A Tradition of Gooseberry Jam Continues

Ed has always loved gooseberry jam. If he ever sees it for sale at a farmers market, he jumps at the chance to buy a jar. His love for this jam comes from his love for his Aunt Gladys, who was like a second mom to Ed and a third grandmom to our children.  She always opened a jar of her homemade gooseberry jam for biscuits when we had breakfast at her house in Owensboro. 

At age 95, Gladys planted a new gooseberry bush to replace one in her back yard. Now, here's the thing about gooseberry bushes: it take two to three years for them to produce a significant amount of berries. So she would be 97 or 98 before she could pick enough berries to make her jam. She always was an optimist. 

Aunt Gladys died in February 2011 at age 96. The next month, we moved into our new home at Farm Dover and that spring, we bought a gooseberry bush in honor of Aunt Gladys. For 11 years, we have gotten excited to see our plant produce berries; but every year, the birds beat us to them -- clearing out every single berry on the very day they become ripe enough for picking. 

This year, Ed was all over it. Back in May when the little green berries were just forming, he drove t-post into the ground around our single bush and attached chicken wire to the post, using ground staples to secure it to the ground. He then added netting to the top, making sure that not a single hole could be found for a bird to gain entrance. Then he watched and waited, and watched and waited some more. 

Just this week, we determined that the berries were ready to be picked. All told, Ed picked just over two pounds of the little green orbs. I spent the next two evenings extracting the tops and tails from each berry. 

Yesterday, I turned the two pounds into six pints of gooseberry jam. 

Last night, I popped open a jar and added a dollop to a cracker topped with Cambozola Black Label cheese. So good. Sweet and tart at the same time.  

Aunt Gladys would be proud of Ed for protecting his crop and of me for turning it into jam. 

Making a Better Bitters

Last December, Friend Alisa gave me a small book that she suspected I would like. I do, very much. Called Blotto Botany, written and illustrated by Spencre L.R. McGowan, it offers lessons in making cordials and other plant magic. Between its covers, there are dozens of recipes for cordials, and chapters on producing shrubs, bitters, and herbal medicinal remedies. 

Taking a page out of this book, I recently bottled up my latest foraging experiment: bitters. (And no, for the record, I did not get blotto.)

After researching bitters and how to use them – both in cocktails and as a digestive aid – I set out to create my own version using burdock root from our fields, berries from our spice berry bushes and fennel seed from my herb garden. Loosely based on this recipe from David Lebowitz, I added orange peel, a cinnamon stick and gentian root. I covered the ingredients in Everclear alcohol and waited three weeks, shaking the jar daily. Then, I transferred the finished tincture to small eyedropper bottles. 

Sunday evening, Ed and I did a taste test between our homemade bitters and two others that we just happen to have in our liquor cabinet: Fee Brothers Orange Bitters and the classic Angostura Aromatic Bitters. Not to brag, but we were both impressed by how well the Farm Dover version stood up to these industry standards. Ours tasted like tropical oranges with spicy overtones. The Fee Brothers was much more floral; the Angostura, more herbal. 

According to this article in Wine Magazine, you can think of bitters as the salt and pepper of a cocktail. One or two dashes can drastically change the flavor profile of a drink. Something magical happens when you add bitters to a Manhattan, Martini, Old Fashioned, Negroni (or any number of other cocktails): the nuances of flavor bloom and the cocktail tastes slightly drier, more balanced, and complex. 

You can also use bitters as a digestive aid, letting a few drops sit on your tongue before or immediately after a meal to improve gallbladder and liver functions. Alternatively, a dropper full can be added to sparkling water for a barely alcoholic beverage.

Whether we end up using our bitters to augment the flavor of our favorite cocktails or simply for their health benefits, it was easy to make our own version. Cheers to a delicious cocktail and to good health! 

One pumpkin goes a long way...

It all started earlier this month when my three sisters came to lunch at Farm Dover. The four of us had not been together in far too long. We had a lot of catching up to do and did so over bowls of Pumpkin Black-Bean Soup that Sister Kathy had made. It was delicious: rich and hearty, earthy and warm. 

