for crumbs. For another, it’s g-o-o-d, buttery and crackly. For another, lemon curd - luxurious, tart, golden and sunshiny - is about the most delicious thing in the world. It’s extravagant, completely easy and completely festive, and a very good way to treat some special citrus.

Simplest Lemon Curd Tart
Adapted from Everyday Food, January 2005

In a small saucepan off heat, whisk together eggs, egg yolks, sugar, new online slotskeno online spielepoker rouletteroulette programmcasino online deinternet casino onlinelive roulettenew casino onlinewww casino gamesinternet gewinn spielespielregeln spieleautomatenkasino onlinecasino online und poker portalslot maschinegluck spiele onlinelotto am samstagwww casino spielekasino websitepc slotsonline casino forumcasino club comkasinospiele mit echtem geldslot maschinen online spielenonline kasinopokercasino games downloadenonline baccarat spielenroulette online gamecasino tropez bonuscasino online spielroulette online gratistop online kasinosonline texas holdem pokerparty poker codesregeln zu pokerbester online pokerpoker zum gratis downloadenparty poker sign up bonuspoker spielen ohne anmeldenpoker game softwarebonus bei pokeronline poker um geldpoker regeln blattonline poker javahigh stakes pokerparty poker no deposit bonuspoker com bonusgratis poker gamespoker regeln straightpoker bonus codesonline omaha poker spielen lemon juice, and salt until smooth. Add butter.

Place pan over medium heat. Cook, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or spatula until lemon curd is thickened to the consistency of a loose pudding, about eight to 10 minutes. The curd is done when it is thick enough to coat the back of the spoon.

Pour curd through a fine mesh sieve into a cooled crust. Cool to room temperature. Refrigerate tart until the filling is firm, about two to three hours. Unmold from tart pan ring before serving.

*Yet to happen this year, but the manger is going up at the church down the street. I look forward to it every year, ever since Mary K. and I walked down there with mugs of mulled wine and a little girl who kept pointing at the angels standing on pine bough-covered scaffolding and saying, “That’s Jesus.”

We’ve had such a nice few days…if only every week could be two days of work interspersed with a long weekend of geography (for Kelly, not me) in Charleston (a lovely place, truly, but no competition for the place New Orleans holds in my heart), and a festive Thanksgiving with my mom, one of my sisters, and three of our guy friends, walks and a trip to the new, fancy dog park with the pooches, flannel sheets on the bed and hot apple cider in my biggest, bluest mug. Tonight, two of the guys came back to eat leftover turkey, gravy, stuffing, and pie, and now they’re building and conquering with Kelly in the dining room.

The furnace guys were here all week, but still no heat. I’m getting more used to it. Again, it’s good for pastry making, this dry, chilly weather.

Anyway, I wanted to post this recipe while it’s still November and stubborn people like me - and you? - can still hold onto a season they are not ready to have end and ignore the jingle bells. We still have almost have a week of November, folks! So keep eating pumpkin and push away the nog. Pumpkin’s still in season, in any case, so you’re being responsible by eating your share.

My original idea with Thanksgiving was to have a light(ish) dessert, something we could stomach after the glut of turkey and the siren of tryptophan. Of course I made more. And of course my mom brought pie despite herself. I mean, I couldn’t refuse her when I heard she had some ones languishing at home. Still, among the coconut pie and the most excellent pumpkin and the apple tart, these babies stood out. They taste like the best sort of pumpkin pie filling, sans crust, smooth and clovey. I added the whipped cream because I wanted something to cut the sweetness of the custard, yet push the spicy flavor one step higher, and that led me to my spice shelf and the overlooked, under-used bag of star anise I bought at an Asian market last year. I tend to like my whipped cream barely sweetened, more on the sour side, so adding creme fraiche wasn’t a stretch, but you could probably even use sour cream. Just play with it, adjust it to your taste, and remember that you can always add more sugar (or syrup, in this case), but you can’t take it out.

Maple Pumpkin Pots de Creme with Star Anise-Creme Fraiche Whipped Cream
Adapted from Gourmet

Yield: 8 custards

1 cup heavy cream, the best you can buy
3/4 cup whole milk
3/4 cup pure maple syrup
1/2 cup canned pumpkin
7 large egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon salt

For whipped cream

1 cup water
1 cup sugar
5-6 star anise, crushed a bit with a rolling pin or other heavy object
1 vanilla bean, spilt open
about a cup to 1 1/2 cup good heavy cream
Equivalent amount of creme fraiche

Preheat oven to 325.

