When fall arrives in Northern California, those of us from the Northeast go wild for the snippets of autumn color that illuminate the Japanese maple, ginkgo and persimmon trees. These trees are diminutive in size but they carry their voluptuous colors well.  “We finally have a season!” we exclaim to fellow Nor’easters at the market, in the gym, around the neighborhood. As if the back of the year, punctuated by glittering rain, luminous sunlight, shawls of fog and salty bay breezes, was hard labor. 

As our East coast friends prepare for the first frost, removing screens from porches and doors, mounding decaying leaves around the hostas, and ensuring that the plow man has them on his schedule, we bask in the pumpkin glow of a generous, warm autumn. No cold or rain in sight – so far.

From where I sit and watch from the Adirondack chair on the terrace, the Japanese maple stretches its slim limbs, reaching for the autumn sky and the waning sun. The lower branches dip and drip their color but it’s the ruddy red leaves hanging on the new-growth branches at the top of the tree that catch my eye.  When the breeze ruffles through, bringing the leaves to life, they shimmer like ruby earrings when a head tips in laughter.   The finches and wrens chirp and bob from branch to branch. 

Soon a billowing wind or weighty rain will send the leaves to the ground where they will mulch the grass until the gardener comes and blows them away. The summer birds will take flight to warmer climes. The crows remain though. Sitting heavily on the bare branches, they are camouflaged in the inky morning light. 

I don’t mourn the falling leaves. Their fleeting lush green and then riotous rush of color leave behind a broad, fresh view of the western horizon. November rain will slick the branches. The tree will stand stoically in the thin light. The hummingbird feeders will sway silently.  Once the woodpeckers return, they’ll visit – and rule - the suet feeder, scattering the nuthatches and brown creepers with their raucous laughing calls. 

Japanese maples do not produce sap, as I am sure you know, but the change of season gets me thinking about maple syrup and the sugar maples from whence it comes. While sugaring season occurs in the spring, maple syrup enjoys its beyond-pancakes moment in the fall.  It caramelizes roasted acorn squash, slicks bacon (you’ll never go back), glazes holiday ham. It’s a natural complement to other sweet flavors. Hence these Maple-Chocolate Chip Blondies. I gave a batch to my college son at Family Weekend. “They’re the bomb, mom,” which means he thoroughly approved. I think you will, too.

Note: if you’re looking for an alternative or a complement to Thanksgiving pie, these blondies are just the ticket. Make them now and freeze until the big day.

🍁. 🍁. 🍁

MAPLE CHOCOLATE CHIP BLONDIES

Makes sixteen 2” blondies

1 1/4 cups unbleached flour
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup light brown sugar
1/3 cup maple syrup
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 cup walnuts, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup bittersweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350F. Lightly grease an 8-inch square pan.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, and baking powder.

Melt the butter and brown sugar together in a saucepan over low heat or in a heatproof bowl in the microwave. Remove from the heat and stir in the maple syrup. Transfer to a large bowl, let cool, and then add the eggs and vanilla and stir to combine.

Fold the flour mixture into the butter mixture being careful not to over mix. Stir in the nuts and chocolate chips.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Bake until the top is golden brown and shiny, about 20 to 25 minutes. Do not overbake. A bit of a jiggle in the center is okay. Remove from the oven and cool on a rack and cool to room temperature before cutting. Recipe slightly adapted from King Arthur Flour.

Note: Store the browning at room temperature for up to one week, or in an airtight container for up to 3 months.

Just as a rose smells sweetest before its demise, autumn flaunts its fleeting nature. This season of tailgate picnics (see you soon, CU Buffs!) and leaves crackling underfoot urges us to recognize time’s ephemeral quality and to treasure each moment.

After sending off our son to his freshman year of college with exhortations along the lines of “Best 4 years of your life!” my husband and I returned to a house resounding with silence. Rather than answering the morning (every morning) call, “Hey, mom, I can’t find my Vans/backpack/car keys,” I sit with my cup of coffee and gaze at the garden. The autumn wind rustles through the trees, their branches becoming barer with each passing day. The wind seems to have sucked the energy out of the house, too.

Teenage boys exude distinct energy. It’s all consuming, lurching from pound-my-chest masculine bravado to outright immature silliness. One evening in August, I heard Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl blaring from the speakers in our yard and my son’s friend shouting over it, “Happiest song of the summer!”