Fast forward three weeks and I was still thinking about that soup. I was also getting tired of looking at a giant pumpkin that grew in my garden and had taken up residence on my kitchen counter.  It was time to take action (and the timing was perfect as Son-in-law Nate had sharpened all of my knives while we waited for the turkey to cook on Thanksgiving.)

Last night, I sliced the pumpkin in half and scooped out the seeds. The pumpkin was so large that I had to roast half of it at a time. It produced A LOT of pumpkin flesh. 

With the first half, I made a large pot of Kathy's soup and froze three jars of pumpkin purée, each containing enough to make a future pot of soup. 

The roasted second half was designated for pumpkin butter which I use in my pumpkin pie recipe. The pureed pumpkin was added to my slow cooker, along with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger. I now have enough frozen to make a half dozen or more pies. All I need to do is add eggs, milk and cream and bake it in a pie shell. 

Too bad I only think of making this pie once a year at Thanksgiving....

And, the seeds were roasted as a thank you to Nate for his knife-sharpening session. 

My basement freezer is now full of pumpkin purée and spiced pumpkin butter. I'm all set until next year. 

I can't quite give up planting lots of pumpkins. They are easy to grow, fun to let little ones pick, and interesting to cook...but just one for me, thank you; it goes a long way.

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Pumpkin Black-Bean Soup

Serves: An army (well maybe more like 12 people). Great to freeze for a later date.

INGREDIENTS

3 15-ounce cans black beans, rinsed and drained

2 15-ounce cans of diced tomatoes

1 small onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

5 teaspoons ground cumin

2 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/2 stick unsalted butter

3 cups vegetable or beef broth

2 cups pumpkin purée (canned is fine, just make sure it is plain purée -- not pie filling)

1-1/2 cups red wine

PREPARATION

In a food processor or with an emersion blender, coarsely puée beans and tomatoes. 

In a 6-quart heavy pot cook onion, garlic, cumin, salt and pepper in butter over moderate heat, stirring until onion is softened. 

Stir in bean purée. 

Stir in broth, pumpkin and wine until combined and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally for 25 minutes or until thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. 

Serve topped with roasted pumpkin seeds.

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Pumpkin Pie

INGREDIENTS

1 (9-inch) unbaked pie crust

2 cups of pumpkin butter (see recipe below)

3/4 cup whole milk

3/4 cup heavy cream

3 large eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

PREPARATION

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Blind bake the crust by lining it with parchment paper and filling with pie weights or dried beans. Bake until the edges just start to brown, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove the weights and lining and bake for another 5 minutes. Remove from the oven. 

Whisk the pumpkin butter into the milk, cream and eggs and then add vanilla. 

Fill the pie crust. If it looks like there is too much filling for the curst, stop when you come close to the edge of the crust.

Transfer the pie to the hot oven and immediately turn down the heat to 375 degrees. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes -- until the pie is puffed in the middle, but still jiggles when you gently shake the pan. Let the pie cool before serving -- it will continue to set as it cools. 

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Slow Cooker Pumpkin Butter

INGREDIENTS

7 cups of pumpkin purée (or three 15 oz. cans of 100% pumpkin purée)

2.5 cups of brown sugar packed

1.5 cups of apple juice (or cider)

1.5 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1 dash of salt

PREPARATION

Add the pumpkin purée, brown sugar, apple juice, spices and salt to slow cooker. Stir until combined. Cover and cook on LOW for 4 hours or HIGH for 2 hours. 

Stir once the pumpkin butter is cooked. Cool before spooning into jars. Refrigerate for up to two weeks or freeze for up to 12 months. If freezing, leave an inch of room at the top of the jars. 

Bloom where you're planted (or randomly scattered)

Mother Nature works in strange ways, always asserting her will; sometimes against mine. Most times we work in tandem: She providing the her life-giving and nurturing force and me providing the sweat and tears of bringing my garden produce to fruition. 

