Designing a soup

Before I start writing about the theme above, I want to make a comment and let you all know something that is coming.

Today, while walking to my doctor's office, I saw a book in a window titled "Cooking for Dummies."

You might well imagine, I found this title offensive. It strikes me as implying that there are people who are good at cooking and there are people who aren't. I don't believe that. I think I am a pretty good cook. I know there are people who are more imaginative, better trained, smarter cooks than I am. But I do not think for one minute that there are people who are not good at cooking. If you aren't interested in cooking, or it bores you, that's one thing. But if you cook, you're good at it. How many of you have cooked a meal that killed someone? There, that's just what I thought. There are no dummies in the kitchen, there are only the inexperienced and the hesitant. And what this is all about is trying to take you out of that. Well, I ordered a copy of the book, and expect my "unbiased review" soon.

So today, I'm going to introduce you to a more complex, somewhat more time consuming style of making soup. I first got this idea from the wonderful Ina Garten. I met her in Berkeley once. As I am a bit formal, I introduced myself and referred to her as "Ms. Garten." She smiled and said "if you use my recipes, you should be calling me Ina." YES!!!! If it weren't politically incorrect to say it, I'd say "Ina, you're a true broad. " Those of my age will know what I mean.

Anyway, Ina has a recipe in one of her books for a roasted autumn vegetable soup. I'm going to give you one for WINTER vegetables, even though, technically, it's not winter yet.

Winter vegetables, to me, include things like onions, carrots, parsnips, potatoes. Note that they're all root vegetables, stuff that survives a freeze, and gets sweeter as a result. Today, at the farmer's market, I was absolutely floored by how beautiful they looked: white parsnips, orange carrots, red onions, kale with its beautiful blue green cast, potatoes, and others. No, there is nothing boring about winter vegetables.

This soup is essentially a guideline for how I make it. You should feel free to substitute in what vegetables you like.

Something to keep in mind: winter vegetables tend to be sweet. And the process of roasting brings out sugars. So you will want to balance that sweetness with plenty of salt and savory ingredients. I use duck confit in this recipe. It's easy to find in NY, but if you don't have it, use meatballs. Or chicken. Or turkey. Or anything you like.

First, get your oven HOT. By hot, I mean about 450 degrees. Let it sit at that temperature for about 20 minutes. You'll use that time to prep your vegetables. If it's a veggie that needs to be pared, like a carrot or a parsnip, do that. Peel the onions and carrots. Clean up leeks if you're using them, just prep the vegetable as if you were going to cook it as a vegetable "per se." Now, put them all in a big bowl and be lavish with salt and olive oil. Get your hands in there and turn everything until they're all coated with oil and salt. Then, lay everything out on a baking sheet, trying to make sure that everything is in contact with the metal. Start roasting, for about ten minutes. After ten minutes, turn them. And after that second ten minute roast, check to make sure they're soft, and brown and beautiful. If they're not, keep roasting. When they're done, remove the tray and let it cool. All in all, you want to start with between 4 and 6 cups of raw veggies.

While that's happening, get your duck confit ready. I use three legs, but use more or less as you see fit. Confit, strictly speaking is already "cooked," i.e., it's been poached or cured in fat. It's very rich. But you'll probably want to crisp it up. To do that, get a nonstick pan, if you have one ready, by putting in the tiniest amount of oil (yes, the duck is rich and fatty, but the oil will help get the thing going). Lay the confit legs in the pan, and bring up the heat to medium. You'll hear a wonderful spattering and smell an even more wonderful odor. As they brown, turn them. And when both sides are browned, take them out of the pan and drain them.

Now, here's the part that I hate: when the duck confit is cool... rip away the skin and toss it. Or, save it to make duck cracklings (YES!!!!!). Simply shred the meat from the bone, looking for pieces that are small enough to eat with one mouthful.

When your vegetables are cool enough to handle, puree them with some cold chicken stock until you get a nice, thick puree (I think that in France they call this gabure, and eat it as it is. And it IS wonderful). Take a look: is it too thick for you? If it is, add some more stock or some water. Then put your shredded duckmeat in, and you are DONE.

This is a truly wonderful and satisfying main dish soup. Put out some serious bread, like a good peasant sour dough rye, and you are in business for a nice informal dinner, need I say it, with a friend or two.

And I have to thank Chuck, Kevin's partner, for the inspiration for this soup. Chuck made roasted autumn vegetable soup once for me, several years ago. I have never forgotten that golden yellow orange soup as we ate it before Kevin's beef tenderloin. That color, golden yellow orange, is one that I will always associate with "sunflower Chuck." It's not a bad thing.

Simple Ain't Easy: Lettuce Salad

Watch how this brings together many of the people who I love. It's fun.