Okay, let’s take a step back, shall we? Brown Eyed Girl was written in 1967. We listened to it in college, and it was throwback even then. But some things gloriously transcend time. Brown Eyed Girl is a song about youth, growing up, and okay, it’s about “making love in the green grass,” too. It is a paean to memory. It’s nostalgic. How perfect that the boys would be playing this song on the cusp of their yet-traveled adventures.

I will miss that riotous and richly textured boy energy. Thanksgiving is just around the corner, though. I can already hear their voices trilling in the crisp autumn air. I smell their weed, oh I mean chicken katsu from the Hawaiian take-out place. I feel the pleasant softness of well-worn sweatshirts when we hug, and I see them tossing lacrosse balls (and dice for beer die). I can taste their joy.

In the meantime, speaking of ephemeral, the last of the season’s tomatoes hang heavily on the vine. My friend harvested hers this week and bestowed me with a basket of red, ripe treasures. I’m a bit tired of Caprese salad and gazpacho, so I took an autumn spin and made tomato bread pudding. Layered with cheese and laced with herbs and garlic, it’s just the thing for a warm, cozy dinner.

TOMATO BREAD PUDDING

Bread pudding is traditionally made from stale bread. If you have it, great. If not, a fresh crusty baguette or country loaf will do just fine. If you’re the traditional sort, toast the fresh bread slices in a 350F oven for about 15 minutes.

Serves 4 to 6

½ pound country bread, sliced about ½-inch thick
3 large, ripe, tomatoes, sliced (about 1 pound)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 teaspoons chopped fresh oregano
3 teaspoons chopped fresh parsley
2 garlic cloves, minced
3 ounces Fontina or Gruyere cheese, grated (about ¾ cup)
2 ounces grated Parmesan cheese
4 large eggs
2 cups milk (low-fat okay)

Preheat the oven to 350F. Lightly grease a 2-quart baking dish with olive oil or butter.

Layer half of the bread slices in the baking dish. Top with half the tomato slices. Sprinkle with salt, pepper, and half the herbs and garlic. Top with half the cheese. Repeat the layers.

Beat together the eggs and milk. Season with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and pour over the bread and tomatoes. Bake until puffed and golden, about 50 to 60 minutes. Let sit 5 minutes before serving. Adapted from The New York Times.

Hey, everybody!

It's been awhile - almost a whole summer - since I've posted. How could I take a step back when there is such a bounty of deliciousness to highlight in recipes. But yeah, I took most of the summer off. This doesn't mean I wasn't cooking and eating. And eating. And cooking. And eating more. 

I woke up today with the realization that summer is singing its swan song. Hate to be a downer but ain't it the truth? We only have weeks left to enjoy juicy plums and peaches, mouth-watering tomatoes, sweet corn, and I could go on and on.

So before I take the next few weeks off (I will be grieving my only son having left for college), why not a nod to the tomato, tomahto? 

If you go to the archive (click on it above), you'll find lots of tomato-y recipes. One of my favorites: Italian Gratin with Tomato and Zucchini. This gem is archived under the date August 25, 2016 and carries the title A Cry for Tomato Help (And The Italian Gratin Answer). Let's face it, as we think about back-to-school, it's the tomato and the zucchini that would become the fast friends at carpool. Perfectly matched.

The lead to the recipe is a story about (human) friendship of the girlfriend kind. Where would we be without our sister friends?

Enjoy! See you in September. 

I was at once enamored and scared of him. Completely transfixed. He was like the guy I met in a college bar who I knew my parents would never approve of. Because! Because Anthony Bourdain was a firebrand. He was the kind of guy who touched my soul in places that enlivened me, excited me, and made me feel like I could stretch beyond my expected norms. His weathered exterior masked his kind, sensitive heart.

It wasn't just about Anthony's food knowledge. He was not a cooking channel talking head. Not by a long shot. Anthony gave a master class in storytelling. His global curiosity was unmatched.  And perhaps most moving, his authentic and soulful love for real people around the world torpedoed through the television screen and into our hearts and minds. With food as his lovely, melodic instrument, Anthony united us with people in other (and sometimes strange) cultures. From Seoul to Tokyo, Hanoi to Hawaii, and so many points in between, Anthony Bourdain was #badass. 

"Food is everything we are. It’s an extension of nationalist feeling, ethnic feeling, your personal history, your province, your region, your tribe, your grandma. It’s inseparable from those from the get-go.”  Roger that, Anthony.

This recipe is great, but if you choose not to make it, please read the recipe. His voice, true and exciting,  resonates. God, we need more people like this. Rest in peace, Anthony Bourdain. You were a force. 