Somehow a single viable seed made its way from our compost bin into our strawberry bed. I suspect it was in the humus Ed spread over the raised bed in the spring of 2020. There it lay for more than a year, before deciding to break out of its seed coat and put down a slender root and then a shoot, which turned into a vine and leaves. Since I had nothing to do with the appearance of this sprawling vine, I didn’t know what fruit this mysterious vine would produce. 

In June, large yellow flowers appeared and our trusty honey bees took it from there, transferring pollen from the male flowers to the stigma of the female ones. Baby melons of some sort began to grow, and grow, and grow. They looked like cantaloupe; they smelled like cantaloupe. Last week, I harvested the first of three melons. 

I kept my expectations low as I sliced it open. Yep, it was a cantaloupe, alright. Its deep orange flesh tasted better than anything we’ve ever bought at Kroger, or even at a farmers’ market. I immediately became a proud cantaloupe mom, showing off this gorgeous thing that came out of my garden. (I had to be reminded that I had nothing to do with this amazing garden offspring.)

We ate it for breakfast, for lunch, and for dinner. I bragged about it to my kids. 

Mary (who doesn’t even like cantaloupe) sent me a link to a New York Times recipe for No-Bake Melon Cheesecake Bars. Sounded weird, but I happened to have graham crackers leftover from a s’more campfire and a bar of cream cheese and two packets of gelatin, which I keep on hand for Swedish Creams. I was in business — and 20 minutes later — a square pan of cantaloupe-colored cheesecake was chilling in the fridge. 

I’m pleased to report: it was delicious. Ed says its "rich, but not too sweet -- a great summer dessert." I had it for dinner, and the next day for breakfast and lunch. 

Ed saved some seeds from our mystery melon and I’m planning to grow cantaloupes next season and add this dessert to our summer must-haves. 

___________

No-Bake Melon Cheesecake Bars

Adapted only slightly from The New York Times. Recipe by Eric Kim. Yield: 16 bars. Time: 20 minutes, plus 6 hours for chilling.

FOR THE CRUST:

• 7 ounces/269 grams graham crackers (about 14 whole crackers)
• ½ cup/115 grams unsalted butter, melted
• 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
• ½ teaspoon kosher salt (Diamond Crystal)

FOR THE FILLING:

• 2 (1/4-ounce/7-gram) packets powdered gelatin (about 5 teaspoons)
• 1 ¼ pounds/566 grams peeled cantaloupe, diced (about 3 cups)
• 1 (8-ounce/226-gram) package cream cheese, at room temperature
• ½ cup/100 grams granulated sugar
• ¼ teaspoon kosher salt (Diamond Crystal)
• ½ cup/120 milliliters heavy whipping cream
•  Honey, for drizzling (optional)

PREPARATION

1. Prepare the crust: Place the graham crackers in a resealable plastic bag. Close the bag and, using a rolling pin, heavy can or other blunt object, crush the graham crackers into a coarse rubble. To the bag, add the melted butter, sugar and salt, and mix thoroughly.

1. Transfer the crumbs to an 8- or 9-inch square baking pan and press into the bottom of the pan with your hands, forming a thick, sturdy base. Place in the freezer to set while you make the filling.

1. Make the filling: In a small bowl or measuring cup, stir together 1/4 cup cold tap water and the gelatin. Let sit to bloom. Meanwhile, use a blender to purée the cantaloupe, cream cheese, sugar and salt until smooth.

1. Heat the cream in a small saucepan on the stovetop over medium heat until simmering at the edges or in a small bowl in the microwave until hot to the touch, 45 to 60 seconds on high. Add the bloomed gelatin to the hot cream and stir vigorously until smooth. Transfer the cream to the blender and blend with the cantaloupe until smooth.

1. Take the pan out of the freezer and pour the filling over the graham cracker crust. Cover and refrigerate until set, at least 6 hours or up to overnight. Cut into bars and serve, drizzled with honey, if you like.

• 
  

Crash Went the Crock Pot

There was a thunderous crash inside the house. I was in the study. Ed was in the living room. We both left our posts to make sure the other was okay. We were. But our decade-old crock pot was not. For some unexplainable reason, it had heaved itself off the cabinet shelf and crashed down onto the kitchen floor, shattering its ceramic insert. 