Occasionally, someone will ask me something along the lines of "what's the most difficult dish for you to prepare?" I always answer the same way "green salad." Then they laugh, and they ask again "no, really, what's the hardest thing you do?" And I answer again "making a green salad."

At first blush, "simple" green salad looks like the easiest thing in the world to put together. And it MUST be easy, since every restaurant in the world serves it.

Ok, let's have a show of hands. How many of your can remember the last GOOD green salad you had in a restaurant?

Just as I thought. A truly excellent green salad should make you feel like you're eating something ALIVE!!!! The greens should burst, with crispness, in your mouth. the dressing should be balanced perfectly so the richness of the oil plays against the vinegar, and the salt, and you should feel SATISFIED when you finish it.

Now I'm talking about a basic green salad. I'm not talking about salad with chicken in it, or cheese, or with a heavy dressing. No, just lettuce, olive oil, vinegar and salt. How hard good it be?

Go in and make one now. And get back to me.


I dont' remember the best green salad I ever had, but I remember the worst one. It was in Indianapolis. At a very high end restaurant. Salad came with the meal, no charge. That should have been my first clue. I saw it served to other tables, dripping in dressing. So I asked if I could have my dressing on the side. The waitress looked extremely nonplussed. Then she disappeared. After fifteen minutes, she came back with the manager, who was young enough to be my son, who told me that they COULD do it but they'd have to charge me for it, because all of their salad had been made SIX HOURS EARLIER and it was already dressed when it got to the restaurant . YUCH. So I said no thanks. And they couldn't understand why I didn't want my free salad.

Free food that doesn't taste good is NOT free. Never forget that.

So, now let's get to the heart of the matter. How do I make my salads? I make one every single night. Sometimes it's better than other times. Sometimes it's celestial. And sometimes it's ok. Even though it's always the same ingredients, maybe with one additive as there was tonight (coming to that below). I take "more lettuce than I think we can eat," and separate the leaves. I soak them in a salad spinner in cold water, with ice in the receptacle underneath the holder for the lettuce. After about ten minutes, I drain it, and then I do something that is controversial among high end cooks: I DO in fact spin the lettuce dry. I don't do it hard, but I do it. Many chefs feel that this damages the lettuce, and that it should be dried on clean towels.

Be my guest.

While the lettuce is soaking, I prepare my dressing, in the serving bowl (something I only learned to do this year.). It's almost always champagne vinegar or cider vinegar. I don't measure. I put some in, and then I add salt, and stir it until it's dissolved. You HAVE to do it this way, because once you put in the oil, the salt will not dissolve. I take a look at the vinegar, and again, eyeball about 4 times as much olive oil. T his is a "compromise" between two schools of thought. The classic vinaigrette recipe calls for three parts oil to one part vinegar. I used to do this, but as I've gotten older, it feels harsh to me. The great Elizabeth David said that she couldn't consider eating a salad where the ratio wasn't at least 5 to 1, and preferably more. Then I put the lettuce right into the dressing and toss it. If no one is looking, I use my hands.

I have to go back and tell you. Choose your greens carefully. When you buy them, do they look alive and vibrant and healthy? If they do, buy them. S tick to smaller leaves that you don't have to cut or tear to get in your mouth. Use lettuce, use arugula, use chicories like radicchio, but taste your greens if you're mixing. A salad of only bitter greens like arugula and radicchio is nearly impossible to eat. I suggest one bitter one to any salad . Maybe radicchio with baby romaine, or argula instead, or something like that.

After you've tossed the salad, if you want, add ONE but ONLY ONE "auxiliary ingredient. (Ok, maybe two). Tonight, when I came home, a box of fruit had arrived from Kim at Ripe To You. The more I know Kim, the more I'm convinced she reads minds. We were out of satsuma mandarins. Somehow, she knew.... and the box did have satsumas, but the beautiful surprise was the first page mandarins of the season. I peeled three of them, and sliced them into slightly thickish rings, and put them on top of the greens, together with a handful of sliced scallions. Other combinations? How about persimmons and nuts? Or pomegranate seeds by themselves? or slices of pear with a little good cheese? Or apples with bacon. Just promise me you'll choose the best ingredients you can find. And of course, most of the time, it should just be the greens and you.

Playing against the stuffed cabbage from Tati's recipe, it was a wonderful contrast, and delicious in and of itself.

People will reveal themselves as lovers of good food by how they react to your salads. If you make a good one, pay attention to what your guests do. The triad of young ones, Matt, Peter and Keith, all of whom you've met in this blog, endeared themselves to me by cleaning their salad plates and even asking for seconds. If I didn't love them for other reasons, this would push me over the top. My friend August will say something like "nice, but the arugula is more alive than the romaine, don't you think?" He's PAYING ATTENTION, the most important part of eating.

