Stuck

It's been a long time since I've posted! The longest, actually, since I started this blog a year ago. I'm not sure exactly why it's taken me this long to get back to the blog. Sure, I've been busy at work, but I've certainly had busier months (it hasn't been totally laid back, but it's not nicknamed the "VA spa" for nothing). And it's not like I haven't been cooking: last night we had my favorite pasta, and tonight we're having bulgogi (Korean barbecued beef) with mint chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. There have been recipes I've wanted to write about here, and I've even started, but not finished, a couple of blog posts. They didn't seem inspired, so I'm not sure I'll ever finish them.

Somehow, the very fact that I hadn't updated in so long made the decision about what to post today momentous. I felt like whatever I wrote about had to be good, creative, unique: a veritable humdinger of a recipe, to make up for the fact that I haven't written in such a long time. I'll leave it to you to decide whether this recipe meets those exacting criteria.

Here's what's happened since I last updated. Some people have asked about the holidays. We had a wonderful, joint family Christmas in Tahoe. B and I know that we are so lucky that our families get along! We only went skiing for one day at Squaw.

Both sibling pairs and my dad hung out on the chair lift, but we separated when we got to the top of the mountain. You see, B is an expert skier who likes hills as steep as possible or as many moguls as possible or (in a perfect world) a run that combines both.

Since we only went skiing for one day, I bet you're wondering what we did the rest of the time. I have one photo, and three words for you: Beatles Rock Band.

It's a good thing we stayed in a house and not a condo, because we were pretty loud. BRB, if you haven't played, is an awesome game.

Once we got back from Tahoe, I went back to work to cover the New Year's holiday, and have been pretty busy since then. Because work is work, and not blog-worthy, today I want to tell you about a really nice day off that I had. Because of my ridiculous schedule, I only had one weekend day off in January—last Sunday—and I was determined to make the most of it. For lunch, RK brought over Arizmendi pizza (one of B's and my favorite lunch treats), and then we three went to go see the elephant seals at Ano Nuevo. You see that lump in the foreground near the boardwalk? You may wonder idly whether it's a shiny rock, or the biggest slug anyone's ever seen. Nope, it's 5000 pounds of male elephant seal. In the background you can see another elephant seal, raising its head, inflating its proboscis, and making a (very loud) guttural cry. We heard a lot of that on our guided hike.

The elephant seals, which were almost hunted to extinction in the 1800s (much of that 5000 pounds is blubber that was used as lamp oil), return to several breeding grounds along the coast of California every winter. The place that you can get closest to them is Ano Nuevo State Park on Highway 1. Ano Nuevo island is off the coast, behind one of the main beaches where the female seals give birth to their pups.

I think that anyone who lives in Northern California should venture to the coast at least once to see the seals; they form a very impressive, dynamic sight. Two tips: it's windy, so dress in plenty of layers; also, you have to reserve tickets ahead of time.

While the elephant seals were great, this is a blog about food. And I haven't told you about what we had for breakfast last Sunday, which is the recipe I want to tell you about today. I've told you before how much I like cooking breakfast on lazy Sunday mornings. Also, I've been looking for a recipe for popovers basically since we came back from our trip to Maine two summers ago. We went to Acadia several times while we were in Bar Harbor, and twice visited the Jordan Pondhouse, which is famous for their delicious popovers.

I mentioned my search for a popover recipe to A a few weeks ago after reading Mark Bittman's article about Yorkshire pudding, and, lo and behold, A is a bonafide popover connoisseur. Apparently, she grew up eating popovers many weekend mornings, and has tried several popover recipes. I've only tried the one recipe below that she sent to me, and only with butter and jam, but I can imagine lots of variations, including the savory applications that Bittman suggests. (A recommends "slathering them with buttery and honey." B crossed the line between sweet and savory by using R's strawberry-jalapeno jam on his.)

Popovers are basically crepe batter. As there's no leavening, I'm mystified as to what causes them to rise so beautifully in the oven, but rise they invariably do. I don't have an official popover pan, but I actually liked the muffin-sized servings I ended up making. The popovers were a delicious breakfast, and made me pine for another summer in Maine at the Jordan Pondhouse. Sometimes I wish I had the kind of life that would allow me to use "summer" as a verb.

Instead of clear skies and hikes through Acadia, though, I'm stuck with being on call tomorrow and rain in the forecast for the next few days. At least I now have a good popover recipe. I promise it won't be so long until I post again. Until then, enjoy!