We tried to find a replacement insert, but the pot was so old that even the replacements had been discontinued. I thought about not replacing it; I don't like a bunch of specialty appliances sitting around, taking up space. But, I’m a huge fan of using a crockpot for a few things: overnight chicken broth, apple sauce, pumpkin butter -- once I even rendered lard in it. 

After much internal debate and consultation with Maggie and Mary, I ended up ordering an Instant Pot, a programmable pressure and multi-cooker. The one I chose is a 10-in-1 pot that supposedly is a sauté/searing pan, pressure cooker, slow cooker, rice/porridge cooker, cake maker, sous vide cooker, yogurt maker, steamer, warmer and sterilizer. Think of it as the Swiss Army Knife of kitchen appliances. In reality, it feels a bit like buying a fancy car with so many bells and whistles that you never figure them all out. Oh well, the Instant Pot arrived this week and I set to experimenting with it.

So far, I've made rice, ham and bean soup, dried lima beans which I turned into this amazing hummus, beets, new potatoes, boiled eggs,  and steel-cut oatmeal. Do I love it? Not yet. But I can see where it might earn its place in my kitchen.

Here's the thing about an Instant Pot: You load it up with ingredients, seal the lid with a little twist, and press a button. The contraption then warms up, cooks the food with pressure and then decompresses the contents. Only then can you unseal the lid and peek inside at your cooked food. 

This process doesn't really mesh with how I like to cook. I don't usually follow a recipe, but rather cook intuitively, watching for the magical transformation of ingredients. What's going on in that pot on my stove? Does it need a lower flame, a handful of herbs or spices, or more salt? What does it sound and smell like? How does it taste? Adjust. Adjust. Adjust.

So I don't think an Instant Pot will be my method of choice for my day-to-day cooking. Rather, I think I will grow to like it for dried beans and lentils, for rice and grains, for boiled eggs, for broths. 

Do you have one? How do you use it? Do tell. I'm all ears...

 

Welcoming in a Happier New Year

As I'm sure you know by now, I love to concoct homemade beverages – alcoholic or not – everything from milkweed and elderflower cordials to elderberry gin to wine made with green walnuts. Some are tastier than others; all are fun to make.

For Christmas, friend Alisa gave me a small book called "Blotto Botany," which has a whole section on making bitters. I can't wait to try to make some in this new year. Before I could even figure out which bitters to try first, I was sidetracked by another recipe that I came across on Gardenista, one of my favorite blogs. The article was about how to make homemade orange-spiced wine. 

The recipe looked simple enough. I had all the ingredients except for two bottles of not-expensive Sauvignon Blanc wine, which Ed picked up this week at our local Kroger wine shop. All I had to do was open the bottles and bring their contents to a boil, along with a half cup of sugar, a quarter cup of Grand Marnier and the same amount of Sambuca. I then added 4 bay leaves and 8 whole cloves. While the mixture was coming to a boil, I carefully peeled the zest from four oranges, trying hard to keep the peel in one long spiral. 

Sister Julie had recently given me four recycled bottles. I stuffed a spiral into each of the bottles and then filled them with the hot mixture, making sure each bottle also contained one bay leaf and two cloves. I left them uncorked to cool while I went to work on labels. 

Last night, Ed and I uncorked a very chilled bottle of the stuff to ring out the old year and welcome in a happier new year. We took a sip. It was delicious. We polished off the bottle. (Don't worry: it only amounted to two glasses each.)

Although its ingredients included Sambuca, an anise-flavored Italian liqueur, it didn't have any hint of a licorice-like taste. So, if you think you don't like anise, don't be put off from trying this. 

The bottles should be kept chilled and consumed within a month – but if you like it as much as we did, that won't be a problem. 

Cheers to a happier year!

Do you think I'm bored?

Actually, I'm not. There is always something interesting happening around Farm Dover. Sometimes it just takes a weird sense of humor to see it.... 

Sweet potato bunny munching on a carrot

Cushaw squash peering into my garden.