So spend some time. Make a good salad. I bet you feel so tempted to eat it that you start pulling leaves out of the bowl before you serve it. And why shouldn't you? You made it. You should get the best part.

If you get out of the habit of treating salad as an adjunct to what you're making, and something as important as the rest of the meal, you'll be on your way to being a good, serious, thoughtful cook. And you will know who your "foodie" friends are.

Eat with your friends: Keith , this is for you

A few weeks ago, my friend Peter (one of the three amazing young ones in my life right now), asked me what is the most important thing in my life. It was not a hard question to answer. If we are both in town, which is most of the time, the single most important thing in my life is sitting down to a meal with my partner at night. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don't. But whether we do or not, and regardless of the mood, there is a magic in the air that is not sexual, not sensual, but spiritual.

"There is more than a communion of bodies when bread is broken and wine is drunk" wrote the great MFK Fisher. And indeed, she is right. Trying to put your finger on what it is, is like trying to find out what makes a butterfly so beautiful by taking it apart and examining its parts. Or by taking music apart, note by note, to try to figure out why you like one piece, and not another. So don't try to figure it out. But just compare the experience of sharing a meal with one or more people you truly love, and eating by yourself. You've been there. So , why do we spend so much time eating alone?

I think we're embarrassed. We think that what we put on the table won't be good enough, won't be impressive enough, or our friends won't want to make the trip to spend the time with us. Well, not making the trip every night is ONE thing. Making it once in a while is another. If they're your friends, they will find time. Trust me. And why do you think what you put on the table won't be good enough? If you're insecure about your own abilities, then buy something, put it on the table, and share it. It's the sharing that matters more than anything else. If you ignore every single recipe in this blog, don't ignore this thought : share your meals. Share them whenever you can.

I'm dedicating this thought to another one of the three young ones, Keith. Keith took me to lunch not that long ago. For no reason other than to have lunch together. Nothing romantic (maybe there was. I HATE the fact that 'romantic' has taken on the meaning of sexual, so ok, nothing sexual), just a friendly, chatty lunch. And we're going to do it again.

Keith is taking major steps forward in his life, and I want to help. I don't know how much more I have to offer but friendship and recipes, and so I'm giving a recipe for Keith, who should be cooking for people. No ifs, ands or buts.

This is a recipe that is very simple, and at the same time, very very elegant. Keith is not simple, but he is basic. And he IS elegant, in the truest sense of the word. So Keith, my young friend, this is for you. Try it on yourself, or better yet, try it on me, and then go forward. I think you'll enjoy it.

You need a fillet or other nice sized piece of a white fleshed fish. I used pollack, but you could use cod, or monkfish, or anything like that. Salt it on both sides. Get a big pot filled with about an inch or two of water, and then put a steamer basket into it. If you don't have a steamer basket, use anything flat that will hold your fish. And if you're doing it for a lot of people, do it in batches. Put a lid over the pot, lower the heat, and let it go for about 8 minutes.

While that is happening, make your sauce. You need about a quarter cup of citrus juice. I had yuzus in the house from the Citrus gang, but they are not a staple of stores everywhere. Use lemon juice, use orange juice, or be more creative and use grapefruit juice or tangerine (Keith, you should use tangerine or clementine or something like that. It wil suit you). Get that juice into a small sauce pan, and bring it to a simmer. Then, start adding six tablespoons of unsalted butter, little by little, waiting until each piece melts until you add the next one. Taste it, and season it.

Plate the fish, and don't worry if it breaks apart. You're with friends, remember? Then spoon some of the sauce over each portion.

There's a main course you can make in fifteen minutes. We had it with couscous (which takes ten minutes out of the box, following the directions), and broccoli sauteed with garlic.

C'mon Keith. Invite me over. I'm there . And congratulations and good luck.

Quinces

I have been writing, periodically, about difficult vegetables. It did not dawn on me, until this past weekend, that there might be a difficult fruit or two. I thought of coconuts, but honestly, I do not use them very often. Sticking to local as I try to do, coconuts just do not feature in my cooking all that much. When they do, I'm using the grated stuff to make a sorbet, or for cookies, or something like that.

Quinces, however, are somewhat dear to my heart. When I was growing up, there was a wild quince tree in the hospital grounds, where I worked. Their interesting shape and their fragrance fascinated me. As did the fact that no one seemed to know what to do with them, except the birds. Years later, when I found boxes of these large, apple shaped fruit at farmers markets, and smelled their indescribable and lovely perfume, I had to learn about them.

