Year's End (or Year's Beginning) Peanut Soup

I don’t see New Year’s Eve as a time for complicated cuisine. (Of course, I don’t actually see ANY holiday as a time for complicated cuisine. I’m a pretty basic cook!) I like to make something simple and spend the evening with friends and family.

It often snows on New Year’s Eve in Hawley, Massachusetts. In fact, it did today! Very small groups gather on my quiet street, grateful for congenial company and a wood stove. And no, we don’t always stay up until midnight. As my mother is wont to say, it’s always nearly midnight SOMEWHERE.

My simple new dish this New Year’s Eve is creamy peanut soup. Peanut soup is a classic dish for Kwanzaa, which ends on New Year’s Day. Like many Kwanzaa dishes and traditions, this soup is part African and part American: although peanuts are native to South America, early Spanish traders took them to Africa, and they returned to the Americas with slaves.

My version of peanut soup is adapted from a recipe from Colonial Williamsburg. It offers just a little spice and makes a cozy supper when served with cornbread near a warm fire.

Happy New Year—and Joyous Kwanzaa!

Creamy Peanut Soup

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons sweet butter (plus a bit more if needed)
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 stalk celery, finely chopped
1-1/2 tablespoons flour
4 cups chicken stock, warmed in a saucepan
3/4 cup smooth peanut butter
1 /2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (more or less, to taste)
3 splashes half and half (about 1/4 cup)
chopped peanuts or crumbled bacon to taste for garnish

Instructions:

In a 4-quart pot, melt the butter. Sauté the onion and celery pieces over medium-low heat and cook, stirring frequently, until they are soft (3 to 5 minutes).

Stir in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 to 2 minutes more. If the flour begins to stick to the bottom of the pan, add a bit more butter.

Pour in the chicken stock. Turn up the flame, and bring the stock to a boil, stirring. Reduce the heat to medium, and boil gently, partly covered, until the soup reduces and thickens slightly, about 10 minutes. Remove the lid from time to time during this process, and stir frequently.

The next step depends on how you feel about the consistency of your soup. Several peanut soup recipes I saw (including the one from Colonial Williamsburg) asked the cook to strain the soup at this point, being careful to extract as much flavorful liquid as possible. If you are set on serving a smooth soup, you can also pulverize the soup carefully in a blender or food processor.

Personally, I rather like having little pieces of food in my soup so I bypassed this step altogether. My friend Raymond tells me that he has tried the soup both ways (he works hard in the kitchen!) and much prefers the blended version so I will probably try that next time, but I enjoyed the soup the way I made it.

Back to the recipe: Whisk in the peanut butter and the pepper flakes. I found that 1/2 teaspoon of red pepper added a lovely tang to the soup. If you love spice, add more; if you are not a spice person, leave it out. Continue whisking until the peanut butter is mixed into the liquid and the mixture comes just to a boil.

Whisk in half and half to taste, and continue to heat the soup just until it is warm; do not bring it to a boil. Ladle the soup into bowls, and top with peanuts or bacon. Serves 4.

Hawley on New Year's Eve: Our Apple Tree

Truffle in the Snow

An Snappy Christmas (or New Year's) Menu

A few years ago I taught a recipe-writing workshop during reunion weekend at my college, Mount Holyoke. The participants worked during the workshop on linking memories to recipes. After the workshop ended, they were all supposed to e-mail me their finished recipes so that I could share them with the whole group.

The weekend (and life!) got busy, and hardly anyone sent in the recipes. One exception to this rule was Mary McDowell of the Class of 1971. (Mary, I hope you don’t mind my giving away your graduation year!) I fell in love with her brisket recipe, possibly the easiest dish I’ve ever made! Chop onions, pour some stuff into a pan, and you’re done.

Of course, I tinkered with it a bit. I do have trouble making recipes without tinkering. Mary bakes her brisket, covered, in a 250-degree oven for 8 to 10 hours (or more!). My sister-in-law Leigh and I were anxious to try out the All-Clad slow cooker, and the brisket seemed an ideal recipe for that pot. It was! We also cut back on the recipe. Mary originally called for a 10-pound cut of meat, but we have a small family. We used the full amount of beer and barbecue sauce she called for, although we might cut back on those a bit in future; the brisket was strongly flavored!

Mary wrote that this dish is a Christmas Eve tradition for her family. She caps it off with brownies topped with peppermint-stick ice cream, hot fudge, and crushed peppermint. We stopped after the ice cream, but the brownies à la mode did make an ideal (and snappy) finish. Add some noodles and a little green salad or vegetable, and the meal is just the thing for busy cooks who are tired from shopping, baking, partying, wrapping presents, and trying to be extra good for Santa!

I know I’m posting this too late for readers to prepare my menu on Christmas. I recommend it for New Year’s Eve as well, however. The tangy brisket and extra chocolaty brownies will keep you warm and start your year off deliciously.

Merry Christmas!

Mary’s Cousin’s Overnight Brisket (Adapted by Tinky and Leigh)

Ingredients:

1 3-pound slab beef brisket
2 onions, sliced into rings
12 ounces beer
12 ounces high-quality barbecue sauce
1 pound carrots, cleaned and sliced in half

Instructions:

The evening before you wish to eat the brisket, place it in the bottom of a slow cooker. Throw the onions on top, and top with the beer and barbecue sauce. Cook on the low setting overnight.

The next morning, stir the carrots into the stew. Continue to cook all day, still on low. Two hours before you want to eat, turn the heat up to high. Serve with noodles.

Serves 6 to 8.

Fabulous Fudgy Brownies (Adapted from King Arthur Flour)

Ingredients:

1 cup (2 sticks) sweet butter
2 cups sugar
2/3 cup Dutch-process cocoa
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 tablespoon vanilla
4 eggs
1 -1/2 cups flour
12 ounces (2 cups) chocolate chips

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9-by-13-inch pan with foil, and grease the foil.