Dancing carrot man

Dancing carrot woman

Making Wine with Green Walnuts

I can often be found in the kitchen brewing up an assortment of strange foraged concoctions such as milkweed or elderflower cordials, elderberry gin, blackberry syrup or various herb vinegars. Ed joined me recently, taking the lead on the latest libation: vin de noix, otherwise known as green walnut wine. 

He was inspired by the main character in a detective novel. Bruno is chief of police in a small village in the south of France. He lives in a restored shepherd's cottage, shops at the local market, and makes his own vin de noix. What? Makes his own what? 

Turns out vin de noix is a home decoction obtained by macerating green walnuts in wine and vodka for 40 days and then bottling it and waiting until December 1 to partake. Known since the sixteenth century for its therapeutic qualities, today it is consumed as an aperitif or digestif. Sounds like our cup of tea!

The one thing we have plenty of at Farm Dover is walnuts. We've planted a field of 100+ black walnut trees and there are hundreds (maybe thousands!) of native ones growing all over the farm. The walnuts for this recipe need to be picked while they are still green and milky with very tender kernals. In France, the green nuts are traditionally picked on the Fete de la Saint-Jean-Baptiste, celebrated on June 24. 

So Ed picked the green walnuts back in late June and set to making the liqueur. For the past 40 days, the inky black infusion has been stored in a dark cabinet in our laundry room. Every couple of days, we'd give it a stir. 

Turns out versions of this drink are produced throughout Europe. Italy has a walnut liquor called nocino, made with alcohol, but no wine.  And Jack's girlfriend Kasia sent me a secret recipe from her grandfather in Poland who makes a vodka-based version, that includes caramel. Next June we will put it to the taste test.

Back to our walnut wine experiment... Last week, Ed strained the walnuts out of the liquor and bottled it. Stay tuned for the uncorking on December 1. It is recommended that it be served ice cold with a mandelbrot, biscotti or buttery cookie. Especially nice in front of a crackling fire. Sounds tasty, doesn't it?

Vin de Noix
Makes 6 liters

recipe from Cathy Barrow

40 young, green walnuts
1 liter vodka
5 bottles of red wine 
2 pounds sugar
Zest of 1 orange
Quartered lemon
4 cloves
1 vanilla bean, split

Gather the walnuts in late June when the nuts are well formed, but can still be pierced with a needle. Soak the nuts in cool water for 1  hour.  Drain, dry and quarter.

Place all of the ingredients in an non-reactive container with a lid.  Stir well to begin to dissolve the sugar. 

Store in a cool dark place for 40 days, stirring occasionally.

Strain through cheesecloth into a very large non-reactive bowl or food-safe bucket. Taste, and adjust the sugar if you want the drink to be sweeter. It will be a little harsh tasting, but will mellow as it ages.

Funnel the wine into quart jars. Store in a cool dark place until December 1st.

Seeking Marital Bliss

It's a good thing Ed and I get along, or this 130+ days of sheltering in place would get even older than it is getting. We rarely quarrel, but I must confess that there is one thing that we can't seem to agree on. And it's causing angst in our marriage.



The problem is: I love a good fruit crisp. One with lots of fruit and a fairly thick layer of crunchy oats, brown sugar, and almonds, bound together with some butter. One like the one found on page 689 of Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone.

I love to make crisps with the gallons and gallons of wild blackberries that we pick each July. And every time I make one and bring it to the table. Ed says: "This is good, but some people prefer a cobbler." He is one of them; I am not.

What was wrong with him? I continued to make crisps. 

But then I started to wonder if perhaps he was right and that maybe I could learn to love a good cobbler. Was I just being stubborn? So I turned to page 691 of the above-mentioned cookbook and made a cobbler. Ed was thrilled; me less so. I just don't like the cakey topping.

I then conducted a survey. I asked Jack which he preferred, secretly trying to line the kids up on my side. Without hesitation, he said, "I prefer a pie."

And that got me to thinking. Perhaps the solution for our impasse was to find a solution we could both agree on. So, today I made a clafoutis, a 19th-century french dessert that traditionally uses black cherries. My version featured Farm Dover wild blackberries nestled in a thick flan-like batter. (Technically, when other kinds of fruit are used instead of cherries, the dish is properly call a flaugnarde.) It was super simple to make.