Whisk together cream, milk, syrup, and pumpkin in a heavy saucepan and bring just to a simmer over moderate heat.

Whisk together yolks, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt in a bowl.

Add hot pumpkin mixture to yolks in a slow stream, whisking constantly. Pour custard through a fine-mesh sieve into a large measuring cup, then divide among custard cups (you may have some custard left over, depending on size of cups). Bake custards in a hot water bath (boil water in a kettle, add about two inches to pan - you don’t want the water to cover or even lap closely to the top of the custards, but go about mid way up their sides), the pan covered tightly with foil, in middle of oven until a knife inserted in center of a custard comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Transfer custards to a rack to cool completely. Chill, individually covered with plastic wrap, until cold, at least 2 hours.

Pots de creme can be chilled up to 2 days.

Take the star anise, water, and sugar and simmer in a saucepan. Add the vanilla bean, scraping the inside into the pan. Boil gently until reduced by about half, or the liquid has become syrupy and can coat the back of a spoon. Cool, store in fridge for up to two days.

Make the whipped cream immediately before serving. Strain star anise syrup and pour about half into mixing bowl with heavy cream and creme fraiche. Whip. Adjust cream to taste, adding more creme fraiche, cream or syrup.

Unwrap pots de creme. Dollop whipped cream on top. Add a star anise for decoration.

Anyway, back to my whining. Oh, how I loathe our dependence on oil. It makes everything warm…on the plus side, our house in winter, on the negative, the Earth. Anyway, things are getting better. First, we are getting used to the huddling and the shivering. It’s actually not that different from having heat since we keep it turned down low. We are not rich, and we would rather spend what money we have going to France (Hi, Tara!) than buying fuel. It fits in with the chilly garret-thesis-writing lifestyle Kelly is deep in. We have a little fleet of space heaters thanks to friends. We have a lot of sweaters and slippers and afghans made by mothers and grandmothers. We have two dogs that like to curl up into little commas next to us. Keeping the heat down in the winter is better for your skin and your immune system, anyway, my doctor says. Maybe I made that last part up.

This chill has benefits. I’ve been cooking up a storm. A pair of regular clients is moving into a new home, so I had this last Sunday free. And I spent the last two days in a anonymous gray room learning fun facts about food safety so that I can become ServSafe certified. As a personal chef, cooking in people’s homes, I don’t have to, but my association pretty much makes it mandatory, and I think it’s a wise idea. So now I can go on and on about listeriosis.

I’m a little freaked out by the instructor’s war stories, and I generally think of myself as a clean but not a paranoid person. Wash your hands, please!

Saturday, we made an old standby that we don’t really have a recipe for, a roast chicken rubbed with paprika and red pepper and cumin and tucked into an iron skillet before it goes in the oven. With that, I braised a handful of kale and garlic and roasted a single, huge North Carolina Sweet Potato (TM) and mashed it with chipotle powder and a pat of butter. Sunday, I made Deb’s fabulous black bean pumpkin soup, which we ate with some Point Reyes blue cheese and the tail end of a baguette. I think both a vegetarian and an omnivorous version of this soup are going to go into heavy rotation on the menus I develop. We are still the eating the leftovers, and they get better every day. I love that about some soups. Mary K., I meant to bring you some. Did I say we had leftovers…whoops.

Monday I tested out a new recipe for my vegetarian clients, roasted acorn squash filled with an earthy, salty sun-dried tomato pesto polenta, and brought some tithes across the street (this time) for Mary K. And I had a sack of apples from the farmers’ market sitting on the counter, so I tried out the simple apple tart on Smitten Kitchen (Deb, again!). It’s fabulous, though I shouldn’t have used Stayman and Arkansas Blacks. I’ll use a firmer, tarter variety next week when I make it for Thanksgiving. I love pie, I love it - as the daughter of a Midwestern farm girl, it’s sort of my birthright, my destiny and my inheritance all wrapped into one. But I was determined not to gild the lily this year. I was determined to show some restraint. Then those maple pumpkin pots de creme I have planned began to sound so lonely…Well, hell, apparently, I can’t escape making some form of it, but honestly, this version is so easy-peasy, go for it. The pastry is amazing. I thought for sure it wouldn’t be flakey since it calls for softened butter and mashing it in the food processor until it looks like cornmeal (which it does, exactly). Pastry is so picky, so finicky, you know. It’s like having a cat…you can’t force a relationship with it. Maybe having a cold house is good for some things.