In a good-sized saucepan over low heat, melt the butter. (The saucepan should be big enough so that it can double as your mixing bowl.) Add the sugar, and stir to combine. Return the mixture to the heat briefly—until hot but not bubbling. (It will become shiny looking as you stir it.) Remove it from the heat, and let it cool briefly while you assemble the other ingredients.

Stir in the cocoa, salt, baking powder, and vanilla. Add the eggs, beating until smooth; then add the flour and chocolate, beating well until combined. Spoon the batter into your pan.

Bake for 28 to 30 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out dry (it may have a few crumbs). Remove them from the oven. After 5 to 10 minutes, loosen the edges of the foil. Cool completely before cutting and serving.

Makes about 2 dozen brownies, depending on how large you cut them.

Michael really liked these brownies! (The ice cream didn't hurt.)

The Festival of Lights (and Latkes!)

Chic Cousin Jane Shows Off the Latkes

Sunday evening my family celebrated the first night of Hanukkah. Our cousins Jane and Alan joined us for a laughter-filled evening, and we made latkes, something we do only once a year. (They’re too fattening and too special to make more often.)

Because we make them so rarely I have to recalibrate my potato pancakes each time I make them. The recipe that appears below is therefore a little vague. Adjust your latkes as you need to; I always do!

It’s traditional to use vegetable oil in these cakes, but I love the flavor that good olive oil imparts. The oil should, after all, star since Hanukkah celebrates oil that burned for eight days and eight nights more than 2000 years ago.

You may ask why I’m mentioning both Christmas cookies and Hanukkah pancakes on this blog. I was brought up doing a little bit of everything by my Jewish father and Unitarian mother. Even if I weren’t a religious mutt, I think I’d probably want to make foods for many different holidays. I love learning about different culinary traditions–and I embrace any excuse for food, fun, family, and friends.

Once a Year Latkes

Ingredients:

2 large baking potatoes
1 large onion, more or less finely chopped
1 egg, beaten (you may use another if you really need it)
2 to 4 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
freshly ground pepper to taste (we like lots)
extra-virgin olive oil as needed for frying

Instructions:

Wash the potatoes well and peel them if you want to (the skins are nutritious so don’t feel you have to). Grate them. This takes a really long time with a box grater so we prefer to use the grater attachment of our food processor. We only get it out for latkes, and we never quite remember how it works, but luckily my sister-in-law Leigh kept the instruction book. Even more luckily, Sunday night Cousin Alan remembered how it works!

Do not use the main blade of the food processor as it will make the potato pieces small and wet.

Wrap the potato shreds in a clean dishtowel. Carry it to the sink, and wring out as much liquid as you can. Leave the wrapped shreds in the sink to drain while you prepare the rest of the ingredients (and maybe have a cocktail or two).

In a medium bowl, combine the potato pieces, onion, egg, 2 tablespoons flour, salt, and pepper. In a large frying pan, heat a few tablespoons of oil until the oil begins to shimmer. Scoop some of the potato mixture out of the bowl with a soup spoon, and flatten it with your hand. Pop the flattened potato into the hot oil. It should hiss and bubble a bit; if not, wait before you put more pancakes into the oil.

It’s just fine if your latkes are a little ragged around the edges; the potatoes are the main event, after all, and you don’t want them too homogenized. If they don’t hold together and are hard to turn, however, you may want to add a little more flour and even another egg to your batter.

Fry the potato cakes a few at a time, turning each when the first side gets golden. Drain the cooked latkes on paper towels; then pop them into a 250-degree oven to stay warm until their cousins are finished cooking. When you run out of batter (or feel you have enough for your family!), light the menorah and serve the latkes. Serves 6 to 8 as a side dish.Here are a few more pictures of our evening:

Michael and Alan Light the Menorah

At the Food Processor

Sister Leigh at the Stove

Happy Hanukkah!

Illumination Cookies

I invented these cookies for my town’s recent illumination party. Just be sure to use homemade or high-quality eggnog when you make them!

Ingredients:

for the cookies:

3/4 cup sweet butter (1-1/2 sticks) at room temperature
3/4 cup sugar plus sugar as needed for rolling
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 egg
1/4 cup eggnog
2 cups flour
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon salt

for the icing:

1/2 cup (1 stick) sweet butter at room temperature
1/4 cup eggnog
confectioner’s sugar as needed (probably about 2 cups)
1 teaspoon vanilla
holiday sprinkles if desired

Instructions:

Start with the cookies. Cream together the butter, 3/4 cup sugar, and vanilla. Add the egg and eggnog, and beat until light and fluffy. Blend the dry ingredients and stir them into the creamed mixture. Wrap the dough in wax paper, and chill it for at least an hour.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Roll small balls of the chilled dough in sugar, and place them on greased (or parchment-covered) cookie sheets. Bake the cookies for 8 to 10 minutes, until the bottoms brown lightly. Let them cool for a minute or two on the sheets; then remove them to a wire rack to finish cooling.

Next, make the icing. Beat together the butter and eggnog. Beat in confectioner’s sugar until you have a smooth but not wet icing. Add the vanilla, and spread the icing on the cookies. If you like, throw on some sprinkles for color.

Makes 3 to 4 dozen cookies.

Cheese Blobs

Not everyone on my gift list has a sweet tooth so I like to make some food gifts that aren’t sugary. This year I decided to try some cheese straws. I’m not the world’s most talented slicer, however, so my straws are actually blobs. If you’re good at food presentation, yours should look better. If not, don’t worry. They will taste so deliciously cheesy no one will mind the way they look!

Ingredients:

1 cup flour
1 teaspoon Creole seasoning
1 pinch dry mustard
2 teaspoons paprika
1/2 cup (1 stick) cold sweet butter
1-1/2 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese
1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

Instructions:

In a small mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, seasoning, mustard, and paprika. Set aside.

In a food processor, pulse together the butter and cheese. Pulse in the Worcestershire sauce; then add the dry ingredients, and pulse until the mixture forms a ball (you may have to stop and push down the dough on the sides with a spatula).