Popovers

Adapted from The Bread Bible

Makes: 11-12 muffin-sized popovers, or 6 regular-sized popovers

Time: 15 min active, 1 3/4 hours total

3 eggs

1 c. milk (I used nonfat)

1 c. flour

2 T. unsalted butter, melted

1/4 t. salt

In a medium-sized bowl, beat eggs until foamy, approximately 60 seconds with a hand-mixer. Add milk, flour, butter, and salt, and beat until just smooth, being careful not to overmix. Refrigerate for at least one hour.

Generously grease 12 muffin cups (my silicone muffin mold worked better than my metal tin). Pour batter until cups are 2/3 full.

Place in cold oven, and set temperature to 375. Bake for 30 minutes. Take popovers out, pierce sides to allow steam to escape, and then bake for 5-10 min more until firm and golden brown. Cool briefly, then release by running a knife around the edge.

'Tis the season...of peppermint! (2)

B loves peppermint. As a consequence, the tip of my tongue is burnt. Only slightly burnt, but it's noticeable every time my tongue touches my teeth, or the roof of my mouth.

Let me explain. The other day, I was in line at the grocery store when I noticed that there were peppermint-flavored marshmallows displayed prominently next to the check-out. Not only that, they were on sale! I'm a sucker for gimmicks like this. (Last night I bought a headband located suspiciously near the cash register in a clothing store; was it a coincidence that it was also on sale?) Obviously, peppermint-flavored marshmallows were not on my carefully-constructed grocery list, which contained the components of our dinnertime meals for the next four nights, but lacked a section called "impulse buys." Apparently, the marketing ploys I learned about in a college sociology class called "Shop Till You Drop" are devastatingly effective, even on a presumably educated consumer like me, because I (needless to say, impulsively) bought the marshmallows.

We had the marshmallows for dessert that night, the perfect topping for a mug each of Scharffenberger cocoa (I tend to prefer marshmallows to whipped cream in terms of hot chocolate toppings, because the whipped cream disappears ever so quickly). The marshmallows melted, in typical gooey fashion, releasing the perfect amount of pepperminty flavor into each sip. I was a little greedy, though, and tried to drink my hot chocolate too quickly, leading to the slightly burnt tongue that I already described.

While excellent in the cocoa, the marshmallows on their own, without the chocolate-y accompaniment, were disappointingly firm. And for some reason, I decided that firm marshmallows were not to be tolerated this holiday season!

I think you can see where this is headed.

Thenceforth, I ventured into an unknown realm: homemade marshmallow-making. The only occupant of this realm that I know personally is my mother, she of the three turkeys at Thanksgiving and the homemade ricotta and the countless other culinary feats. For those of you not my mother and thus not familiar with the making of marshmallows, this blog entry will serve as my official field report. At first I was quite intimidated by the recipes I looked into, all of which called for a stand mixer. There's a lot of variation in the recipes as well, in terms of amount of gelatin and presence or absence of egg whites. I figured the recipe in the Scharffenberger cookbook would be a good place to start; chocolate and marshmallows go so well together that I trusted their marshmallow-making acumen.

Though I have a well-equipped kitchen (complete with such gems as a stand-alone pizza oven, a mozzarella slicer, and a milkshake maker), I do not yet own a stand mixer. I'm pleased to inform you that homemade marshmallows are (a) no more difficult to make than any other candy (and, as with all candy-making, a candy thermometer is essential); (b) far more pillowy than their store-bought compatriots; and (c) possible—nay, easy—to make with a handheld mixer.

The marshmallow-making experience was a revelation. I would actually say that marshmallows now fall into a can-and-should-be-made-at-home category, the same category that homemade pasta occupies. B and I eat marshmallows only rarely, but when we do, I want them to be perfect. Which means that I can't go back to the dried-out, slightly firm, store-bought version.

An added benefit is that I can pick the flavoring of the marshmallows if I make them myself! For now, I'm pretty content with peppermint, though I'm planning to whip up a batch of plain old vanilla too. Actually, the only other extract I have in the cupboard right now is almond, and almond-flavored marshmallow sounds a little odd, doesn't it? Besides, peppermint is so much more seasonal.

When my brother E and I were little, we played poker with tidbits from around the kitchen standing in for plastic betting chips. We used marshmallows, chocolate chips, and Mallomars as currency, and you could choose to bet with your pot of winnings, or to snack on them instead. Mallomars, those classic cookies, were worth the most. We never had these peppermint marshmallows back then, but I can imagine that they would have surpassed even the Mallomar in betting value. They are awfully delicious. Enjoy!