What I learned is that quinces have been around for a long, long time. They originated in the Mid East, where they are still treated with proper reverence, as both savories, and sweets. They were popular in England, where they were used for making jelly, either on their own, or as additives to other fruits (quinces have some of the highest pectin levels of all fruits). The trees were brought to America, and apparently, they were a "godsend," because quinces mature late. They're around when apples and pears are, and because they keep better than both of these, they serve multiple purposes. One of their cosmetic purposes has been to add scent to the linens of "ladies of leisure." I learned that a quince was put in the dresser where milady would keep her sheets and dainties, to add a lovely, light aroma to all.

So why do I consider these a difficult fruit? Bite into one - WAIT DON'T. If you bite into a raw quince, you will probably break a tooth. And if you don't break the tooth, you will nonetheless have a mouthful of bitter, mealy, nasty white flesh with a brownish tint that will make you think "what is all the fuss about?"

Quinces do not give up their secrets easily. They have to be cooked, and cooked slowly. If you cook them slowly, at a low temperature, you will get something with a beautiful, pale pink color. If you cook them slowly, for a very long time, you will get this brilliant red color that is astonishing. I think that is what first attracted me to them. I love bright sparklies, and slices of quince candy are bright red and translucent. And they are easy to prepare, although they take some work. And I'm going to teach you how to do this, and you're going to make them, at least once. After you do, you may go back and do it again. This year, I will probably cook about fifteen pounds of them this way. And I will use them in galettes, in lamb stew (ALWAYS a party favorite), shredded in apple pies, and in sorbets and ice creams.

But to make this wonderful candy, which Spaniards call "membrillo" and Italians called "cotagnata," what you need are three pounds of quinces. The fruits are very different in size, do don't guess. Weigh them. Go with more rather than less. Now, peel them, and then cut them into quarters and gouge out the seed cores. This is not easy. Quinces are very hard, the shape is not uniform, and you have to be careful with the knife. Gather some of the skin and pits, and tie them in a cheesecloth bag. You're going to want this for thickening what you cook. Now, you're going to put all of the sliced quinces into a pot, with the bag of junk you just made, and a lemon, sliced in half, to keep acid balance and to fix the color. Cover this with ample water, cover it, and bring it to a low boil. You now must cook this for at least an hour, maybe longer. You want to check the quinces to see: do they begin to fall apart when you go into them with a knife? If they do, they're done, and you're ready for the next step.

Get rid of that cheese cloth bag, and the lemon. Put the quince slices through a food mill (a food processor WILL work if you don't have one, but it will change the color. The processor whips air into the quinces and you will get an orange, rather than a red color). After you have this pureed, then stir in two cups of sugar. You'll have what looks like very thick applesauce.

Now, get a baking sheet, and oil a piece of parchment paper that you put on top of it. Spread out the quince puree as evenly as possible. Let it dry at room temperature for a bit.

Now, here's the step that freaks everyone out. Put your oven at the lowest possible temperature. Mine goes down to 170. 150 is better, but 170 works. Put the tray into the oven and go away. In fact, go to bed. I'm serious about this. You have to cook the quinces this way, for a good 8 to 10 hours. After that time, you will get a slightly tacky, bright red sheet with a flavor that is new to you unless you've had this stuff before.

Let it cool off in a turned off oven, or near an open window, or anywhere where the temperature is cool. After the tackiness is just about gone, remove the paste from the paper sheet, and cut it into squares. An oiled scissor is best here. You will have very tough, crunch edges, and those are yours to snack on. If you cut the stuff into 1x1 inch squares, you'll get about 60-70 pieces. You need to store these in a container that you keep OPEN. See, the quinces still have water in them, so if you trap them in a tin, they will soften, liquify, and just get gross (trust me on that).

Once you've made this, you will have something that literally will last the next nuclear war. It keeps forever. And it's a great thing to put out with cheese, or with nuts, or to just take with you if you are one of those people who need a quick slightly sweet pick me up during the day, and have gotten sick and tired of gorp and nut bars and all that other stuff. And you will be connecting with an old tradition. Quinces have been cooked this way for hundreds of years.

And if you happen to have friends from Europe, they will be extremely impressed that you made it yourself.

A recipe for Tati

Warnings beforehand: this one is gonna hurt.

Tati was my grandfather. At least that was what we called him. I've been told that it's a Northern German diminutive for Grandpa, but I've never heard anyone else use it. Oh well, he was my Tati. And I loved him SO MUCH.

History says I shouldn't have. See, I am an unplanned child. That's the nicest way to put it. I used to tell people "Oh, I went to my mother's first wedding." Took 'em a while to get what I meant. I was born in 1957, to a Roman Catholic household. My mom was 17. In those days, abortion was not discussed. Apparently, adoption was, but my Mom was adamant. Like Madonna, she was gonna keep her baby.

Her father was not pleased with this choice. And he told her so. He told her he would never have anything to do with the child.

I don't remember how they got him to the hospital, but apparently, when he saw HIS grandson, it was all over. Nothing he had said applied anymore, and no one, and I mean NO ONE, could get near HIS grandson when he was around.