If you don’t have a food processor, cut the butter and cheese into the dry ingredients and then add the Worcestershire sauce. But you’ll work much harder.

Wrap the ball of dough in wax paper, and refrigerate it for at least an hour. Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. On a floured surface, roll out the dough until it is quite flat (about 1/8 inch thick). Cut the flat dough into small slices, and braid them or crimp them quickly to make interesting shapes. .

Bake the cheese straws on cookie sheets covered with parchment or a silicone mat until they are firm and a little brown, about 20 minutes. Makes 3 to 4 dozen blobs.

Liza's Mustard

My friend Liza Pyle introduced me to this sweet-and-tart mustard, which I included in my Pudding Hollow Cookbook. It’s lovely as a straight mustard or as a dip for pretzels or vegetables (if you want to dilute the dip, mix the mustard with some mayonnaise). I usually order a large tin of Colman’s Mustard from Avery’s Store in Charlemont, Massachusetts, so I can make several batches to give as gifts. If you want to give the mustard away, just be sure to tell the recipient to keep it in the refrigerator.

Ingredients:

4 ounces (about 1–1/4 cups) dry mustard
1 cup herbal vinegar (Liza uses tarragon)
1/4 pound (1 stick) sweet butter, cut into chunks
3/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
6 eggs

Instructions:

Place the mustard in a small non-reactive mixing bowl, and pour the vinegar over it. Do not blend the two at this stage. Cover the mixture, and let it stand overnight.

The next day, have the butter cut and the sugar and salt measured so that they can be grabbed quickly when they are needed. Place the mustard mixture in the top of a double boiler, and mix it with a wire whisk over hot water. Add the eggs one at a time, whisking continuously until they are thoroughly mixed.

Add the sugar, butter, and salt, and cook over hot water for 5 minutes, whisking. Liza warns against overcooking as the eggs may curdle. It’s better to have slightly runny mustard (it will thickens as it cools anyway) than to risk this.

Ladle the mustard into hot, clean jars. Cool them slightly; then cover and refrigerate them. The mustard will take a couple of weeks to develop its full flavor and will keep for months thereafter in the fridge. Makes 3 to 4 cups.

Melanie's Super Rich Pecan Bars

Ray and Melanie Poudrier with Melanie's Bars

Melanie Poudrier of East Hawley brought these treats to our Illumination party on December 7. She told me that everyone to whom she serves them asks for the recipe, and I understood why as soon as I tasted them. They’re lovely and extremely buttery; slice them very small! I had a little trouble extracting them so next time I make them I plan to line the pan with aluminum foil.

Ingredients:

for the crust:

2 cups flour
1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
1/2 cup (1 stick) sweet butter, softened

for the filling:

1 to 1-1/2 cups pecan or walnut halves
2/3 cup sweet butter
1/2 cup brown sugar, firmly packed

for the topping:

1 cup chocolate chips (or half chocolate and half butterscotch chips)

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Combine the crust ingredients, beating them at low speed until you have fine particles. Press the crust into the bottom of an ungreased 9-by-13-inch baking pan.

Sprinkle the pecans over the crust.

Next, make the remainder of the filling. In a 1-quart saucepan, combine the butter and brown sugar. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture comes to a full boil (4 to 5 minutes). Boil 1 minute, stirring constantly. Pour over the pecans.

Bake the bars for 18 to 20 minutes, or until the filling is bubbly. Remove the pan from the oven, and immediately sprinkle the chips over the bars. Allow them to melt for a minute or two; then swirl the chips a bit as they melt. Cool the bars completely; then remove them from the pan, and slice them into bars. Makes about 3 dozen, depending on how large your slices are.

Illumination

Serra Root lights the lamps in the Meetinghouse. (Photos for this post and the next courtesy of Lark Thwing.)

Colonial Williamsburg stages a Grand Illumination early each December. This weekend-long celebration includes bonfires, fireworks, and candlelit dinners. Visitors amble along the streets of the town, sipping mulled cider and enjoying the gift of light in this season of growing darkness.

Four years ago, the historical society in my small western-Massachusetts hamlet inaugurated its own Illumination tradition. On a Sunday evening in December, members and friends of the Sons and Daughters of Hawley gather in the Hawley Meetinghouse, the former East Hawley Church.

This Little Illumination doesn’t pack the punch of the one at Colonial Williamsburg, where the weekend draws the season’s largest crowds. This year on December 7 a whopping 12 people showed up at the old church in Hawley. The Meetinghouse has no heat so activities were necessarily brief.

Those gathered decorated an outdoor tree with bird treats. They lit the church’s elderly chandelier with lamp oil. They placed battery-operated candles in each window. They sipped a bit of warm cider, hot chocolate, or wine. They sang a few carols (a cappella since no one wanted to lay fingers on the frigid piano keys). They then swiftly departed for home.

Nevertheless, the two Illuminations—northern and southern, Little and Grand—have a lot in common. They both warm the heart if not the body. They both give their participants the feeling of living in the past, if only fleetingly. Standing in the Meetinghouse as it grew dark outside, enjoying the glimmering lights, we Illuminators felt as though we had been transported by magic into another era.

Above all, both Illuminations celebrate light.

Light is meaningful on a number of levels at this time of year. As we learned last week when many of us in New England lost our electricity, light is perhaps most highly valued when we don’t have it. In our complicated homes, light is synonymous with power—the literal power to talk on our electric telephones, type on our electric keyboards, cook on our increasingly (alas!) electric stoves.

Illumination and light are also symbols. Illumination was the term used in the Middle Ages for the creation of books that were transcribed and decorated, then passed on to posterity, spreading knowledge. Illumination also means understanding, figurative light that shines on some idea.

Light can stand for thought (the hackneyed light bulb that shouts “idea” in cartoons). It can stand for deity (the burning bush of God in the Old Testament). Above all, light stands for hope.