Peppermint Marshmallows

Adapted from Scharffenberger and Steinberg's The Essence of Chocolate

Time: 20 min active, 2 1/2 hours total

Makes: 16 2-in marshmallows

3/4 c. powdered sugar

3/4 c. cornstarch

2 1/4-oz envelopes gelatin

3/4 c. cold water, divided

1 1/2 c. granulated sugar

1/2 c. light corn syrup

1/4 t. salt

1 t. vanilla extract

1 t. peppermint extract

Grease an 8x8-in pan. In a small bowl, mix together the powdered sugar and cornstarch. Sprinkle about 1/2 c. of the powdered sugar/cornstarch mixture over the bottom and sides of the pan, then set aside the remaining mixture.

Put the gelatin and 1/4 c. cold water in a medium-sized bowl.

Meanwhile, mix together the remaining 1/2 c. water, granulated sugar, corn syrup, and salt in a small saucepan on the stove, and bring to a boil. Using a candy thermometer, bring the mixture to 236 degrees. While the mixture is heating, make an ice water bath in a large bowl. Cool the pot to approximately 210 degrees (about 10 to 15 seconds), stirring constantly (the mixture will become very thick and gluey).

Pour mixture into the medium-sized bowl containing the gelatin, using a spatula to scrape the pot. Beat with a handheld mixer for about 5 minutes, or until thick, white, and fluffy. Beat in the extracts.

Scrape the mixture into the prepared 8x8-in pan, using a greased rubber spatula. Sprinkle top with another 1/2 c. of powdered sugar/cornstarch mixture. Allow marshmallows to set in a cool area for at least two hours. Then invert onto a board (you may need to run a knife around the edge to loosen the marshmallow), and cut into desired shapes with a sharp knife, scissors, or greased cookie-cutters. Coat cut edges with remaining powdered sugar/cornstarch mixture. Marshmallows keep, tightly covered, for at least 1 week.

Hot Chocolate

Adapted from the Scharffenberger website

Serves: one

Time: 5 minutes

4 t. cocoa powder

1 T. sugar

1 c. milk

marshmallows, for serving

In a small saucepan over medium heat, stir together the chocolate, sugar, and 1 T. of milk until dissolved into a thick paste. Add the remaining milk and stir infrequently until warm. Serve with marshmallows.

Blogversary

Today is my first blogversary. In honor of this event, I decided to make a cake. A delicious, seasonal cake. The kind of cake that's so good that it convinced my friend JMc that she really does like a cake that she lumps into a category she previously despised: "fruit desserts." This cake represents my sole foray into the world of upside-down cakes, because it's so delicious that I've never felt the need to explore further.

The first (and most important) thing to make this cake is to go to the store and buy some cranberries while you still can. They populate the refrigerated berry section only for a few short months, usually from November 1st (in time for the traditional Thanksgiving sauce) to about January 1st. Maybe in a location closer to the bogs of the Northeast you can find cranberries at other times of the year, but I haven't seen them in California past January. That is to say, if you don't buy cranberries within the next two weeks, you won't be able to make this cake for months and months, until they appear in the store again. That would be tragic.

But if you do purchase cranberries (and I really think you should), heed the instructions on the outside of the bag: "Buy two, freeze one." Cranberries freeze so well that you can just toss a bag (or three) into the freezer for use all year round. Then, when you're craving this cake on a cold day at some other time of year, you'll be able to make it without delay.

It hasn't been as cold this week as last, but the winter holidays are clearly upon us. The pumpkin patch across the street is now officially a Christmas tree lot, and I've ordered a lot of presents in the past week. Also, I made my first batch of toffee a few days ago, and I've been thinking about what to pack for B's and my joint family trip to Tahoe next week.

Partially because of the cold, and partially because of the season, and partially because my life is stressful, I've been in the mood for homey, comforting desserts. (Believe it or not, it's been weeks since I've made ice cream! Though, truthfully, that's going to change this weekend.) This buttermilk cake, with its topping of cranberries and walnuts softened in brown sugar and butter, fits the homey-comforting-dessert bill perfectly. It isn't much to look at, but the taste and texture are divine: tart yet sweet, and thoroughly moist. My favorite part is where the topping meets the cake; it's here that the brown sugar flavor is most prominent, and the texture slightly gooey. An ideal afternoon snack, I can add from experience that a slice of this cake makes an excellent breakfast as well.

The original recipe calls for a 10-inch skillet, but I don't have one, so I've adapted it to an extremely useful round-bottomed 2-quart Pyrex dish I have (the same one I use for red gnocchi). You could really make this recipe in any number of vessels, provided that you like the shape when it's turned out upside-down. Invariably, some of the topping will stick to the bottom of the cake pan, but you can scoop it up with a spoon and put it right back onto the cake without anyone noticing your patchwork.

I think the recipe for this cranberry-walnut cake epitomizes some of the goals of my blog: it's quick, it uses mostly freezer or pantry ingredients, and it's delicious. Try it if you get a chance over this holiday season; I think you'll really like it.