Tati was a long haul truckdriver. He was about 6 4 with the icy blue eyes that I have, and shocking white blond hair. He drove that truck, but what he REALLY wanted to be was a fisherman. And we fished together, out of Sheepshead Bay, a lot.

Tati basically took over my raising, when he was in town. He bought all my clothes, and he bought versions of what he wore. One of my favorite pictures is of me, about four years old, in a pea coat, a pair of wranglers that were way too long, rolled at the cuff, and a sailor's cap, holding Tati's hand. He's wearing the same thing, and his weathered face looks SO happy.

On weekends, he would borrow a friend's taxi, and he would take me to Central Park. Usually, to a stream, or lake, or some small body of water. On the way there, he'd hand me the breakfast that my mother would never let me have: bacon and eggs, on a buttered roll, and a chocolate milk. (Olive oil saved my cholesterol , I guess). And we'd go to that brook, and he'd give me a little fishing pole, and we'd fish. There WERE actually fish in the water in those days, some kind of gourami species, but I could never remember catching any. After a few hours, I would fall asleep in the sun, leaning against him. He'd wake me saying "sonny, sonny, LOOK. You caught a fish." And indeed, there was always one or two fishes in the bucket we'd bring along. Part of the magic of grandfathers, I guess.

Then there was his corner bar where he'd take me. Harry's (of course). Harry was the owner and bartender. He had a grandson, too, who lived in Florida with his family, so I became "his" grandson, too. And every other blue collar man who was in there who missed his grandson. I learned to play skittles, and poker, and a few other games. And I played with the bar cat, "Gladiolous," although I could never get the name right, and called her "Ravioli." One time, Tati gave me a taste of his beer. Nana was LIVID. I still remember her screaming, and Tati promising she'd never smell that again. And she never did. The next time, he taught me about blackjack gum after drinking. I'm sure Nana knew, but she never said anything.

Tati used to take me driving in his rig too, and BOY, did I love THAT. I felt like such a big kid when I got to be in the truck.

One time, he took me in the truck. We were in matching outfits, and before we left, he was serious and said "I'm taking you someplace where you have to be very quiet. But you'll learn some important things there." He took me to a union hall, walking me in on his shoulders, cursing up a blue streak about how his grandson was there, and anyone who got dirty was gonna get a rap in the mouth. I felt like I was on the top of a tree, on top of his shoulders. And it took me years to realize, I was at a teamster's meeting. I don't know what I learned there, but I DO know that, for the rest of my life, I've been pro union. And whenever I made a pro union statement, years later, my grandmother would smile and say Tati is looking at you and smiling."

One day, Tati disappeared. I just thought he was on a long trip to California, like he frequently went. But he didn't come back. And I began to take trips to the hospital with my mom and grandmother, "to see Susie." I never saw Susie. One of them would go in the hospital, and the other would stay outside with me, and then they'd change . Sometimes, I'd see a man look out the window, in a fisherman's cap and wave to me. "MOMMMA NANA. THERES TATI. LOOK!" They ALWAYS told me I was wrong, it was just a lonely old man, who missed his grandson.

I told you this was gonna be tough.

Well, time passed, as it does for kids I guess. I never went to his funeral (he died of lung cancer, at 54 years). One day, I was looking through some pictures, in a closet, and I found a holy card. You know those things that they give out at C atholic funerals. It had Tati's name on it. I looked up to my mother and Nana, who were sitting there "DID TATI DIE?" The nervous laughter is something I will not forget. I don't remember the answer I got, if I got one, but I do remember that I decided then and there: I would never trust them again.

Years later, as I was packing up things to move to my own place, I found a box . It was my Nana's. It was filled with love letters that Tati had written to her from California. He wrote one every time he went on a trip. And his cap and his gloves were there, too. I have very big hands, but the gloves were too big. They smelled of him: his cologne was Old Spice. It was probably wrong of me, but I took them. I think Nana knew, but she never said anything. When she died, over 30 years after he did, I put them in her casket with her.

I'd like to t hink that Tati still watches over me, and sometimes, I swear I can smell the Old Spice, and feel that brush of stubble that I'd feel when he'd kiss me on the cheek or my head, or I imagine I feel his big, wrinkled, tough hand holding mine. I would also like to think that a man who could give up his prejudices about his grandson is happy with me, and my relationship, and how I've become so much like my grandmother. I miss him. Maybe as much asI miss my grandmother, and certainly in a different way.

Stuffed cabbage was something that Tati loved, but Nana would NOT make it. She called it "Fart dinner," and complained that he farted enough. So when he really HAD to have it, Tati would go out and have it for lunch. Today, I made stuffed cabbage, and I thought of that big, sweet, man, who loved his grandson so much. I was lucky. Not everyone gets that. And when I look in the mirror and realize I have his eyes, well, I'm even luckier.