MUSHROOM SOUP

6 Tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small onion, thinly sliced
3/4 lb (12 ounces) button mushrooms
4 cups chicken stock
1 sprig Italian parsley
Salt and pepper
2 ounces dry sherry

In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter. Add the onion and cook until translucent. Add the mushrooms and the remaining butter. Let the mushrooms sweat for about 8 minutes. Stir in the chicken stock and the parsley and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for about an hour. Remove the parsley and discard. Let the soup cool for a few minutes. Transfer to the blender and blend at high speed until smooth. Do I have to remind you to do this in stages, with the blender's lid firmly held down, and with the weight of your body keeping that thing from flying off and allowing boiling hot mushroom puree to erupt all over your ktichen?

To astound your guests with a Wild Mushroom Soup, simply replace some of those button mushrooms with a few dried cèpes or morels, which have been soaked until soft, drained, and squeezed. Not too many; the dried mushrooms will have a much stronger taste, and you don't want to overwhelm the soup. Pan sear, on high heat, a single small, pretty, fresh chanterelle or morel for each portion, and then slice into a cute fan and float on top in each bowl.

And if you really want to ratchet your soup into pretentious (but delicious), drizzle a few tiny drops of truffle oil over the surface just before serving. Why the hell not? Everybody else is doing it.

Before you play the race card on me, the white whine moniker was coined by Streeter Seidell, author of White Whine: A Study of First World Problems (2013, F+W Media, Inc.). If you take a step back, you have to admit that the title is not only brilliant but true, too.

Lately, I have been hearing a lot of complaining among my crowd about persnickety “problems.” There’s a Hatfield and McCoy battle waging at my tennis club (that alone raises the eyebrow). Non-members are attending tennis clinics. And they are super loud, laughing and calling to each other on a court adjacent to courts occupied by members. Said members are consequently bugged to distraction. Granted the noise is not prescribed tennis etiquette but it begs the question: if the pros at the US Open can play through rowdy crowds, why can’t a 3.0 player just get on with it?

Here’s another first-world whine: Queuing to get on your flight to Hawaii/Mexico/Europe because your miles did not sweep you through to first class.

Oh, and another one: A crying baby on that flight to paradise.

And how about this: Standing behind a person with 16 items in the 12-item market cash-out line.

And this: Candy corn or Peeps not sold all year long.

I can go on:

Your kid not getting into the college dorm he wanted.

And on: A sweat-showering person posing next to you in hot yoga.

And one (or two) more: No WI-FI. Wonky GPS.

Listen, I am guilty of more than one of the whines above. Stuff bugs me, too; however, in light of what transpires beyond the entitled masses, I am trying to maintain perspective.

I’m thinking about stuff like this:

For 1 billion people safe water is scarce. It takes less than 3 seconds for the water to cascade from our faucets (thewaterproject.org).

Around the world, 62 million girls are not in school (usaid.gov).

42 million – roughly one in eight Americans – rely on food stamps (CNN Money). These are fellow Americans who make only (or less than) $26, 600 a year for a family of three. Do the math - approximately $555 a week – for EVERYTHING. 

More than 13 million kids in this country go to school hungry (No Kid Hungry).

In a single night in California in 2016, 21.48% of the population experienced homelessness. In New York, 15.7% (National Alliance to End Homelessness).

I could go on with these stats but I think you get my drift.

Am I an activist? Do I have an answer for these real problems? No, but I think I finally became less of an ostrich and more of an eagle. I am well aware of the strife in the world but, until recently, it swirled around me rather than alighted upon me.

When I was overwhelmed, my grandmother told me, “Take one step and your other foot will follow.”  Recognizing that something needs a solution is the first step to making it happen. So I guess this post is the first step.

This recipe for Olive Oil Braised Potatoes with Sage and Bay Leaf pays tribute to another strife. During the mid-19th century, a blight destroyed virtually every potato in Ireland, a staple for the country’s population. About 1 million people perished. Seriously, aren't we so blessed?

OLIVE OIL BRAISED POTATOES WITH SAGE AND BAY LEAF

Cooking the potatoes in olive oil elicits their creamy, buttery flavor.

Serves 4

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 ½ pounds small red potatoes, halved
1 small shallot, minced
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh sage
1 small bay leaf
1 cup chicken stock + more if needed
Salt and pepper
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh parsley

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the potatoes, shallot, sage and bay leaf. Cook, stirring, until the potatoes are fork tender, about 10 minutes.