Here's to many more blogversaries to come! Enjoy.

Cranberry Walnut Upside-down Cake

Adapted from Gourmet, November 2005

Time: 20 min active, 75 minutes total

Serves: 8

For the topping:

4 T. unsalted butter (1/2 stick)

3/4 c. brown sugar

3/4 c. chopped walnuts

2 c. cranberries (fresh or frozen)

For the cake:

6 T. unsalted butter (3/4 stick), softened

3/4 c. sugar

2 eggs

1/2 t. vanilla

1 1/2 c. flour

1 1/2 t. baking powder

1 t. baking soda

1/2 t. salt

3/4 c. buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. First, make the topping. Melt the butter in a medium skillet over medium-high heat, then add the brown sugar. Stir until dissolved, about 1 to 2 minutes. Add the walnuts and cranberries (O.K. if still frozen), and stir until the brown sugar melts again, approximately 2 minutes. Spoon the topping into a 2-quart capacity oven-safe vessel.

In a medium bowl, cream the butter and sugar. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the vanilla. Add 1/2 c. flour, baking powder, soda, and salt, and mix well. Add half the buttermilk, then another 1/2 c. flour. Repeat with remaining buttermilk and flour, being careful not to overmix. Scrape the cake into the 2-quart vessel containing the cranberry topping.

Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a cake tester plunged into the center of the cake comes out clean (your baking time will vary considerably depending on the diameter of the vessel you choose). Cool cake on a rack for 10 minutes. Run a knife around the edge, then invert onto a serving platter. Spoon any extra topping from the dish and place on top of the cake.

Cake will keep for 3 to 4 days, tightly covered, and is best served warm.

The verdict

Thanksgiving 2009 is over. A lot of cooking took place, but the humble homage to Gourmet, like the magazine, is now done. The leftovers were distributed between the attendees, the pumpkin cheesecake has been devoured, and the napkins are washed and ironed. Overall, the three turkey extravaganza was an unmitigated success, prompting one diner to propose a toast: "To four turkeys next year!"

I'm sure you remember seeing the three brined birds lined up before cooking. One was to be deep-fried, one barbecued on a spit, and one oven-roasted.

Thankfully, the fried turkey was not the explosive, fiery mess I had been worried about. Nonetheless, preparing for the worst, I made my dad wear eye protection in the form of a shield he uses for welding. It turns out that this was overkill. He lowered the turkey into the hot oil slowly, and it was very "fire burn and cauldron bubble" (hot oil often is, I guess), but at no point was I concerned for his safety.

Forty-five minutes later, the turkey was done! It was nothing short of a miracle. I don't have a picture of the traditional turkey roasting in the oven, but I DO have a (very short) movie of the barbecued turkey.

Impressive, right? However, one lingering question remains. Which turkey won the taste test? I know you're all at the edge of your seats! After some discussion, we decided to vote by asking each person at the dinner table to pick their favorite turkey. (Drum roll, please.) The final tally was as follows:

• Fried: 6*
• Barbecued: 4
• Oven-roasted: 2

*B's sister E also voted for the fried turkey, but she had a head-cold and could hardly smell anything, so her vote is not included. Additionally, my 98-year-old grandfather partook in the eating, but not the voting.

My mom (in a breach of voter confidentiality, I will inform you that she did not vote for the fried turkey) calls the results "not definitive." Which means, of course, that she's seriously considering the possibility of having four turkeys next year, if she can think of a fourth way to cook a turkey. Which would mean lots and lots of leftovers.

The turkey leftovers this year were surprisingly manageable, considering the large number of turkeys cooked. We ate turkey sandwiches (twice), a reheated Thanksgiving reprise complete with stuffing and other sides, and chilaquiles. I've already written about the delicious roasted tomatillo salsa that makes the chilaquiles exciting (and frequently requested by B). The chilaquiles were, I have to say, particularly delicious this year since we made them with the spicy leftover fried turkey. In order to inject flavor into the turkey, my dad literally injected flavor: a hot sauce went into the thickest parts of the meat with a big syringe. Frankly, this unexpected extra punch may have been what caused the fried turkey to win the overall competition.

Chilaquiles are basically a casserole, with chips and salsa and cheese standing in for tuna and crushed potato chips and cream of mushroom soup and whatever else people typically put in a casserole. With the weather as cold as it ever gets in San Francisco right now (it's 38 degrees as I write this), cheesiness and warmth and layering are desirable traits for an ideal dinner. Chilaquiles form a south-of-the-border casserole, while gnocchi make an Italian one.