Tati, if you read this, this is how I made it. I took Marion Cunningham's ( a treasure, by the way. Tati would have liked her) recipe and played with it a little. Hers is sweeter, and spicer than mine, and doesnt have garlic in it.

You need a big head of savoy cabbage. Cut it in half, and cut out the core. It's VERY important that you do this. Then, bring a big pot of water to a boil, and add some salt. Put in the cabbage halves, and when the water comes back to the boil, cook it for no more than five minutes (Ms. Cunningham covers her pot. To me, that's a sure way to get that cabbage smell we hate). Be careful when you pull out the cabbage. It's very hot. Put it in a colander in the sink and let it cool. It's going to take a while.

While that's happening, cook up 2 cups of white rice ( I used basmati), and combine it with a pound of ground meat (I used beef, but I bet pork would be amazing), and a cup of tomato sauce. Pluse a heaping teaspoon of salt.I added two chopped cloves of garlic to this.

When your cabbage is cool enough to work with, select twelve-fifteen nice sized leaves (Ms. Cunningham uses the outer leaves for protecting the dish while it's baking. I don't see why. I stuff them). Chop up the rest of the cabbage, and lay it in a 9x13 inch pan that's been lightly oiled. Sprinkle about 1/3 cup of brown sugar over that. Then, spoon some of the rice/meat/sauce mixture into each of your reserved leaves, and roll it up. You can be generous here, this is a messy dish. Put the rolls on top of the cabbage layer. If you have extra filling, sprinkle it over those rolls. Then, pour half a cup of tomato sauce over all of this, cover the casserole with foil, and bake it for an hour, at 350. After 45 minutes, I take off the foil to let it dry out a little, but you don't have to.

The original recipe says this serves four. Tati had a BIG appetite, and I would be surprised if he couldn't polish this off in two meals. I think six normal sized appetites is more appropriate here.

I dont' make this dish too often, but whenever I do, I feel like Tati is looking over my shoulder, smiling, and I swear that I can smell Old Spice in my kitchen.

When it's cold, make soup

It's been a couple of days since I sat down to write. It has been an interesting couple of days, with some rather "high end" changes going on in my life, some cosmetic, some not. I can't honestly say that I've assimilated them all. What I can say, is that it's all been for the good, including a reconciliation and, I think, deepending of my friendship with my friend - and bud - Andrew, and a realization of how much I care for our friends Craig and Ken, and how wise they both are. That's a lot, in and of itself, and there's more. But that will have to wait, as we get to the matter at hand, SOUP.

Late in growing season, and early in growing season, a farmer's market is a challenge. The ground has frozen, the farmers are tired, and the bottom line is, the bounty of October is a pleasant, winsome memory. Now you have several options: give up, and buy stuff at a good grocery store, eat out and spend a l ot of money, or embrace what is not, ultimately, a very difficult challenge.

I went to the market on Friday, in 20 degree weather. I came back with nearly more than I could carry. Stunning baby leeks, baby turnips,beets, baby carrots, celery roots, celery "per se," herbs, potatoes, fennel, a savoy cabbage, fennel. WOW.


Now, the thing is, these are all vegetables that you have to know what to do with. You can't just steam most of them (except maybe the carrots, and they won't taste very good when they're this young). So think about what you have: these are , for the most part, roots. And they are vegetables that do well in the cold. So, what do you like to eat in the cold?

SOUP! Just for the heck of it, I laid all these vegetables out in front of me, plus a big jar of chestnuts, and began writing down all the possibilities I could come up with. SO MANY. An obvious one is the wonderful vicchisoyse (which I'm misspelling, again), of leeks and potatoes, and there's the makings of superb mixed vegetable soup here. But I wanted "something different." And in an hour, I made two, very different soups: celery root with shrimp, and then bacon, fennel, and chestnut.

The basis to all of my soups is a foundation of aromatic vegetables. These change, depending on the soup, but they almost always include an onion variety of some kind, carrots, and celery. All of which I had right there. Now, for celery root soup, I'm going to have the celery flavor, so this time, I left the celery out. I chopped up a cup of leeks, using white and light green parts, and a whole bunch of the baby carrots. (When they are small, all you have to do is wash them. If you peel them, you'll lose half the vegetable). Then, because celery root seems to "love" butter, I sauteed those in half butter and half olive oil, while I prepped four small celery roots. I peeled them, and cut them into cubes, and when they were ready, I added a quart of chicken stock to my base veggies, and then the celery root and a nice, big teaspoon of salt. Celery roots need more time than the other ingredient going into this soup, which is potatoes, so while the celery root was cooking, I peeled and cubed an equal amount of potatoes. After I gave the celery root a head start of ten minutes, I added the potatoes and brought everything to a low simmer. After fifteen more minutes, everything was nice and soft. But the taste was strong. So I added a few cups of hot water. I stopped the cooking, and then when the stuff was cool enough to handle, I pureed it through the food mill.