Christmas falls at this time of year not because Jesus was necessarily born in late December but because he is viewed as a symbol of hope, of light in the darkness. The December festivals of Hanukkah and Kwanzaa also focus on light, burning candles that celebrate a variety of positive attributes but hope above all.

Light is a central theme of the musical Big River, which won several Tony Awards when it debuted on Broadway in 1985. Big River is an adaptation of what may be the most American of novels, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Young Huck’s signature song in the show, “Waiting for the Light to Shine,” sums up much of his character just as Mark Twain’s novel summed up much of the American character. It is at once cynical and hopeful, kinetic and focused, pragmatic and idealistic.

“I have lived in the darkness for so long,” sings Huck to a country tune written by Roger Miller. “I’m waiting for the light to shine.”

At this time of year, we are all waiting for the light to shine. We find that light whenever we celebrate a holiday, whenever we gather with neighbors to sing or talk or feed the birds, whenever we start a fire and blow on it ever so gently to encourage the flames to rise.

I share my light by cooking; my most frequent holiday gifts are edible. In the posts immediately below this one I’m highlighting a few of the nibbles I’ll be giving out this year. I hope they bring a little light and a little fun to readers. Happy solstice!

To watch my fellow New Englander Jason Brook sing “Waiting for the Light to Shine,” click here.

Hawley Illuminators work to stay warm in the old church.

Jan's Killer Fruitcake

Belatedly, my mother and I are now getting around to making fruitcake. Fortunately, our family and friends will gladly eat it in the new year rather than at Christmas. As true fruitcake bakers and eaters know, fruitcake is most properly prepared around Thanksgiving. Ideally, it should have a few weeks to season before it is consumed.

Fruitcake is often the subject of jokes, and I myself have been known to sing “Grandma’s Killer Fruitcake” at this time of year. Nevertheless, in our family fruitcake baking is an almost sacred ritual that connects me to my mother Jan and her mother Clara. It’s as much about that chain of bakers as about the end product.

I’m sure I’m not the first home baker to fall in love with Truman Capote’s touching story from 1956, “A Christmas Memory.” First published in Mademoiselle magazine, of all places, this reminiscence sketches for readers the loving relationship in the 1930s between Capote as a child and his cousin, Sook Faulk. On the inside this sixty-odd-year-old woman was, as the author recalls, “still a child.”

The two are allies and best friends, misfits in a home of adults who are nameless in the tale and who seem to care little for the odd couple in their midst. The highlight of the year for young “Buddy” and his friend is the time in November when the two break into their piggy banks, shop for ingredients, and bake 30 fruitcakes. The fruitcakes make their way out into the larger world, presented to people who seem interesting or significant to the bakers, from President Roosevelt to an itinerant knife grinder.

The story is brilliantly written in the present tense, giving the reader an immediate sense of being a part of the two protagonists’ world and their baking ritual. Capote repeats several times the phrase with which his cousin announces each year that the time to begin baking has come: “It’s fruitcake weather!”

“It’s always the same,” he explains.“[A] morning arrives in late November, and my friend, as though officially inaugurating the Christmas time of year that exhilarates her imagination and fuels the blazes of her heart, announces: ‘It’s fruitcake weather! Fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat.’”

I love the insight this story shows into the ways in which cooking and food can bind us to other people and our recollections of those people. The Truman Capote who is narrating is two decades and more than a thousand miles from his cousin’s memory; toward the end of the story he explains that not long after the Christmas he recalls in minute detail he was sent away to school. She died before he could see her again.

Nevertheless, by telling the tale of their baking adventures—their marshalling of resources, the creation of their shopping list, their daunting encounter with the bootlegger who supplies the whiskey that preserves the cakes–he brings both his younger self and his beloved cousin back to life.

The story makes every reader pine for the wonder of childhood. I’ve participated in a fair number of local theatrical productions. The only time I ever had to wear waterproof mascara was when I played the part of the older cousin in staged readings of “A Christmas Memory.” I couldn’t make it to the story’s end without crying. I still can’t.

So let’s all bake fruitcake—for Truman Capote before he “became” Truman Capote, for lost cousins everywhere, for our mothers and our grandmothers.

Capote writes in the story that he and his cousin kept scrapbooks of the thank-you notes they received from the scattered recipients of their cakes, notes that gave them a feeling of connection “to eventful worlds beyond the kitchen with its view of a sky that stops.”

Cooking gives me that feeling of connection every day, but particularly when it’s fruitcake weather.

Image Courtesy of Random House

Jan’s Killer Fruitcake

Ingredients:

1 pound fruitcake fruits (I particularly like the not too sticky ones from King Arthur Flour)
1 cup slivered almonds
1 cup raisins, cut in half
1 cup currants
1/2 cup orange juice or sweet cider
1/4 cup molasses
2 tablespoons brandy, plus brandy for seasoning
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon mace
1-1/2 cups sifted flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 cup (1 stick) sweet butter at room temperature
3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
3 eggs

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Combine the fruit, nuts, juice, molasses, 2 tablespoons brandy, and spices in a large bowl. Mix them together well, and let them stand while preparing the batter. (If you leave them for several hours or overnight, so much the better; you may use them almost immediately, however.)

Sift together the flour, salt, and baking soda. In a separate large bowl, cream the butter and sugar together, and beat them until they are fluffy. Beat in the eggs 1 at a time. Stir in the flour mixture, and then fold in the fruit mixture.

Line 2 greased loaf pans with well greased parchment paper, and divide the batter between them. Bake the cakes until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. This may take up to about 1-3/4 hours, but start testing at the end of 1 hour just to be sure.

Let the cakes cool completely in their pans. Remove them carefully. Wrap them in cheesecloth, and drizzle brandy over the cheesecloth. Cover the wrapped cakes in foil, and seal them in plastic bags. Stow them away to season as long as you can. Optimally, you should wait at least 3 weeks before serving them, but you may certainly try them as soon as 10 days after baking. If you want to keep them for more than 3 weeks, you may have to drizzle on more brandy from time to time.

Makes 2 loaves.