Gnocchi are the easiest pasta to make. They start with one of my favorite ingredients, potatoes, which are mashed with egg, salt, and a little flour. The dough is rolled out into cylinders (or, as I used to call them when I was young, "worms") and chopped into pieces with a sharp knife; then each piece is shaped by pressing the back of a fork into it. It's important to use plenty of flour to keep each gnocchus (?) from sticking to the next. Also, try to make them a somewhat uniform size; when B helps, they tend to get larger and larger as he goes along.

Many recipes using cooked gnocchi exist in the world, but there is only one that B asks for, what he calls "red gnocchi." This "casserole" is perfect for a cold winter night, with two layers each of gnocchi, mozzarella, Parmesan, basil, and marinara sauce. It's warm, and cheesy, and fortifying if you, for some reason, need to leave the house and venture outside. It takes some time to make, and it doesn't use turkey, but the leftovers are quite satisfying as well. Enjoy!

Red Gnocchi

Adapted from Pasta Fresca

Time: 1 hour active, 1 1/2 hours total

Serves: 4, with leftovers

For the gnocchi:

1 russet potato

3-4 medium red potatoes

1 c. flour

1 t. salt

1 egg

For the marinara sauce:

1 T. olive oil

2 cloves garlic, smashed

1 can crushed tomatoes, preferably San Marzano

1 t. dried oregano or basil

1 t. salt

For the casserole:

4 oz. ball of mozzarella, sliced in small pieces

1 c. grated Parmesan

1/4 chopped Basil

First, place the potatoes in a pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, then simmer until potatoes are soft when pierced with a fork (the russet may take a little longer than the red potatoes), approximately 20-30 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the marinara sauce. Heat the olive oil in a small pot until hot but not smoking, then add the garlic. After 1 minute, when garlic is starting to turn golden, add tomatoes, basil, and salt. Lower heat to a simmer, and cook for 15 minutes or until desirable consistency.

When the potatoes are cooked, peel them, running under cold water if too hot, and place peeled potatoes in a large bowl. Mash, then mix in flour, salt, and egg, being careful not to overwork the dough.

Heat salted water in a large pot to cook the pasta and preheat oven to 450. While the water is heating, place a handful of dough on a well-floured board, and roll into a cylinder about 1/2-inch in diameter. Slice into individual gnocchi about 1 inch long with a sharp knife. Press the back of a fork into each gnocchi, and then dip cut edges in flour, shaking off excess. Place gnocchi in a single layer on a well-floured surface. Repeat with remaining dough.

Cook gnocchi in boiling water until they begin to float to the surface. Turn heat off, and place half of cooked gnocchi in a 2 to 3 quart oven-safe dish using a slotted spoon. Cover with half of the marinara sauce, then with half of the mozzarella, Parmesan, and basil. Repeat. Place casserole in the oven for 5 minutes, or until cheese melts and begins to bubble. Serve immediately.

Default

It sort of seems like kale is everywhere, doesn't it? Maybe not as everywhere as the term "cougar" or Twitter, but it's popping up a lot recently. We have had kale several times in our CSA box. Then, we had it from JB's CSA box in New York over the weekend when we were visiting, and now we're going to have it today as one of the Thanksgiving side dishes. Kale was even the answer to a clue in the NYT crossword puzzle from 11/22 (we're finishing it up today).

I've learned to appreciate kale's fall-winter taste, but I never thought of it as particularly pretty, and certainly not as a species for a planned and terraced garden. Until, that is, we went to the Sarah Duke gardens at Duke University a few days ago (B and I have been traveling around the entire country this past week). And there, we saw a whole garden full of autumn vegetables planted in ornamental rows.

That's right! You spy cabbage roses and Swiss chard, and in the back left, purple kale. Strangely beautiful, right?

I only have one real way to cook kale. I cook it with olive oil, slivered garlic, and salt. The secret is to saute the garlic in olive oil first, until brown and nutty, and then to add the sliced kale and stir for five minutes or so, until it wilts. (You can squeeze some lemon juice at the end and add red pepper flakes if you so desire.) Quite simple to prepare, but also quite delicious and complex in flavor for such a minimal number of ingredients.

The best part is that you can adapt this recipe (really, more of a technique) to all sorts of vegetables, particularly those of the fall-winter variety. The produce has changed, in the store and in the CSA box, confirming once again that fall is here. Sometimes it's nice to see that change in the grocery store, though, because it can seem like there are so very many out-of-season vegetables available from South America. It's nice to have strawberries in winter, but they often don't taste very good.

But back to the technique: one of my favorite vegetables (other than kale, of course) to use it with is broccoli. I love broccoli. A little less, maybe, than I love cauliflower, but I end up cooking it a fair amount because B does not share my devotion to cauliflower. The same basic technique applies to broccoli, but you have to add a little bit of water so that the broccoli steams and then sautes in the same pan.