THIS, was a mistake. When I finished the puree, I had somethng that looked, well, a little like bad cottage cheese. It tasted good, but let's face it boys and girls, we eat with our eyes. SO, while I didn't want to do it, I put everything into the blender, and crossed my fingers.

A correct decision if I say so myself. A few of the potatoes were red fleshed, and I had a wonderful salmon pink soup waiting there.

And THAT is what inspired the shrimp. See, I l iked the soup but it screamed for PROTEIN. Anything too strongly flavored just seemed wrong: this is a soup that screamed out to me to use seafood. And the color said "shrimp." So, in went a couple of pounds of the medium shrimp (why use the big ones? They're too big to put on your spoon, and frankly, I think the smaller ones taste better). Five minutes later, we were done.

It was good, and I will make it again. But now for something interesting. I brought this to our fisherman for his lunch and know what he did? He grabbed a handful of scallops, tossed them into the hot soup, and smiled.

Yup, you one upped me Phil, and I wish I had thought of that BUT.... when I ate mine for lunch, I said "CRABMEAT." Yup, this is a soup that would be just wonderful with crabmeat in it. If I can put together a dinner party of people in January who are not allergic to shellfish, guess what the first course is gonna be?


Now, to soup number two. The combination of fennel and chestnuts sounded so appealing. They both have a wonderful hidden sweetness, and unusual flavors, and it seemed they would work together.

A digression here. Some of you will have said "WAIT A MINUTE. Chestnuts out of a jar?"

Uh huh. Yes I've done the fresh chestnut route, glorifying in the fact that there are indeed American chestnuts again. And after cutting my fingers, spraining my thumbs, and having about a cup of chestnut meat, "As God is my witness, I will never peel my own chestnuts again."

There, I said it. Too much freaking work.

Now, again, I was confronted with the protein issue. And the anise flavor of fennel kept on saying pork. Bacon is my ingredient of the year. I haven't cooked with it much before this year, now I wonder how I did without it. And I had a pound of superb artisanal bacon in the fridge. I cut up half of it into chunks, and sauteed it in olive oil, while I prepped the veggies (most people don't realize that you DO have to start bacon in some fat. If you don't, it will burn. If you add some to start, yes, you do have to drain most of it off, but you will be glad for that extra tablespoon or so of olive oil, which makes your life easier).

Prepping the veggies meant simply slicing up the big fennel bulb I had into half moons, and chopping up t he chestnuts. Again, I started with carrots and onions, but this time, I used the fennel where I would have used the celery. What I did was, I took the bacon out, and let it sit and crisp up, thinking I'd use it as a garnish. That changed. Then I sauteed the carrots, onions and fennel in two tablespoons of reserved bacon fat, and I added a big sprig of rosemary at the last minute. This proved to be a good choice. When I began to hear a "crackle" in the v eggies, I added the chestnuts, stirred them in the fat, and added the chicken stock. A quart of it. I simmered for about twenty minutes, tasting as I went along. It was WONDERFUL. Like a bowl of sausages in liquid form. The bacon flavor, the rosemary and the fennel were all coming together.

Again, I went with the food mill and again, the look was "less than appealing." And the brown chestnut color wasn't helping any. So, yet again, the helpful blender came out and at the last minute I added the bacon and pureed it all together.

The soup is deceptively thin. Not as thick as I thought it would be, but this is a good thing, as it gives me leave to serve up something like a pizza or a quiche with the meal.

I'm still having second thoughts about pureeing the bacon. The soup sure tastes good, and again, I don't have to run around looking for my garnish at the last minute. You'll have to make the call on this.

And play with your food here folks. Make some changes. Use sage instead of rosemary. Use an onion instead of the leek. See what happens if you use sausage instead of bacon, and/or maybe add some rice or some pasta to the soup.

C'mon. Let's cook together. Show me what you can do.

Carol and gnarly roots

I have a pretty good memory of when I first met my friends, or at least a story or two about early meetings. It's not as good as my friend Tom, who can tell you who was there, what they were wearing, who's fly was open (well, I can usually do that), what they ate, and what cologne everyone was wearing as well, but it's pretty good. I don't always remember it though, but there is NO WAY I will ever forget my first meeting with Carol.