Add the chicken stock, bring to a boil, reduce heat to a simmer and cook until the potatoes are tender, about 20 minutes. If the potatoes dry out, add a bit more liquid.

Season to taste with salt and pepper. Sprinkle with the parsley, and serve.

I heard a wonderful term the other day: the hundred days of May. God, it's so true. From the beginning of May until mid-June, when school lets out, it is literally a race to the finish. Teacher appreciation day. Step up day. Sports semis and finals. Banquets of every color - honor society, varsity athlete, you name it, these are just the ones I am attending. And then the finish line. Pre-school to elementary school. Elementary school to middle school. Mid to high school. And then (insert sob here) high school commencement. It sounds like a ramble but every mother knows it is a wink. 

The days go by fast and the moments even more so. My son's school sent a message the other day asking parents to collect photos and make a collage for display at the sober (hah!) grad night. I am trying really hard not to embarrass him but I am partial to certain memories. My son in his high chair, age one, with cupcake frosting on his face. Our black lab chasing him bare butt-naked poolside (if Coppertone can do it, why can't I?). The first lacrosse game when he, like his fellow second graders, were mere bobbleheads (small boys, big helmets). A sneak pic when he, in his teenage lankiness, was languidly asleep in his bed (mouth open) during our college tour. 

I am a human pin cushion. Each day during these hundred days of May a pin pricks my heart. How to slow down time? I wish I had an app for that. But we can't manipulate nature, regardless of our net worth or influence. That's why I decided to make a stew today. From chopping the ingredients to browning the meat to simmering the stew, this is not a get-food-quick endeavor. It is, however, a satisfying one. And isn't that what we wish from all our days?

SOFFRITTO LAMB STEW

Soffritto is the holy trinity of Italian cooking. Translated, it means "fried slowly." Soffritto is the undercurrent of flavor in so many Italian dishes. Onions, celery, and carrots are the underlying flavors but, like Italians, soffritto loves variations. In this recipe, the soffritto is composed of onion, celery, parsley, rosemary, and garlic. It adds a jolt of freshness to the rich lamb.

Serves 6

3 pounds boneless leg of lamb, cut into 1 1/2-inch chunks
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large yellow onion, diced
2 celery stalks + leaves, finely chopped
1/2 cup finely chopped Italian parsley
2 tablespoons finely chopped rosemary
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 cups dry white wine
3 1/2 cups beef stock
one 15-ounce can chopped tomatoes
1 tablespoon tomato paste
12 baby potatoes, cut in half
1/4 pound green beans, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup frozen peas

In a large bowl, sprinkle the lamb with salt and pepper. Toss the lamb in the flour until evenly coated. 

Heat oil over medium-high heat in a large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or other deep pan. Add the lamb to the pan and brown on all sides. Do this in batches so as not to crowd the meat. If the pan becomes dry, add a bit more oil. Transfer the lamb to a plate. 

Add the onion, celery, parsley, and rosemary to the pan and cook, stirring, until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, 3 to 5 minutes more. 

Increase the heat to high. Add the wine and cook until reduced by half, stirring to scrape the brown bits from the bottom of the pan.

Return the lamb to the pan. Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, and beef stock. Cover partially and simmer until the lamb is tender, about 1 hour.

Add the potatoes and cook for 15 minutes. Add the green beans simmer until the  tender, another 5 to 10 minutes. Toss in the peas and cook until thawed, about 5 minutes more. Taste for seasoning and serve. Crusty bread makes the perfect accompaniment.

The charming custom of anonymously leaving flower-filled May Day baskets on doorknobs dates from the Middle Ages. Make May Day "baskets" from glass jars, metal cans, cardboard and, of course, any variety of wicker or grass baskets. Fill the basket with any flower variety that makes you happy; it will surely make your neighbor happy, too. 

Hang the basket on a neighbor's door or tuck it up against a front fence. Let's also think about the people who don't have front doors or fences such as those in nursing homes and hospitals. What a happy treat to receive a cluster of fresh spring flowers.

Happy May Day!

Orrechiette, or "little ears," pasta is ideal for cradling the small pieces of pancetta along with the peas. Well-loved by the Pugliese (including me), the pasta delivers a delightful chew that plays nicely with the soft peas and crunchy pancetta. Asparagus delivers a nice herbal flavor that balances the sweet peas and salty pancetta. In short, this dish is a win-win. 