A few years ago NPR’s This American Life aired a vintage reading of “A Christmas Memory” by Capote himself. To hear it and more, click here, and look for the December 19 edition of the program. And to hear me make fruitcake and sing a few strains of “Grandma’s Killer Fruitcake” (not terribly well) on public-radio station WFCR, try this link.

Mother Jan is getting ready for Christmas!

North Meets South Pecan Pie

Pie is a grand old tradition for the holidays. There’s love in every pie crust–particularly in our home, where my 90-year-old mother Jan is the designated crust roller.

Everyone has a favorite flavor for holiday pie. As far as I’m concerned, you can keep your apples and your squash. Give me a pecan pie, and I’m so happy I could sing (and frequently do)!

This recipe combines two of my favorite ingredients—Southern pecans and Northern maple syrup. It comes from the recipe files of my sister-in-law’s grandmother, Lois Bullard of Memphis, Tennessee. The delicate maple flavor makes the pie taste less sweet and syrupy than many of its molasses- or corn-syrup-based brethren.

Ingredients:

3 tablespoons sweet butter at room temperature
1 cup light brown sugar
2 eggs, beaten
2 tablespoons flour
1 pinch salt
1 cup maple syrup (I like to use Grade B)
2 cups pecan halves
1 9-inch unbaked pie shell

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cream together the butter and sugar. Beat in the eggs, flour, salt, and syrup. Stir in the pecan halves, and mix well. Pour the mixture into the pie shell. Bake for 5 minutes; then reduce the temperature to 375 degrees. Bake until the mixture just sets, 30 to 40 minutes, being careful to avoid burning. Serves 6 to 8. A little whipped cream on the side gilds this lily in decadent fashion.

Rolling Pie Crust with Love: Jan in the Kitchen

Eggnog Scones

Now that December has arrived I’m starting to think about holiday baking. Fruitcake is on the horizon, but since I love scones I’m starting with them. These buttery treats taste like Christmas—delicious and full of nutmeg. I suggest using either homemade eggnog or a good commercial grade. If you’re trying the latter, take a good look at the ingredients. They should be things you recognize—milk, cream, eggs, nutmeg, sugar—rather than powdered substances, corn syrup, or things that end in “ose.” Spiking the eggnog is fun but not essential.

Ingredients:

for the scones:

1/2 cup sugar
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking power
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon nutmeg
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) sweet butter
2/3 cup dried cranberries (optional for flavor and color)
1 egg
2/3 cup eggnog
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

for the optional glaze:

2 tablespoons orange juice
confectioner’s sugar as needed (I used at least a cup!)

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Liberally grease a baking sheet or line it with parchment or a silicone mat. Combine the sugar, flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg. With knives or a pastry blender cut in the butter, but be careful not to overmix. Stir the cranberries into this mixture if you want to use them.

In a separate bowl, combine the egg, eggnog, and vanilla. Add the flour mixture and blend until the dry ingredients are moistened. You may cut the scones in your bowl by forming the mixture into a round disk and cutting it into 6 to 8 pieces and then placing them on the baking sheet—or you may simply drop 6 to 8 lumps onto your baking sheet. Bake for 18 to 25 minutes, until the bottoms are golden brown.

If you wish to use the glaze (which is sweet but delicious), place the juice in a small container, and add confectioner’s sugar until you have a slightly wet paste. Drizzle the glaze over slightly cooled scones. If you want to go wild, place sprinkles on top.

Makes 6 to 8 scones.

Cooking with Sugar

My nephew Michael enjoys having my mother and me in the house. Although I’d like to attribute his joy to our adorable personalities, I’m afraid that the real lure is, in Michael’s words, “cooking with sugar.” We tend to make delicious sweet things for and with him, particularly during the Thanksgiving and Christmas season.

As far as I’m concerned, the sugar we cook with is really our boy. If you haven’t cooked with children lately, grab yours or go out and borrow one and head right into the kitchen. Kids remind us that sifting, kneading, and stirring can all be forms of play. Young cooks tend to make a bit of a mess in the kitchen, but grownups almost always end up smiling as they mop up. Moreover, the junior chefs are usually game to help erase the marks of their work in the kitchen, especially if bribed with a home-made treat.

Last Monday, Michael, his mom Leigh, my mother Jan, and I all got together to work on one of Michael’s cub-scout tasks, reading and following through on a recipe. Naturally, he chose to make something sweet–butterscotch brownies. This recipe is a great starter for kids because it takes only 15 to 20 minutes to get into the oven, and all of the prep work can be done in the saucepan with which you melt butter at the very beginning.

Michael proudly took the brownies to his scout meeting that evening. He did save one or two for home consumption, however.

Butterscotch Brownies

Ingredients:

1/2 cup (1 stick) sweet butter
1 pound light brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1-1/2 cups flour
1 tablespoon vanilla

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9-by-13-inch pan with aluminum foil, and grease the foil as well as you can (it’s a little awkward to work with).

In a 2-quart saucepan over medium-low heat, melt the butter, stirring frequently to keep it from burning. Remove it from the heat.

Using a wooden spoon, stir in the brown sugar, being careful to crush any lumps in the sugar. Beat in the eggs, 1 at a time, and then stir in the baking powder and salt. Stir in the flour, followed by the vanilla.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan (the batter will be thick so you’ll need a spatula), and bake the brownies for 25 to 30 minutes, or until they are ALMOST firm to the touch. Allow them to cool on a rack; then slice them into squares. Makes about 32 squares (depending on how big you cut them!).

More Cooking with Sugar: Nana's Birthday Cake

Simple Gifts

Thursday is Thanksgiving—and one of the simple gifts for which I’m grateful is my new audio recorder. It isn’t very big or very good (and it wasn’t very expensive!), but I hope that it will be useful in documenting some of my culinary adventures for this blog. Just now I’m using it to sing “Simple Gifts.”