Last week, when we had J&C over for dinner, I cooked four broccoli crowns for the four of us (we also had flank steak, my go-to as it was a weeknight dinner party). It was pretty popular, and this was all that was left of the broccoli (thankfully, a convenient amount for lunch the next day).

As I've made this recipe/technique a number of times, I've learned that it can be the basis for a lot of variations. One of my favorites is to add a splash of sesame oil during the cooking, and then toss the cooked broccoli with a tablespoon of sesame seeds and a tablespoon of soy sauce for an Asian-inspired side. I'm sure you can come up with variations of your own, from vegetable choice to seasonings. Random bag of braising greens from your CSA box? This is the perfect recipe, my default if you will. Use the technique with whatever vegetable you desire, but most of all, enjoy!

Sauteed Broccoli with Garlic

Serves: 4 as side dish, with leftovers

Time: 15 minutes active and total

2 T. olive oil

3 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced thinly

4 broccoli crowns, divided into florets

1/2 c. water

1/2 t. salt, or more to taste

In a 12-inch frying pan (I use my Scanpan), heat the olive oil until shimmering over medium-high heat. Add garlic and saute until lightly browned, stirring and flipping with a wooden spoon. Turn heat off, and allow to cool for 3-5 minutes. Then add broccoli and water, and turn back to medium-high heat. Cook for 5-7 minutes, stirring frequently, or until water has evaporated and broccoli has turned bright green and is starting to brown. Sprinkle salt and serve immediately. Broccoli can be cooked several hours ahead of time, covered, and then reheated on the stove or in the microwave before serving.

P.S. With all this talk about kale and broccoli, you might think I've forgotten that I'm typing this post on Thanksgiving. It would be hard for me to forget, however, because I'm writing at my parents' house in San Diego while my mom is running around like a whirling dervish (and has been since 3am). We will be 14 for Thanksgiving dinner, and there are approximately 52 pounds of turkey waiting to be cooked. We like leftovers, thank goodness. (B&K, who are cooking a 12-pound turkey for just the two of them, still have us beat in ppp—pounds per person, that is.)

You see, this is the first time we have done a turkey cook-off. (The other theme of dinner is "Homage to the Final Issue of Gourmet"; the kale I mentioned earlier, along with almost every other side dish, will be directly from the magazine.) First, a traditional stuffed turkey will be oven-roasted. Another will be spit-roasted on the outdoor barbecue (not dissimilar in spirit to the delicious vinegar-spiced pulled pork we ate in North Carolina a few days ago), and the final one will be deep-fried.

My parents bought a special turkey-fryer for the occasion. The imprinted text, which is difficult to read in the picture, says, among other advisories: "Caution: hot." In case you hadn't figured it out, the large amount of oil will get very hot, and subsequently will cook the turkey very rapidly (only 3 1/2 minutes per pound!). The directions that come with the fryer say in big scary red letters:

FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH THESE WARNINGS AND INSTRUCTIONS CAN RESULT IN FIRE, BURN, HAZARD, OR EXPLOSION WHICH COULD CAUSE PROPERTY DAMAGE, PERSONAL INJURY, AND DEATH

We're going to have a fire extinguisher nearby, and my dad's going to wear safety goggles. I think it's going to be very exciting. I'll keep you posted about the results, both of the fried turkey and the turkey taste-off. We may take a poll at dinner, to keep it as objective as possible.

For now, though, Happy Thanksgiving!

Peter, Peter

San Francisco is finally experiencing summer. Which is strange, of course, because it's now officially November. Seventy degrees in November? J and other B need to stop delaying the inevitable and move back here already!

Since the weather isn't convincing me, one harbinger of autumn is that Daylight Savings is officially over, and it gets dark so very early. It reminds me of ninth grade when the end of Daylight Savings basically spelled the end of the JV field hockey season. I loved field hockey; I was a midfielder who ran down the field in my plaid skirt and shin-guards and smacked the ball with the stick my dad had hand-crafted in his workshop. The JV squad always played games after the varsity team, which was fine for the first half of the season; unfortunately, by the second half of the season, post-Daylight Savings, the ref would call our games at half-time or even earlier because of impending darkness. Which was so totally unfair.

But enough memories of far away high school past for now. Also reminding me of fall is the pumpkin patch set up in the vacant lot across the street, complete with scarecrows and hay rides for the kiddies (though it will soon morph into a Christmas tree lot since Halloween is over). We bought our pumpkins there before we went to a pumpkin-carving party at V's last week. B went a little crazy with the detail work by using a special little pumpkin-carving hacksaw.