ORECCHIETTE WITH PANCETTA, PEAS AND ASPARAGUS

Serves 4

1 pound orecchiette pasta
Kosher salt
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/4 pound finely diced pancetta
3 to 4 asparagus stalks, cut into 1-inch pieces (about 1/2 cup) 
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 cup frozen peas, thawed
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

In a large pot of salted water, cook the pasta until al dente. Drain the pasta, reserving one cup of the cooking liquid.

In a large, deep skillet over medium-high heat, heat the olive oil with the butter. Add the pancetta and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Add the asparagus and cook until barely tender, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Stir in the peas. 

Add the pasta along with the reserved cooking water and the cheese. Season with the pepper and cook over medium heat until the sauce thickens a bit. Stir in the parsley and serve immediately, accompanied with more Parmesan cheese.

I planted herbs in my garden a week or two ago. They’re still spriglet babies with a shared green hue that is almost transparent. As the sun warms, and warms the herbs, too, the single diaphanous hue will deepen into a range of greens - smoky (sage), emerald (parsley), clover (basil), moss (oregano) and more.

Spring is a delicate season defined by new life. Endings beget beginnings. After a winter of muted hues, we see the emergence of color, whether it’s a patch of grass unveiled by melting snow or the flash of scarlet on a red-wing blackbird. We hear a certain buzz. I’ve never been sure about the source of the buzz, but scientific sorts tell me it emits from baby insects – bees and so forth. I prefer to think that it is the sound of the natural world awakening. We feel raindrops on our heads and shoulders and the cheering warmth of a young sun. We touch the earth as we plant seedlings on a temperate weekend. We welcome the first asparagus.

Fresh asparagus with its lovely tender tops and toothsome bottoms is one of the first vegetables to emerge in the spring. While we’ll enjoy asparagus throughout the summer, its first blush of flavor is fleeting, and that makes it all the more wonderful. And so, this recipe.

Farfalle with Asparagus Tops and Herbs is a delicate pasta dish in which the farfalle, or butterflies, float in a simple chicken broth. It’s nice to serve in the early spring when asparagus is at its peak and we’re ready for lighter fare.

RECIPE

FARFALLE WITH ASPARAGUS TOPS AND HERBS

The trick to this brothy pasta dish is using the thinnest asparagus you can find. Serve it as a first course or a light lunch. 

Serves 4

1 pound thin asparagus
Kosher salt
1 pound farfalle (butterfly-shaped) pasta
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup finely chopped shallots
1/2 cup dry white wine
4 cups chicken broth
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
Freshly ground black pepper
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Trim off the tough ends of the asparagus and discard. Cut the spears on the diagonal into 1-inch pieces; reserve.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add 2 generous pinches of salt and when the water returns to a boil, add the pasta. Cook according to package directions until the pasta is al dente. Drain the pasta and return to the pot.; cover to keep warm.

Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the shallots and cook until translucent, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add the asparagus and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add the wine and the chicken broth, bring to a boil, and cook for 5 minutes to reduce it a bit. Add the herbs and stir to mix. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Add the asparagus mixture to the pasta and toss to coat with the broth. Serve with freshly grated Parmesan cheese. 

High, low. Up, down. Black, white. And for the purpose of this post, left coast (rain), east coast (snow). 

We seem to be living in a world of opposites lately. Points of view about politics, immigration, the stock market, and global warming are, more often than not, polarizing (pun intended). But when it comes to the weather, Mother Nature rules. 

While yet another snowstorm (say it ain't snow) is poised to blanket the east, in my neck of the woods we are celebrating spring. Literally. Those April showers that bring May flowers are about to deluge us, thanks to the pineapple express, a wash of warm rain that originates in the tropics. 

This weekend will be a beat down weatherwise but I proffer a sunny outlook in the kitchen. This salad showcases spinach, a green that deliciously straddles winter and spring. It's a "meaty" green with a toothsome texture and forward flavor. That's why it pairs so well with smoky, salty pancetta. Pine nuts offer a creamy crunch. 

The salad is a lovely side dish for 'most anything, cold weather or warm weather.  I savor it on its own, too, with crunchy, country bread - and a double dose of pancetta.

RECIPE

SPINACH SALAD WITH PANCETTA AND PINE NUTS

This salad takes the Italian route with the addition of pancetta, pine nuts, and balsamic vinegar.

Serves 6

3 tablespoons pine nuts
1/4 pound pancetta, cut into bite-size pieces
3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
8 cups spinach leaves

Preheat to the oven to 350 degrees. 