I haven’t quite figured out how to adjust the audio settings; I know the sound quality or lack thereof will appall my audiophile brother. But days like Thanksgiving make me want to sing. Listen by all means (just click on the link below), and please don’t be too critical. I promise I haven’t yet given up my day job!

Sing along if you like—the louder, the better. As my neighbor Alice Parker says, music should be something we make, not just something we consume. And that’s a simple gift for which we can all be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving……….

"Simple Gifts"

Giving Thanks (Part II)

The king and high priest of all the festivals was the autumn Thanksgiving. When the apples were all gathered and the cider was all made, and the yellow pumpkins were rolled in from many a hill in billows of gold, and the corn was husked, and the labors of the season were done, and the warm, late days of Indian Summer came in, dreamy, and calm, and still, with just enough frost to crisp the ground of a morning, but with warm traces of benignant, sunny hours at noon, there came over the community a sort of genial repose of spirit — a sense of something accomplished. – Harriet Beecher Stowe

Here are two additional dishes for Thanksgiving (I’m leaving the turkey to you). The pie may look a little complicated because of its multiple layers. It’s quite simple, however, and can be made the day before. The second layer comes out a lovely pink. Enjoy

Hush Puppy Pudding

In an earlier post I said that I would come up with a non-box-mix-dependent version of Marilyn Pryor’s corn pudding. Here it is. Marilyn originally used 1 cup of cornbread mix instead of half of the flour, the cornmeal, 2 tablespoons of the butter, and the baking powder. You’re certainly welcome to do that if you have cornbread or corn-muffin mix in the house.

One note: although the pudding looks gorgeous in the flat dish that appears in the photo here, it’s even better in a deeper pan, which keeps the pudding moister.

Ingredients:

3/8 cup yellow cornmeal
1 cup flour
3/4 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup sliced green onions (I used 1 bunch; it didn’t quite make a cup, but it worked)
2 cups plain yogurt
3 eggs, lightly beaten
3/8 cup (3/4 stick) sweet butter, melted
2 10- or 11-ounce cans vacuum-packed corn

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 2- to 3-quart casserole dish.

In a large bowl, mix together the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, and salt. In another bowl, combine the onions, yogurt, eggs, and butter. Stir in the corn, and add this mixture to the cornbread combination, stirring just until the dry ingredients are moistened.

Spoon the resulting batter into the prepared pan, and bake until golden brown and set in the center (about 45 minutes). Serves 6 to 8 as a side dish.

Cranberry Chiffon Pie

I’m a sucker for cranberries at this time of year when we crave color and flavor. This pie is a little messy when you slice it, but I hate to add gelatin and make it stiff. If you want to make sure it will slice beautifully, use a graham-cracker crust; that way you can freeze the pie until half an hour before you serve it and keep it solid. My family likes goopy delicious things so we use a standard pastry crust.

Ingredients:

for the first layer:

1 cup sugar
1 cup water
3 cups (1 12-ounce bag) cranberries
1 pinch salt
1 prebaked 9-inch pie shell

for the second layer:

3 ounces cream cheese at room temperature
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup of the mixture from the first layer
1 cup COLD heavy cream

for the third layer:

sweetened whipped cream to taste

Instructions:

In a medium saucepan, bring the sugar and water to a boil. Add the cranberries and salt, and simmer until the cranberries pop (about 10 to 15 minutes). Basically, you’re making cranberry sauce so if you have a recipe you prefer feel free to substitute it here. Let the sauce cool to room temperature; then set aside 1/2 cup for the second layer and pour the rest into the pie shell.

Next, create the second layer. With an electric beater, whip together the cream cheese, sugar, and reserved cranberry sauce until they are smooth, about 2 minutes. Add the cream, and beat the mixture at low speed until it is blended. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, turn the mixture to high, and beat it until the cream forms pink peaks (1 to 2 minutes). Spread this layer into the pie shell as well.

At this point, you must refrigerate the pie, gently covered, for at least 3 hours. You may leave it for up to a day, however, if you want to make it in advance. Just before serving, decorate the pie with whipped cream (or serve the whipped cream on the side.) Serves 6 to 8.

I love to whip cream!

Giving Thanks (Part I)

Like most of American history, our national Thanksgiving holiday is rich but complicated.

The myth of the first Thanksgiving at Plymouth, Massachusetts, in 1621 has undergone challenges in recent years, thanks to new scholarship and to the inclusion of more diverse voices in the telling of the American story.

We now know that the celebration wasn’t actually a religious Thanksgiving (which was more likely to involve fasting than eating) but more of a harvest festival. It wasn’t necessarily the first Thanksgiving in America; earlier challengers to this title have been identified in Texas, Florida, Maine, and Virginia. The settlers and Indians were as much keeping a wary eye on each other as offering friendship. Moreover, that event in Plymouth by no means started a regular tradition. The Thanksgiving that we celebrate (including most of its menu) is more or less a 19th-century invention.

Many American Indians justifiably resent the idea of a holiday that celebrates the survival of the English on these shores–and the help given to them by the Wampanoag tribe. Each year on Thanksgiving the United American Indians of New England organize a National Day of Mourning in Plymouth to remember the slaughter, intentional and unintentional, of Native Americans by European Americans.

I don’t want to downplay the importance of any of these challenges to the traditional story of Europeans and Indians giving thanks while sharing the fruits of the harvest in Plymouth. I believe that history is most meaningful when it is most complete.

Nevertheless, I do believe that what the capable curators at Plimoth Plantation carefully call “the harvest celebration in 1621” is an important story for all Americans, both as a real historical event and as a symbol.

As a real historical event it commemorates at least limited cooperation between Europeans and Native Americans. Both before and after that date, the two groups (particularly the Europeans) were indeed trying to wipe each other out. During the early days of the settlers at Plymouth and particularly during the three days of the harvest festival in 1621, however, they shared food, shared an acknowledgement of the bounty of nature, and tried to some degree to communicate with each other. Like personal moments, historical moments may be great without being perfect. This was one such moment.