B's eyes are not as bloodshot as the pumpkin's, but the mouth expression is quite similar, no? Everyone else's pumpkins were pretty good too, though there was an awful lot of Texas pride exhibited for a California party. My rather traditional, angry-eyebrowed pumpkin is to the right of B's on the bottom level.

We haven't gotten pumpkin in the CSA box, but we have been getting squash regularly, last week of the butternut variety. Though he likes squash, B starts to clamor for pumpkin every fall. Pumpkin ice cream is pretty good (though there are better options in my opinion), but his favorite is Afghan pumpkin, which I have to agree is pretty delicious.

So, last week, when we bought our two pumpkins for carving at the local pumpkin patch, we also bought a Sugar Pie pumpkin for cooking. I've made pumpkin ravioli in the Afghan style before, but this year I decided to experiment with kaddo bourani, a slab of melt-in-your-mouth pumpkin served with meat sauce and drizzled with yogurt.

It's typically served as an appetizer or a side dish, but it is definitely substantial enough for dinner. I found a recipe published in the San Francisco Chronicle a few years ago from our favorite Afghan restaurant, Helmand. (Rumor has it that the owner is related to Hamid Karzai, but that may not be such a selling point these days.) I was disturbed to find out that it's not all natural pumpkin sweetness that you taste: there's quite a lot of sugar in the dish! The slightly spicy meat sauce and the cooling mint yogurt cut the sweetness; the perfect bite consists of all three components in nearly equal proportions.

When you're cleaning the pumpkin (whether for carving—next October, I guess—or for cooking), save the seeds. Spread them evenly on a cookie sheet lined with parchment, sprinkle generously with kosher salt and lightly with ground cumin, and bake for 8 to 10 minutes at 350 degrees, or until toasted. They're a delicious, healthy snack, best eaten the day you make them.

This pumpkin dish is one of the only ways I've ever seen pumpkin cooked as a main course, and not as a dessert. It's still sweet, like I mentioned, but the sweetness suits the natural flavor of the pumpkin (and I did cut down on the sugar in my adaptation below). The Chronicle describes this as a "weekend recipe" since it takes a good bit of time from start to finish. If you're not willing to invest four hours upfront (though a lot of it is unattended time), go to Helmand or your local Afghan restaurant first to try kaddo bourani. After you do, I'm sure you'll return to this post so that you can try making your own savory pumpkin dish at home. Enjoy!

Afghan-style Pumpkin with Meat and Yogurt Sauce (Kaddo Bourani)

Adapted from a recipe from Helmand

Serves: 4 for dinner, or 8 for appetizer

Time: 4 hours total, 30 minutes active

1 Sugar Pie pumpkin

3 T. canola oil

1 c. sugar

For the meat sauce:

2 T. olive oil

1 medium onion, finely chopped

3/4 pound ground beef

1 tomato, chopped

1 clove garlic, smashed

1 t. ground coriander

1/2 t. cayenne pepper

1/2 t. turmeric

1/2 t. salt

1 T. tomato paste

1 c. water

For the yogurt sauce:

1 1/2 c. yogurt

1 clove garlic, smashed

1/2 t. dried mint, or more to taste

1/2 t. salt, or more to taste

First, prepare the pumpkin. Preheat oven to 300 degrees, and line a rimmed cookie sheet with foil. Using a large knife, cut pumpkin in half through the stem end, and clean out the seeds and stringy fibers. Cut pumpkin into quarters, and then cut each quarter in half crosswise. Place pumpkin pieces hollow-side-up on the foil, and coat evenly with oil using your fingers. Cover loosely with another piece of foil. Bake for 1 hour, until fork tender. Remove cookie sheet from oven, and allow pumpkin to cool for 10 minutes or so. When cool enough to touch, use a small paring knife to remove the rind from each pumpkin piece, then place each piece back on cookie sheet. Sprinkle evenly with sugar, and return to oven, loosely covered with foil, for another 2 1/4 hours until very soft. Baste with pan juices once during cooking.

Meanwhile, make the meat sauce. Heat olive oil in a heavy saucepan until hot but not smoking. Saute onions for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until softened and lightly browned. Add meat, breaking up pieces, and cook for 5 minutes or until no longer pink, stirring frequently. Add tomato, garlic, coriander, cayenne, turmeric, and salt, and cook for another 5 minutes. Stir in tomato paste, and add water. Once water boils, turn heat to medium-low and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes until a sauce forms. Meat sauce may be made ahead of time, and heated up as needed.

Make the yogurt sauce by stirring all ingredients together in a small bowl. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

To serve, place a small dollop of yogurt sauce on a plate. Top with a piece of pumpkin. Spoon 1/4 c. or so of meat sauce over the pumpkin, and drizzle with more yogurt sauce.