The crowning achievement of the weekend, though, was the advance work Kelly and I did for Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is such a great holiday - all food and festivity, no pressure or presents, but the menu gets a little tired. So when my mom talked about about her crazy travel schedule for work, I cleared my throat and raised my hand high before she could change her mind.

I wanted to do things just a little different. I even tried to talk Kelly into a different kind of poultry, duck, say, rather than the same old fat bird. He wouldn’t have it. He actually likes turkey, a lot, and he’s very good at roasting it. On Sunday, he even made turkey stock with some wings and such that he picked up a nearby butcher shop. Folks, to me, it makes a difference in your gravy. Hell, there are some things even I won’t fuss with, and if you’re going to have mashed potatoes (ours: Yukon Gold, with brown butter and scallions) on Thanksgiving, you better have gravy (to make those little lakes, you know?). Made with homemade turkey stock, your gravy will just taste deeper, some how, definitely richer, unquestionably more worthwhile.

Here’s the good news: you can make this well in advance and freeze it. It’s not too late to do it now and not feel crushed by all other tasks (us: pick up Settlers of Catan off the dining room table from last Saturday’s game, get our new furnace installed) And you don’t really make it…you just throw some things in a pot, roast them here and there, and then cover them with water and let them shimmer, just barely, for a solid three hours.

Unfortunately, I forgot to take glamour shots of the finished product…so you’ll just have to take my word for it. I was concentrating on the gougeres, one of our appetizers, the one I can throw in the freezer and forget about it until next week.

These can also be frozen, these lovely little clouds of sharp cheddar and roasted corn and bacon. I think they’re a classy nibble. But since I can’t restrain myself, I am also filling endive leaves with smoked trout and herbs bound with cream cheese. Endive will be making not one, but two appearances.

Hope we make it to the tart.

Turkey Stock
Adapted from Gourmet, November 2007

Makes about 10 cups

5 pound turkey parts such as wings, drumsticks, and thighs
2 medium yellow onions, left unpeeled, trimmed and quartered
2 celery ribs, cut into 2-inch lengths
2 carrots, cut into 2-inch lengths
4 quart cold water, divided
5 parsley stems (without leaves)
1 Turkish bay leaf or 1/2 California
8 black peppercorns

Preheat oven to 500??F with rack in lowest position.

If using turkey wings, halve at joints with a cleaver or large knife, then crack wing bones in several places with back of cleaver or knife. (Do not crack bones if using other parts.) Pat turkey dry. Roast turkey parts, skin sides down, in dry flameproof roasting pan, turning once, until browned well, about 1 hour. Transfer to an 8-quart stockpot using tongs, reserving fat in roasting pan.

Add onions, celery, and carrots to fat in pan and roast, stirring halfway through roasting, until golden, 25 to 30 minutes. Add vegetables to turkey in stockpot.

Straddle roasting pan across 2 burners, then add 2 cups water and deglaze by boiling, stirring and scraping up brown bits, 1 minute. Add deglazing liquid to turkey and vegetables in stockpot, then add remaining 3 1/2 quarts water along with remaining ingredients and 1 teaspoon salt. Very gently simmer uncovered 3 hours. The stock should barely be moving, that’s how gently.

Strain stock through a large fine-mesh sieve into a large bowl, discarding solids. If using immediately, let stand until fat rises to top, 1 to 2 minutes, then skim off and discard fat. If not, chill, uncovered, until cool, then covered, before skimming fat (it will be easier to remove when cool or cold).

Stock can be chilled in an airtight container up to 1 week or frozen up to 3 months.

Bacon and Roasted Corn Gougeres
Adapted from Gourmet, November 2007

4 hickory-smoked bacon slices (1/4 pound)
3/4 cup corn (from 2 medium ears)
1 cup water
1 stick unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon pieces
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup all-purpose flour
4 to 5 large eggs
1 1/2 cups coarsely grated extra-sharp Cheddar (5 ounces)
2 tablespoons grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
3 tablespoons finely chopped chives

Preheat oven to 375??F with racks in upper and lower thirds.

Cook bacon in skillet over medium heat, turning occasionally, until crisp. Drain on paper towels, then finely chop.

Pour off fat from skillet, then wipe clean. Add corn and pan-roast over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until kernels are mostly golden brown, 10 to 15 minutes. (If you don’t have a cast-iron skillet, broil corn in an oiled baking pan 4 to 6 inches from heat, stirring once or twice, about 5 minutes)

Bring water to a boil with butter and salt in a heavy medium saucepan, stirring until butter is melted. Add flour all at once and cook over medium heat, stirring vigorously with a wooden spoon, until mixture pulls away from side of pan, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and cool slightly, about 3 minutes. Add 4 eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. (Batter will appear to separate at first but will then become smooth.) Mixture should be glossy and just stiff enough to hold soft peaks and fall softly from a spoon. If batter is too stiff, beat remaining egg in a small bowl and add to batter 1 teaspoon at a time, beating and then testing batter until it reaches proper consistency.