The Thanksgiving story (not just the real event, but the myth) also shows us what a great people Americans can be together if we try to find commonality and share what we have.

Abraham Lincoln declared the first official national Thanksgiving in 1863, during the Civil War. In his proclamation he urged his countrymen not just to give thanks on the fourth Thursday in November but also to use the day to ask God to “heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility, and Union.” Thanksgiving is ideally about coming to terms with the good and the bad in our nation—and moving on together.

On a more local level, Thanksgiving brings families and communities together. Like the nation and the world, family members don’t always get along. On Thanksgiving Day, however, we try to share goodwill along with the turkey and cranberry sauce. And we do our best to remember neighbors who don’t always have enough to eat by sharing with them as well, just as the Wampanoag and Puritans did.

As composer Alice Parker wrote simply in a benediction response she created for my own Charlemont Federated Church, “We give thanks. We count our blessings. We share them with all the world."

Amen.

In this post and the next I’ll share a few of the dishes that will grace my family’s table this Thanksgiving. None of them is terribly demanding to make. I hope they help spread the Thanksgiving spirit.

Chef Randy’s Dynamite Brussels Sprouts

This simple, seasonal recipe comes from The Artisan Gourmet by Randy Tomasacci, a book I mentioned in my last post. Randy is the demo chef for Bittersweet Herb Farm in Shelburne, Massachusetts, and his new book blends recipes using BHF’s products with humorous stories from his life and cooking career. This vegetable dish is a real winner and looks gorgeous to boot.

In case you’ve never prepared Brussels sprouts before, here are prepping instructions adapted from The Culinary Institute of America Cookbook: Cut off the ends of the stems. Trim off any withered or discolored leaves. With the stem facing up, cut a small incision in the stem of each sprout; this will help the vegetables cook more evenly. Soak the prepared Brussels sprouts in cold water until you are ready to cook them.

NOTE: If you can’t find the Bittersweet products in time for Thanksgiving and want to make this dish on your own, you may play with ingredients. The oil is a mixture of canola oil and olive oil with lemon oil (you could use zest!), bay leaves, peppercorns, and mustard seeds. You could probably get away with just the oil and lemon. The finishing sauce is soy based with a little water, canola oil, and lemon juice plus a trace of balsamic vinegar and herbs and spices to taste. Again, you could probably cheat with just soy sauce, water, and lemon juice. The overall effect is Teriyaki-like: yum!

Ingredients:

1 pound Brussels sprouts
2 tablespoons Bittersweet Herb Farm Lemon Pepper Oil
3 tablespoons Bittersweet Herb Farm Lemon Garlic Finishing Sauce

Instructions:

Blanch the Brussels sprouts for 3 minutes. Drain them and slice them in half. In a frying pan, heat the Lemon Pepper Oil, and add the sprouts to the hot pan. Sauté the sprouts until they are brown, reduce the heat to low, and add the Finishing Sauce. When the sauce is heated, remove the sprouts in their sauce to a serving dish. Serves 4.

By Bread Alone

The sermon in my small New England church recently turned to bread and its many meanings. In Christianity and in common parlance, bread is the most basic human food, the food that stands for all other foods, both literal and spiritual.

It is also one of our most captivating foods to consume. As James Beard wrote, “Bread is the most fundamentally satisfying of all foods; and good bread with fresh butter, the greatest of feasts.”

To me, bread is a symbol of fellowship. I often make it with my mother Jan (the world’s best kneader), my sister-in-law Leigh, and/or my nephew Michael. As we knead the bread, we knead our relationships, gently stretching and binding them. Our laughter makes its way into the bread, making it healthy and happy as it rises.

Bread is also a symbol of the power of the cosmos. Yeast, little creatures we can hardly see, work their magic and grow when given the right nourishment (a little moisture, a little warmth)—just as people do, just as the universe did during the big bang. My college astronomy professor, Tom Dennis, liked to use raisin bread as a metaphor for the expanding universe. He posited that humans are in the position of a raisin in a loaf that is rising. We cannot see the whole loaf of bread, but we know that the surrounding raisins are receding from us.

Perhaps Browning had it right when he wrote, “If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and the heavens.”

Bread’s appeal is perhaps strongest when it exists only in potential form. In the oven, long before it can be eaten, it releases its glorious aroma into the house. Something about that penetrating odor always brings a longing to me that speaks to much more than food. The smell mysteriously promises to fulfill basic human needs —for home, for love, for nourishment.

In an odd way, it reminds me of the Johnny Mercer/Harold Arlen song “Lullaby,” sung in the show St. Louis Woman by a woman recalling an idyllic childhood with a long estranged mother. The melody is haunting, and the overall feeling is of sad nostalgia.

There with my head on her shoulder,

The troubles of the world seemed far away.
A million years, a million miles have come between us,
And yet it seems like only yesterday.

We may not be able to revisit all the scenes of our childhood. Nevertheless, the smell of bread in the oven and that first bite of freshly baked heaven bring us back briefly to a time of innocence and wonder, when it seemed as though a kiss or a treat from a loved one could solve all of humanity’s problems.

I was lucky enough to experience the aroma of fresh-baked bread Friday when I experimented with a loaf from a new book, The Artisan Gourmet by Randy Tomasacci. Randy is the demo chef for Bittersweet Herb Farm. This company in Shelburne, Massachusetts, sells a line of high-quality herb mixes, oils, sauces, and vinegars. His book (which I’ll write more about soon) highlights those products with relatively simple recipes and humorous stories about his life and cooking career.

This recipe for a no-knead bread features Bittersweet’s Garlic with Rosemary Oil. You could infuse your own oil, but this one is pretty terrific. I started to add some fresh rosemary from my garden to the dough but discovered it didn’t need it.

Randy didn’t specify what kind of pan to use for this bread. I shaped it into a flat ball before the second rising and placed it to rise (and eventually bake) on a parchment-covered cookie sheet. Between its aroma and its appearance, it took all my willpower not to gnaw into it before we took pictures!