I'm planning to serve it tonight, but snuck a bite out of the skillet while it was still warm. Not as good, in my opinion as a crisp, but much better than a cobbler. I think it might work for us and allow us to get back to our normal state of marital bliss.

If not, I could always try a Brown Betty, a buckle, a grunt, hand pie, slump or pandowdy.  I'm willing to work on saving our marriage thru baking and Ed says he is willing to give it a go as well. Wish us luck.

____________________

Farm Dover Blackberry Clafoutis
(loosely based on recipe by David Lebovitz)

ingredients

Enough blackberries (or other berries) to cover the bottom of a 11-inch cast iron skillet or other similar sized shallow baking dish
3 large eggs
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon almond extract (optional)
1/2 cup plus 3 tablespoons sugar
1 1/3 cup whole milk
Soften butter, for preparing the baking dish

procedure

1. Preheat the oven to 375ºF. Smear a 2-quart shallow baking dish or cast-iron skillet liberally with butter. 

2. Lay blackberries in a single layer in the baking dish.

3. Using an immersion blender, mix the eggs, flour, vanilla and almond extracts, 1/2 cup sugar and milk together until smooth.

4. Pour the batter over the blackberries and sprinkle fruit and batter with 3 tablespoons of sugar.

5. Bake the clafoutis until the custard is just set; a knife polked in the center should emerge relatively clean. It will take about 45 minutes. 

When time is on your side

More than 100 days into the Time of Corona, we are still hunkered down. Yes, we venture out, but only occasionally. When we are away from Farm Dover, we find ourselves anxious to get back home – back to where we feel safe. Fortunately, I like it here.

Other than a handful of takeout lunches, our meals are created from whatever we have on hand or can harvest from the garden or forage from the woods and fields. Since I'm not cooking for a crowd, our meals tend to be quite simple. Sometimes only anchovy butter on sour dough toast, or carrots roasted and served with a carrot-top pesto, an Ottolenghi omelette, or asparagus from our patch cooked every which way I can think of. 

Most nights I wander into the kitchen while Ed watches the local news. If I don't have a pre-conceived notion of what I want to fix for dinner, I putter around until I come up with a plan. Rarely do I spend more than an hour cooking dinner; most nights, half that amount. It's time I enjoy, creative and stress-free for me.

One of the many strange outcomes of this strange time is that my notion of cooking has shifted ever so slightly. Because I'm home all day, it seems I'm more willing to invest in dishes that require time, in some cases, lots of time. But they don't necessarily require my constant attention; they mostly transform into something delicious on their own over a matter of hours, or even days. Call it kitchen alchemy, a seemingly magical process.

Let me give you some examples. Three come from a blog post: The 20 Greatest Recipes of All Time. Granted this was just one person's opinion, but the list intrigued me. I had already made a handful of Ms. Rosenstrach's nominations and I agreed that they were awfully good. I chose three new ones to try – each requiring a significant commitment of time. I was curious to see if it was worth it. And, as you know, I had lots of time on my side.

The first was Marcella Hazan's Bolognese Sauce, reprinted in the New York Times, which notes a total time requirement of four hours. But then I read through all the reader comments and discovered that the real magic happens sometime between hours 5 and 6, when the classic meat sauce turns sublime. All the recipe requires of me is to let it cook at "the laziest of simmers" and to give it a stir every hour or so. I almost never follow a recipe exactly, but both times I've made this, I have followed it to a T and can't think of how I might alter it. It is perfect, as is.

The second was David Chang's Bo Ssam, a dish from his famous New York restaurant: Momofuku. It's a slow-cooked pork shoulder with an insane caramelized crust, served in lettuce wraps with Korean-inspired condiments. I know, sounds weird. The recipe calls for marinating the pork for six hours in a sugar/salt brine and then cooking it for six hours. I did not follow the recipe exactly as I did not have any fresh oysters or cabbage kimchi. I did made some pickled radishes to go along with the sweet chili sauce and ginger scallion sauce and I did serve it in lettuce wraps. Maggie, Nate and Hazel were out visiting and I served it for dinner. It was a hit! Delicious and fun to eat. I placed the pork in the middle of the table on a giant cutting board and we each customized our wraps. Next time, I think I could cook the pork roast in a crock pot for the first six hours and finish it in a 500-degree oven for the last 10 minutes to get a crisp, sweet crust. I only made this once, but it will be on repeat whenever we can host dinners again.