Stir in bacon, corn, cheeses, chives, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper.

Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper or lightly butter sheets. Fill a pastry bag fitted with 1/2-inch plain tip with batter and pipe about 35 (3/4-inch-diameter) mounds, or spoon mounded teaspoons, 1/4 inch apart, onto each sheet. Bake, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until puffed, golden, and crisp, 25 to 30 minutes total. Transfer to a rack (still on parchment if using). Make more puffs on cooled baking sheets. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Gougeres can be made ahead and cooled completely, uncovered, then chilled in sealed bags 2 days or frozen 1 week. (I am trying for a week and a half. I double-bagged them in freezer bags. If they don’t work, we won’t go hungry!) Reheat, uncovered, on baking sheets in a 350??F oven 10 minutes if chilled or 15 minutes if frozen.

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 m??che (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, m??che, and radishes in a large bowl, then drizzle with dressing and toss gently to coat. Serve immediately.

In honor of Earth, let me direct you to my local chapter of Slow Food, and one of my favorite local farms, Sanders Ridge Farm.

Through the Slow Food Piedmont Triad chapter, you can help plant muscadine grape vines or spore shiitake mushrooms, then join in a potluck.

Through Sanders Ridge, you can join a CSA and have Cindy Hinshaw deliver crates of her stunning eggs, baby bok choy, lettuces, and on and on. I am not a member of Cindy’s exclusive because I was a) late last year getting on the bandwagon and b) when a partial share opened up after someone moved away, my own little tomato plants were going gangbusters. But I enjoy her fabulously chatty e-mail updates about farm goings on, and more seriously, this year’s wretched drought. I have also come home from the farmers market with her produce, grinning like I just won a million bucks.

Thank you to both for preaching the bounty and the beauty of locally-grown foodstuffs.

I’ve had a hard time deciding which recipe to give to you folks, and so it is - you get two.

I almost was able to ignore the tell-tale tickling in my throat that forecasts another sign of cooler weather. The Cold came on sneakily, as Kelly and I watched The Office (in our office! on our computer!) between the soup and a few gingersnaps for dessert. Maybe it’s this squirrely weather that’s causing a disturbance in the force. All I know is that I am chugging down Emergency C and Throat Coat. And at lunch today, I could temporarily breath deeply and even smell. A miracle. A panacea. A balm in Gilead. Curry will clear things right up, and ginger too. I can feel this bugger on his way out of here.

Holiday-time Sweet Potato Yeast Rolls

These are the rolls with which my family sops up Thanksgiving gravy. Once baked, they freeze beautifully and fall apart in pretty little triangles.

Yields 18 rolls

3 tablespoons sugar
1/4 ounce package active dry yeast
2 large eggs
1/3 cup milk
?? stick unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus additional melted butter for brushing the rolls
1 tsp salt
3/4 cup mashed roasted sweet potatoes
1 ?? cups all purpose flour, plus extra for kneading
1 ?? cups whole wheat flour

In a small bowl, stir together 1 tablespoon sugar and 1/4 cup warm water, sprinkle yeast over the mixture and let proof about 5 minutes or until foamy.

In a large bowl, whisk together eggs, remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, milk, butter, salt, sweet potatoes and the yeast mixture until combined well. Stir in 3 cups of flour, 1 at a time and turn dough out onto floured surface.

Knead dough, incorporating as much of the remaining 1 cup flour as needed to prevent dough from sticking for about 8 to 10 minutes or until smooth and elastic. Form dough into ball and put in well-buttered large bowl and turn it to coat with butter. Cover with plastic wrap. Let rise for 1 hour, or until it is double in size.

Turn dough out onto floured surface. Cut off pieces about the size of a walnut and form into balls. Place three balls into each of 18 muffin tins and brush the tops with melted butter. Let rolls rise, covered loosely, in a warm place for 30 to 45 minutes, or until they are almost double in size. Bake rolls in pre-heated 400F oven for 12 to 15 minutes or until they are golden.