It was at our annual New Year's Day party. Our friend August, together with his partner Robert, who have brought so many wonderful new people into our lives (Eric and Charles come to mind immediately), brought Carol with them. When they came in, I was in the kitchen. I was busy. In fact, as they say in the restaurant business , I was "in the weeds." I looked up, and there was this woman standing there, in the most beautiful midnight blue silk blouse you could imagine. "Hi, I'm Carol. Thanks for inviting me, you need help. What can I do?" That was our first greeting. What followed was a little macho restaurant preening as I smiled and said "nice to meet you, but that's ok, I have it under control. Why don't you join the guests and have a drink and I'll come out in a minute?" Carol's expression never changed, and she just said "no, you don't have it under control and you're going to hurt yourself. Now give me a dishtowel and I'll at least get the sink cleared out and then we'll both go have a drink." Her sleeves went up, the dishes got dried, we chatted, and I essentially fell in love with a truly remarkable woman.

See, as my partner Guy puts it "Carol gets IT." The caps there are deliberate. It doesn't really matter what "IT" is (if that comment reminds you of Bill Clinton's wobbling, it reminded me, too), Carol "gets IT." She knows what to do, she knows what to say, and she gets it done. One other story about the amazing Carol. She lives in France for part of the year, and so, on the occasion of my first cassoulet, I invited Carol over, together with Robert, August, and some other people. Now, I wasn't nervous. These are friends, and even if the meal was terrible, they were not going to say anything. And I also had worked hard researching the dish, and had it pretty much under control. At the end, Carol said to me "That cassoulet was better than most I've had." She reads me PERFECTLY. If she had said it was the best one, she'd be lying, and I'd know it. And she never, never NEVER said "if you did.... it would be better," or anything like that. And she never would. Not unless I asked. I will always remember her in that midnight blue blouse, and I think of her as the sapphire in my "tiara of friends."

So what is the connection between Carol, and gnarly roots? Ok, like I said, I meander, but I get there. The roots in question are celery roots. These are truly a winter vegetable, and they ARE gnarly. They are dirty, misshapen, and WORK to prepare. You don't really see them in American cuisine at all, but Europeans, especially French and the Flemish, know what to do. And they're good. Yes, you do have to work them, but they have a taste that is not like anything else: sort of like the "deep essence" of celery, perhaps, but even then, I'm not giving them credit. There are any number of ways of preparing them. You can boil them and puree them with other vegetables, like potatoes to make a soup, and I've just read of a preparation where they're pureed with chestnuts. Hmmmm. They also work in gratins, and also as a vegetable onto themselves, or covered with a buttery white or hollandaise sauce (a preparation I learned from my friend Lucienne, mother of my friend and wine god, Frank. There's a story there that I'll never tell :) Frank and Crystal know what I'm talking about).

But my favorite way of eating these gnarly roots is in Celery remoulade, and there's where I think of Carol. If you're going to make celery remoulade, you HAVE to make your own mayonniase. And Carol is one of the few people I know who will read that and think "of course. What's the problem?" Carol makes her own mayonnaise. I bet it's better than mine, and I bet she's done it the traditional way, rather than the way I do it, in the food processor. If you don't do your own mayonnaise, don't make remoulade. It is JUST NOT WORTH IT.

After you make the mayonnaise, add a few tablespoons of a sharp mustard to it. Carol and I both like tastes a little sharp, so we would probably put in more mustard than most, so flavor your mayonnaise to your taste.

Now, to the roots! Like I said, these are ugly, and they take work. Cut a horizontal slice from the top and bottom of each root. I would say you need a pound of uncleaned roots to a cup of mayonnaise. Then , make long slices to take the outside of the root off, until you have what are basically clean, large, white cylinders in front of you.

To prepare a remoulade, I cut the roots lengthwise, then into long strips, which I then cut again, and again, into matchsticks. This produces a very non-uniform final product, which is fine to me. If you want something more even, then you should figure out how to use the blades on your food processor (which I've never done), or take way more time making the slices than I do. Toss the veggie with some lemon, because celery root darkens quickly. (if you don't have a lemon, SHAME ON YOU, but use vinegar instead). Then, just gently fold the vegetable and your mayonnaise together.

I like to let this sit in the fridge for about an hour before I serve it. It seems to let the celery root pick up the flavor a bit. There are people who will quick boil the match sticks for about thirty seconds and then combine them with the mayonnaise. I've done that, and the loss of texture is something I don't care for. I've also had it shredded into thinner flatter slices instead of the matchsticks, and I don't really like that either, but it IS an option.

Like I said in an earlier blog, I like serving this as part of a plate of other winter vegetable salads, like beets and carrots in different forms, but I have also put it under crab cakes and watched every drop of it disappear, and in one of my cross cultural moments, I piled some of it on a hamburger once, and had one of the best burgers I have ever had in my life.

Carol probably has at least another dozen ways to deal with this vegetable. If you're lucky, maybe she'll share them with you. For now, try this one. It's always good to have another winter "staple" at your command, and this one really isn't that hard to do.