Posts tagged winter
Sunday, January 4, 2015

marcella hazan’s ragu bolognese

made about 3 meals' worth of bolognese

As I inch towards the finish line with this pregnancy, I’m also getting closer to completely filling up my freezer. Space is of the essence, so I’m playing this game of shifting things around to make room. All the butter (and I mean all the butter) has been moved to the fridge. The frozen bananas I originally intended to use in smoothies and then promptly forgot about, wound up in the garbage. There’s also a bag of polenta now in the fridge, and will, no doubt, make a fine meal one night this month. As part of cooking on weekends to have weekday meals, I inadvertently started the “nesting” process of stocking the freezer a few months ago. There is my favorite chili and pulled Santa Fe chicken made in a crockpot; soups for days: red lentil, chicken, Vermont cheddar, parsnip leek; Marcella Hazan’s tomato butter sauce; and a whole roasted chicken (Ina’s recipe) from Andrew’s mom which now resides in a giant ziploc bag; and because it’s winter, meatballs (two kinds) and Marcella Hazan’s ragu bolognese. I figured that if we supplement it all with take-out a few days a week, we should be good for a month. I’m also hoping to try to get into cooking as soon as I can, even if it’s just a fried egg.

You would think that seeing the full contents of my freezer would make me cease this madness, but clearly pregnancy makes you insane, because the other day, I peeked inside the freezer and decided that we didn’t have enough of the bolognese. When I told Andrew I was making another double-batch, he simply looked at me, Are you sure you want to spend a whole day on this?

Continue reading marcella hazan’s ragu bolognese.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

simon pearce vermont cheddar soup

We miss you @russell_f and @porterama xo #thanksgiving cc @simonpearce

This dispatch, written hastily on the 1st of January, may not be the kind of post you look for first thing in 2015. There are no promises of eating better, no crisp salad teasing you below. Instead, I offer you a soup with three cups of grated cheddar in it, plus some half and half. Clearly, I’ve no resolutions for 2015 insofar as eating habits go, but then again, I never have.

I wanted to share this soup with you as far back as Thanksgiving, but work, book edits, and general winter fatigue got in the way. Weekends were busy with baby showers (mine), tree trimming parties, and various trips to find things for baby. And then about a week ago, just when our office was about to shut down until after New Year’s, I got hit with the kind of third trimester fatigue I didn’t know existed. I had heard of this phenomenon, which I’m told is followed by a burst of energy to prep for the baby, but I hadn’t given it much thought. Outside of general pregnancy discomfort, I have few complaints: no morning sickness to speak of and a fairly energetic (and hungry) first trimester. But this fatigue was something else. I’ve described to friends as that if dementors from Azkaban were sucking the life out of me. I’ve never felt this weak and exhausted – and I couldn’t nap either. The fatigue lasted about a week before lifting. I certainly hope it doesn’t come back again – if it does, I’m not sure I’ll be physically able to take on anything.

Continue reading simon pearce vermont cheddar soup.

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Friday, March 16, 2012

za’atar roasted cauliflower

za'atar roasted cauliflower

This is what happens when you get an edited manuscript, while working on another book and planning a wedding all the while your wrist is in a brace for five weeks. You fall behind on work because typing with one hand takes more time. Crazy concept, right?

Writing, in and of itself, is an amazing, thrilling, scary, exhilirating process. Just not with one hand. Typing with one hand is just frustrating. You think of something great to say while you’re finishing sentence, and by the time you get to the end of that sentence, you can’t remember what you were thinking of. It’s a lot of spurts and stops, like going somewhere in a taxi in New York; suddenly the cabbie slams on the breaks and you’re hurled towards the windshield. And before you’ve had time to collect your breath (and your poor discombobulated internal organs), the cabbie is hits the gas pedal and you’re thrown in the way back. Writing with one hand is a bit like that – spastic and not particularly efficient.

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Tuesday, March 22, 2011

roasted parsnips

roasted parsnips with cumin and honey

Parsnips will never win a beauty prize. They’ll never even place runner-up. And sadly, all too often they get passed up for a prettier-looking vegetable. Root vegetables have it rough, I tell ya.

Even Andrew wrinkled his nose in disappointment after finding out that I was planning on roasting parsnips for supper. “Wasn’t there anything else at the farmers’ market,” he grumbled.

Well, actually, no there wasn’t much more at my local market a few weeks ago, nor has the situation improved much last week. Which is why I kicked off my bimonthly “The Farm Stand” column over at Prospect Heights Patch, with something as homely and humble as a parsnip.

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Friday, March 4, 2011

pelmeni

pelmeni

I’m worried that by writing about pelmeni, the famed Russian meat-filled dumplings with a cult following, I might inadvertently open the Pelmeni Pandora’s box and pandemonium will ensue. This is a dish that elicits passionate responses as there are just as many different persuasions on how to make pelmeni and how to eat them as there are Russians, probably more. And while the gist might be the same, the nuances, the proportions – will vary vastly. Whether or not you put garlic in your filling can become a central argument point of the evening. And believe me, it’ll turn into a very long evening, indeed. As far as my personal experience goes, every Russian family I’ve ever met (and I’ve met many given my background) equipped with a recipe will lay claims to making not only the best pelmeni, but also the most authentic. Authenticity is huge with Russians. The number of times I’ve heard at a dinner table, “That’s not a real [],” – I’ve officially lost count. To prevent another heated debate, I’d like to tell you, right off the bat, that this is just my family’s version. And, as expected, I like my version the best. But that’s entirely a matter of opinion.

If given the opportunity, I could wax poetic about pelmeni – I’d like to write it little haikus about how delicious they are, how they make a night of no-time-cook-dinner into a veritable feast. But then I’d be writing poems and totally forget to give you the recipe. So you’d be looking at pictures of pelmeni and how to make them without actually know how to bring this bounty to your own table.

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Tuesday, February 8, 2011

rice pudding with coconut milk

spoon!

I realize that rice pudding isn’t about to win the sexiest dessert award anytime soon. It’s dull in color, lumpy in texture, and offers no enticing shape. It’s a lump of gooey rice sitting in your bowl quietly awaiting its fate. If there was a pageant for dessert, rice pudding would lose the swimsuit and the evening gown sections of the competition. It doesn’t sparkle or wow with its looks.

unsweetened soy milk light coconut milk

But it would nail the questions category, and when asked what issue is important to its cause, the rice pudding would surely rise to the occasion. It is, without question, my favorite winter dessert, snack, comfort treat. I eat it warm after dinner, with the steam rising from the bowl; I sneak spoonfuls of it at night, cold, straight from the fridge; I could build a lunch around it with some sliced pears and bananas and a steaming cup of Ceylon tea. I could easily write odes to rice pudding, and I might as well have done so just now.

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