Lusty Curried Red Lentil Soup

Yield: Three to four servings

It is important that you get the ginger very finely ground, almost into a paste, because it is incorporated into the soup late and any chunks will not cook down. I like to use a mini food processor that came with my husband’s dowery. I used to laugh at it, and flash a big knife. No more. It saves a lot of chopping time when I’m cooking for clients and using ginger or garlic.

1 ?? to 2 cups dry red lentils
4 ?? cups vegetable stock
2 cups water
?? red onion, minced
1 carrot, peeled and minced
1 stalk of celery, minced

a dollop of plain yogurt (non, low-fat or full fat) per bowl

Thai red curry paste, onion powder, cumin, salt, pepper, and fresh, very finely grated ginger to your liking. (I used about two teaspoons of ginger, and a generous dollop of curry)

Melt ?? tablespoon butter in a medium-sized stockpot over medium heat. Add onion, and when it turns translucent add carrot and celery. Cook, stirring occasionally, until fragrant and soft, about ten minutes. Add vegetable stock, water and lentils. Cook for about 30 minutes until lentils are very soft. Puree in blender or puree in pot with immersion blender. Return to pot, then season with curry, onion powder, cumin, salt, pepper, and ginger.

Before serving, add yogurt.

This soup gets even better the next day, but you may want to add some water as you warm it up to thin it out.

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.

Wrong. First, I can safely say that until two week ago I had never had the occasional to sear sea scallops, then stow them in the fridge for a quick dip in the cool air, then gingerly re-heat them in the microwave. I repeat, I have never done that to scallops. Who would? What kind of crazy person does that?

Me. I’ve also further tortured them by searing them, then freezing them. That explains why - like a pregnant mother-to-be obsessed with thought of watermelon in January - I sent my honey running to Whole Foods before they closed to procure a single, lonely sea scallop (at $2.34 no less - yikes!). If I was a sea scallop, sweet and dainty and delicate, I’d stay far, far away.

A side note: Kelly and I don’t usually eat this way, with this planning, storing and freezing, all this stowing things to eat away for the winter, or just a rough day when we both land, with a thud, on the back door at 8 p.m. I want to hire myself now. I’m not just saying that. I’ve heard of personal chefs who end the day doing what they’ve saved the rest of the world from - calling in take out. Oh no. I’m not going into business to end up like that every day.

But you know what? Most things have turned out okay, much to my surprise, even that sea scallop. It turns out you can freeze a lof of things just fine without compromising much. Which is good, because while I am going to be cooking and stowing away food in the freezer and fridge for my clients, I do not want to become a Casserole Queen. It’s too nice to eat sea scallops.

My chef coat came today, crisp and crackling out of its plastic shell, with “The Good Fork” embroidered in cloudy gray script on the left breast pocket (Daniel, my neighbor, asked if I was in school when I came galloping up to his front door to show off…sort of!). My clogs arrived last week. Friday night, I’ll pack my knives and my pans, and Saturday morning I’ll head to the market and then cook for my first client. Gasp! Egads!

In between, there has been a wedding and a float down a lazy, low brown river with cans of cheap beer, rollercoasters and corn on the cob, and roasted pork, and ice cream sandwiches and wheat beers with orange slices and vodka tonics infused with rosemary, and a few trashy movies. Now we’re moving into a season of caramel apples and smarty-pants foreign films on weekday evenings. We are moving into a season of homework, folks.

I like mine, though. I am so excited about cooking for people the way I love to eat. I am so excited to take care of them and feed them well. Hopefully I can keep doing the same for myself.

Luckily, I’m pretty easy to please. Sure, I like purple potatoes and fancy cured meats and zucchini blossoms, fava beans and cornichons and mussels and lots of oysters on the half shell, but at the end of the day, our at home summer supper is sort of an endless variation on a theme.

So here is it is, the September-late August rendition of a tomato salad, inspired and pirated from the witty, wonderful pastry cheftress Dorie Greenspan, which was in turn lifted from Dan Barber, the chef at Blue Hill at Stone Barns. The last of my backyard tomatoes, still sweet and juicy, paired with silky peaches, basil, sea salt, pepper and just a slick of good olive oil. Maybe a slice of proscuitto, if it is on hand, just for some more salty contrast. Lord. We slurped down our third plate of this in the last few weeks this evening, with deep bowls of corn chowder on the side.