WNK: So long, farewell, auf weidersehen, good-bye

Much has been written about the passing of Gourmet. It's been a few weeks since the announcement that the venerable institution is packing up shop, and, frankly, I'm still in shock. It's more than just a magazine; it represented a way of life for almost seventy years. In fact, one of my favorite issues is the 65-year retrospective published in January 2006, where they picked one of the best recipes from each year of the magazine to date. It's a gold mine. We love the po-boys from 1945, the Chinese egg rolls from 1946, the chocolate souffle cake from 2001...and those are just the recipes I remember off the top of my head.

I'm not the only one who feels this sense of loss, of course. By the time I looked at the article in the NYT announcing the end of the Gourmet era, there were over 600 comments posted online. In the interview I linked to above, Ruth Reichl talks about Gourmet's incredibly loyal subscriber base. My 92 year-old grandmother only let her subscription lapse a few years ago when her arthritis got so bad that she really wasn't able to stand up in the kitchen to cook anymore. My mom has kept and archived every single issue since 1972, and is devastated by the closing. Even with the advent of Epicurious (which is an awesome resource), certain issues are particular favorites that she turns back to again and again, like December 1995 (the Christmas butter cookie dough is memorable and lends itself to variations). My mom is planning an extravagant Thanksgiving memorial to Gourmet, based on the final issue that arrived last week.

When you publish dozens of new recipes each month, they can't all be winners. But Gourmet has, or rather had, an unusually high percentage. To me, what's remarkable about the magazine are not the three-hour recipes for chicken mole, but rather the consistent goodness of all the recipes, including those in the "Quick Kitchen" section. The editors realized that the modern cook wanted to eat well, but realistically also needed to eat quickly.

Last night I needed a quick weeknight recipe (and had a surplus of green beans from the CSA box), so I turned to this stirfry with green beans, onions, and bell peppers. It has become a standby in our house. I'd almost forgotten about my plan to incorporate quick weeknight recipes into my blog, so I thought I'd share it with you.

It barely squeaks in under the thirty-minute mark, but the flavors are complex and satisfying. Compared to the original recipe, I've taken out the cashews, and added onions for sweetness and cilantro for brightness. (In the picture above, you may notice that I added yellow and red bell pepper, though the recipe only calls for red.)

The sauce is primarily coconut milk, flavored with garlic, ginger, soy sauce, and lime. When B and I went to a cooking class a few years ago, our instructor told us that brands of coconut milk that have "OK" in the name are better than those without. Neither of us can remember what was supposedly wrong with the other brands, but we've been scared to deviate from the instructions, so we buy the ChaOKah brand available at our supermarket. This is a full-fat coconut milk; if you use a low fat one, you may have to take the vegetables out with a slotted spoon towards the end of the cooking and boil the sauce down to thicken it.

The stirfry reheats beautifully for lunch, or a dinner later in the week. Eat it while you think wistfully of the fact that you won't be receiving a magazine full of similar recipes each month. It almost makes me cry just to contemplate it, and I've only been subscribing for five years.

Good-bye, Gourmet.

Stirfry with Tofu, Green Beans, and Bell Pepper

Adapted from Gourmet, September 2005

Serves 4, as main course

Time: 30 minutes active and total

1 14-oz package firm tofu

3 T. soy sauce, divided

2-3 T. vegetable oil

1 lb green beans, ends trimmed

1 medium onion, peeled and sliced thinly

1 red bell pepper, cored and sliced into pieces 1/4 in. wide

2 cloves garlic, smashed

1 T. fresh chopped ginger, or 1 t. powdered ginger

1 t. red pepper flakes

1 15-oz can coconut milk

1/2 t. salt, or more to taste

juice of one lime

1/4 c. chopped cilantro

Slice the tofu into pieces 1/2 in. by 1/2 in. by 2 in. Place into a shallow bowl with 2 T. soy sauce. Marinate for 10 minutes and then dry completely with paper towels. Meanwhile, prepare the vegetables, and heat the oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet. When the oil is hot but not smoking, add the marinated, dried tofu pieces and saute, turning frequently, for 5 minutes or until golden. Place the tofu in a separate bowl using a slotted spoon.

Add the garlic, ginger, and red pepper flakes to the oil. When they become fragrant after 3o seconds or so, add the green beans, onion, and bell pepper. Stir for 1 minute. Add the coconut milk, salt, and remaining tablespoon of soy sauce. Once mixture comes to a boil, turn heat to medium and cook for 5 minutes or until green beans are cooked through (take one out to taste). Add sauteed tofu, and cook for another minute until tofu is heated through. Turn off heat, and add lime juice and cilantro, along with more salt to taste.

Serve immediately with rice (1 cup of dried rice makes a perfect amount).