Randy’s Lake Como White Bread Dough

Ingredients:

1 packet active dry yeast
1-1/4 cups lukewarm water
2 tablespoons Bittersweet Herb Farm Garlic with Rosemary Oil
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons sugar
3 cups flour, sifted
olive oil as needed for brushing

Instructions:

Dissolve the yeast in the warm water. Add the oil, the salt, the sugar, and 1/2 the flour. Beat for 2 minutes at medium speed. Scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl frequently. Add the remaining flour, and blend it in with a spoon until smooth. Scrape the batter from the sides of the bowl. Cover with a damp cloth, and let rise in a warm spot until the dough doubles in bulk (about 30 minutes).

Punch the dough down, and dust it wih flour until it is no longer sticky to the touch. (This is when I shaped the ball.) Allow the dough to rise once more, again covered, until it doubles in bulk; then bake it at 375 degrees for 45 minutes, or until the top crust is golden brown. Brush the top of the loaf with olive oil, and let the bread cool on a rack. Makes 1 loaf.

November in the Hills: Embracing the Darkness (Part II)

Judith Maloney (Courtesy of West County Cider/CISA)

A strong proponent of November in our western Massachusetts hilltowns is Judith Maloney of West County Cider in Shelburne, Massachusetts. Along with her husband Terry and a group of sweet- and hard-cider enthusiasts, Judith founded Cider Days in 1994. This tradition of celebrating the apple harvest and sharing cider, which takes place the first weekend in November, is now a highlight of autumn in Franklin County.

To Judith, Cider Days don’t just honor the harvest. They also keep a way of life alive. She told me last week that early on she saw this festival as “something that would keep the apple trees in the ground—because the economics of apples have changed very much over the last 20 years. No longer do people buy apples to store over the winter. They buy them at the supermarket, and [the apples] come from Australia and New Zealand.”

In contrast, says Judith, Cider Days preserve local apples and cider–and the trees that produce them. “We’re so lucky to have these trees,” she said with passion. “A lot of them have great age on them. [And] there’s a lot of knowledge among the orchardists along the valley and in the hills. It’s great that we can go onto the next season with that knowledge still spreading.”

One of this year’s Cider Days speakers enthusiastically takes his celebration on to that next season, when the trees have yielded all their fruit and the snow has settled in. Michael Phillips of Lost Nation Orchard in Groveton, New Hampshire, takes a group deep into the woods on a dark night once a year to mark “old” Epiphany (January 17, the 12th night after Christmas in the old Julian calendar). There the group sings, dances, salutes the apple trees that will blossom in spring, and shares warm refreshments, including wassail (spiced cider-y punch) and slices of wassail pie.

Here are the lyrics to the song the wassailers sing, courtesy of Michael Phillips:

Oh apple tree, we’ll wassail thee in hope that thou will bear.
The Lord does know where we shall be to be merry another year.
To blow well and to bear well, and so merry let us be:
Let every man drink up his cup, here’s health to the old apple tree.
To blow well and to bear well, and so merry let us be:
Let every man drink up his cup, here’s health to the old apple tree.
(Repeat all twice more)
Apples now–
Hats full,
Caps full,
Barrels full,
Three bushel bags full,
Barn floors full,
And even a little heap under the stairs.
Hip, Hip, Hooray! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Hip, Hip, Hooray!

In his book The Apple Grower Michael explains that he likes to greet the season with gusto. He writes, “[O]ur gathering often occurs on the coldest night of the winter. There’s certainly an almost mystical power in sharing apple custom with forty dear friends as you dance around the chosen tree at thirty degrees below zero!”

Now, there’s someone who knows how to embrace the season’s darkness.

Here are a couple of recipes that take advantage of the season’s cider bounty. Be sure to bow to an apple tree as you get ready to eat them; then go indoors and enjoy the cozy warmth and light of your house.

The Green Emporium (Courtesy of the Green Emporium)

Cider Mussels Emporium

This recipe comes from the fertile culinary mind of Michael Collins, chef at the Green Emporium in Colrain, Massachusetts, and a longtime fan of Cider Days. The restaurant has just reopened as a pizza/pasta parlor. Michael may have simplified his menu, but he hasn’t lost his creativity: he has a terrific new apple pizza!

Ingredients:

3 to 4 chopped shallots
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
2 cups hard cider
3 pounds mussels, cleaned and de-bearded (discard opened or cracked mussels)
1/4 cup crumbled blue cheese (of your choice; Gorgonzola is nice here, or just plain blue cheese)
chopped parsley as needed for garnish

Instructions:

Sauté the shallots in the olive oil until translucent, about 5 minutes. Just before the shallots become translucent, pop in the garlic pieces, but be careful not to burn the garlic.

Add the hard cider, and simmer the mixture until the cider is reduced in half. Add the mussels, and cover to steam until the mussels open. (This will only take a couple of minutes so be sure to check frequently.) Take the pan off the heat, crumble the cheese over all, and transfer to a serving dish. Garnish with parsley. Serves 6 to 8.

Michael Phillips (Courtesy of Carolyn Halloran/West County Independent)

Lost Nation Traditional Cider Pie

Michael Phillips serves a slice of this pie (indoors!) to his guests each winter at the end of his orchard wassailing ceremony. He also recommends it for Thanksgiving and other special occasions.

The cider jelly required is a reduction of sweet cider. Boil 3 cups of cider until you have only 1/2 cup left; what remains is what you will need for this recipe.

Ingredients:

3/4 cup sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1 pinch salt
1/2 cup cider jelly
1/2 cup boiling water
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon melted butter
2 cups sliced apples
pastry for a 2-crust, 9-inch pie

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. In a bowl, combine the sugar, cornstarch, and salt. Add the cider jelly and water, and blend. Stir in the egg and melted butter. Place the apple sices on the bottom pie crust in a pie plate, and top with the cider mixture. Put the top crust over all, cutting a few slashes in it. Bake for 40 minutes. Serves 6 to 8.