I feel silly giving you all a recipe…but protocol requires it, I suppose…

Take one largish tomato, slice thinly and arrange on a plate. Do the same with a ripe peach or two (no excuses this time of year if you live in most of the United States. I just know you can track down a localish peach and have the patience to let it ripen for two or three days on the kitchen counter. The same for Herr Tomato). Chiffonade a few basil leaves. Sprinkle on the peaches and tomato. Drizzle very lightly with good olive oil, dust lightly with sea salt and pepper and a few thin slivers of proscuitto, if it happens to be around. Don’t put too much effort into this salad, even though the calendar says it’s back to school time and all that. We can still hang on for a few weeks.

The Good Fork

please stop by!

I can show you the pork butt that Kelly wrapped in banana leaves and cooked over applewood for three, four, five hours in our backyard (sort of - I was excited - it’s blurry). I can show you the potluck spread that dear friends assembled for my birthday, the sliced Cherokee Purple tomatoes, the quiches, the roasted eggplant sprinkled with pine nuts, the rice flecked with olives and tuna, the tiny raspberry and peach pies, the goat cheese drizzled with honey and hazelnuts, basil lemonade, margaritas and brewskies (also all blurry). I am so lucky to have been born in July.

It’s probably tacky to ask your friends to bring their interpretation of summer bounty to your birthday party, but then I don’t care. I’m not always a lady, and we just love potlucks around here. They’re an opportunity to show off, in a giving kind of way.

My contribution was my own birthday cake. Is that cheating? Well, the evidence is gone. I can’t show you a long, metal cookie sheet dripping with condensation, and a crowd of friends licking their fingers. * I just forgot. Maybe it’s better not to document anyway. There are few words to describe these ice cream sandwiches. They’re more like a memory than a reality that you can pin, dissect and describe, a dessert tracing the edge of childhood with a very adult mix of salt and sweet, crunchy and creamy. They taste like the summer you wish you had when you were eight, if it weren’t for your love at that time of unnaturally blue raspberry slushies (guilty as charged). They taste like the summer you are having when you turned 28, a season of cocktails and thunderstorms on the front porch, a new bike and a new favorite place to ride it (thanks, honey) sweaty weekend afternoons working on the house, and nights working through the first through fifth seasons of the Sopranos, courtesy of NetFlix.

Praline Ice Cream Sandwiches adapted from Gourmet, June 2006

Makes 24 sandwiches, more or less. They will be gone before you can count them.

The praline
1 1/4 cup pecans, coarsely chopped
1 1/2 tsp salt
1 cup sugar

The sandwich layers
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened at room temperature, plus additional for greasing pan
1 1/2 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
2 large eggs at room temperature
1 tsp pure vanilla extract

The filling
4 pints high-quality vanilla ice cream, softened

First make the praline: Stir together pecans and salt in a small bowl. Spread a sheet of foil on a work surface. Cook sugar in medium-sized pot over medium heat, undisturbed, until it begins to melt. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until sugar melts into a golden caramel - watch it carefully, so that it doesn’t burn. Add salted pecans, stirring until coated well, then spread on foil and cool completely, about 15 minutes. Peel praline off foil and finely chop with a large heavy chef’s knife.

Then, make the sandwiches: Move the oven racks in upper and lower thirds of oven and preheat oven to 375F. With a bit of butter, draw an X from corner to corner of two cookie sheets (use sheets about 3/4 inch deep, also called jelly roll pans). Line the bottom of each pan with parchment paper, leaving a 1-inch overhang on each side, pressing to help parchment adhere to the X.

Whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a small bowl. Beat together butter and brown sugar in another bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition, then beat in vanilla. Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture in two batches, mixing until just combined.

Divide batter between baking pans - about 1 1/2 cups each - and spread thinly and carefully. (It won’t look like enough batter, but it will be. You don’t need to get it to reach the edges of the pan, just the majority of the pan, and equal area on both pans so that your cookie sides will be even. An offset spatula really helps here. Really.) Sprinkle each pan with an equal amount of praline. Bake, switching positions of pans halfway through, until the layers are golden brown but still tender, about 10 minutes. Cool in pans 10 minutes, then transfer parchment to racks and cool completely, about 30 minutes. Clean one of the baking pans.

Line clean baking pan with fresh parchment. Invert one sandwich layer onto to the sheet, praline side down. Spread ice cream (it helps to dump all the ice cream in a big bowl and mash it up a bit, just to soften it) using the offset spatula (wash it after you use it on the layers). Invert the second layer on top, praline side up, carefully pressing it down. Wrap the top of the sandwich in plastic wrap and slide into freezer for at least one hour, ideally two. Cut into sandwiches with a sharp, large knife just before serving.

The sandwich, wrapped in plastic warp and foil, can be frozen for up to a week.

*Mary K came to the rescue.