The third entrée was a classic Japanese fish preparation made famous by the chef Nobu Matsuhisa. The recipe calls for soaking a black cod filet for three days in a four-ingredient miso marinade. It does require some specialty Japanese ingredients, which Maggie fortunately had in her pantry: sake, mirin, and white miso paste. But, it only takes 10 minutes to cook. I used sea bass instead of black cod, but any high-fat fish would work. I served it with some bok choy and rice. So simple. Foolproof and very impressive.

There are some other recipes that I have made in the past 100+ days that also require some time commitments. In particular, this Shockingly Easy Foccccia and this Homemade Naan were ones I'll make again and again.

I had always shied away from recipes that required marinating, yeast, or long stove-top cooking times, but, if anything, this time at home has taught me that sometimes really good things come to those who wait and, with a little kitchen alchemy – and plenty of time – seemingly magical things can happen.

Post-Turkey Post

Thanksgiving may well be my favorite holiday. No gifts, no special decorations, a day (or two) spent puttering in the kitchen, gathering around the table with my beloveds, being filled with gratitude for the abundance in our lives. All good stuff(ing). Plus there are the leftovers....

I will admit that the traditional menu doesn't really send me. It just seems a bit too – I don't know – traditional? But I can't imagine changing it up much; I think there would be a riot at the table. So every year, I make the usual: turkey, dressing (two kinds), mashed turnips/potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, homemade gravy, some kind of green salad, and pies. The more pies, the better.

And every year, I offer something new -- just to keep me on my game and keep my family in a state of wonder.

This year found three new things on/at our table.

First, I made a batch of cranberry shrub, based on David Lebovitz's recipe, and turned it into a festive cocktail with the addition of a jigger of vodka, a few shakes of orange bitters, a splash of orange liquor, topped with some ice and seltzer water. The shrub – even without alcohol – was lovely when mixed with some bubble water.  The cider vinegar taste comes through strongly; I found it refreshing, and sipped on it all afternoon while putting the finishing touches on our meal.

The second new thing: A couple of hours before we sat down to our feast, I served up small cups of creamy chestnut soup with cheese crackers.  The chestnuts were foraged from our Chinese Chestnut trees, four of which line the drive up near the house. I roasted them in my oven, but just as easily could have roasted them – as the song says – over an open fire. If you don't happen to have any chestnut trees handy, you can buy a bag of fresh chestnuts at Whole Foods in the produce section or, you can skip the whole roasting and peeling experience and buy a jar of steamed chestnuts.

Once roasted and peeled, the soup easily comes together. It features shiitake mushrooms (in addition to the chestnuts), lending it a sweet and earthy flavor. So good, I'm planning a repeat appearance at  Christmastime.

And the final new thing at our table this year was: Hazel! Technically, she was here last year, but she was only two weeks old. We spent the entire meal passing her around, barely noticing the turkey and all the fixings.

One year ago...

This year, she fully participated, especially enjoying the pumpkin pie and apple/cherry slab pie with extra whipped cream.

So very thankful.

__________________

Just so I have a record of the recipes that I used this year, here's the menu and some links.

Appetizers
Parmesan and Thyme Crackers
Cranberry Shrub Cocktail

Mains and Sides
Dry-brined Turkey with Roasted Onions
Chipotle Smashed Sweet Potatoes
Lee Davis' Mashed Turnips and Potatoes
Herb and Apple Bread Pudding
Oyster Dressing
Sauteed French Green Beans
Brussels Sprouts, Apple and Pomegranate Salad

Desserts
Pumpkin Pie (featuring Farm Dover Pumpkin Butter)
Apple and Cherry Slab Pie