Spread the pine nuts on a baking sheet. Place in the oven and toast until lightly browned,
3 to 5 minutes. Watch them carefully, as they will burn in an instant!

In a medium skillet over medium-high heat, cook the pancetta until crisp; drain on paper towels. 

In a large salad bowl, whisk together the vinegars and salt and pepper. Whisk in the oil in a steady stream. Taste for seasoning. Add the spinach and toss to coat with the dressing. 

Divide among 6 plates, sprinkle with the pancetta and pine nuts and serve immediately.

Do you remember the children's rhyme about weather? It goes something like this: "January snowy, February flowy, March blowy, April showr'y, May flowr'y," etc.  How prescient, even for a poem written in the 19th century when "global warming" wasn't part of the conversation.  

Easter and Passover are snowy, flowy and blowy this year, yet they bring a message of hope and celebration for the fresh start that is spring. Proof positive that there is a tender shoot even in the coldest ground, March shepherds in daffodils, robins, and spring lamb.

Across the globe, lamb is the most popular Easter symbol. Back in the day, the lamb was considered a lucky omen, especially at Easter time. I won't go into the religious symbolism other than to say the lamb is a symbol of peace. For centuries, the pope's Easter dinner has featured a whole roast lamb. And so, here we are with a recipe for lamb. 

Roasting a whole lamb is a bit cumbersome, even if you can find one. My recipe showcases tender, juicy loin lamb chops. They're quick to grill (or broil) and present beautifully on the plate. A flurry of herbs and a healthy spritz of lemon complement the earthy richness of the lamb. Serve the chops with other spring yums such as tender asparagus followed by sweet strawberries.

Some say January is the month for resolving to do something new. I say it's spring. Why else would a season be synonymous with leaping, launching, and jumping off? Happy landing! 

RECIPE

LAMB CHOPS WITH LEMON, GARLIC, AND HERBS

Tender lamb chops are quick to cook yet elegant enough for a dinner party. Feel free to substitute other herbs such as thyme or mint for the rosemary and oregano.

Serves 4

¼ cup fresh lemon juice
½ cup olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary or 2 teaspoons dried
2 tablespoons chopped fresh oregano or 2 teaspoons dried
8 bone-in lamb loin chops, each about 6 oz. and 1-inch thick
Kosher salt and black pepper

In a shallow bowl or baking dish, combine the lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and herbs. Season the lamb chops with salt and pepper and add to the dish, turning to coat with the marinade. Let stand at room temperature for 30 minutes or cover and refrigerate up to 24 hours.

Remove the lamb chops from the marinade (discard the marinade). Grill over high heat or broil for 5 minutes. Turn the chops and grill another 5 minutes for medium-rare, or until done to your liking.

After a false spring warm snap that enticed daffodils, plum trees, and sneeze-inducing Acacia to bloom, we've been booted back to winter. This is the meteorologic equivalent to the cute, debonair guy you meet in a college bar who drinks bourbon instead of (or with) beer and makes you feel oh-so-pretty, witty and wise,  and then goes home with the spray-tanned girl in the crop top. You know it's not going to end well. And it didn't.

Today it's chilly, gray and rainy. Spring will come again. Until then, why not warm up with a bowl of soup?  And why not give the nod to cauliflower? It's having a moment. Take a stroll through your local market and you'll see the knobby, ivory veg transformed into "rice" (do this at home by pulsing the florets in a food processor until they resemble, well, rice), pizza crust and other variations on familiar foods. Ka

Roasted Cauliflower Soup with Italian Herbs is at once rich and healthy. (Thank you, soup angels, it's possible to enjoy both in one bowl.) Roasting cauliflower elicits its earthy flavor and locks in its gentle sweetness. A bit of char imparts a hint of smoke. The Italian herbs complete the flavor dance card. Feel free to use whatever you have on hand but I am partial to the rosemary-basil-oregano triumvirate. I tossed fresh rosemary sprigs and a few garlic cloves with the cauliflower for roasting and then included dried basil and oregano in the soup. Serve the soup with a green salad and crusty bread and you've got a simple, sensational meal just right for a rainy (or snowy) night. 

RECIPE

ROASTED CAULIFLOWER SOUP WITH ITALIAN HERBS

Rich in flavor yet low in fat, this soup is just the thing for a rainy or snowy night. In fact, it's just right for any night. Serve with a green salad and crusty bread and you're good to go. Substitute vegetable stock for the chicken stock if you prefer a vegetarian dish.

Serves 4

1 large head cauliflower, cut into florets
3 cloves garlic, smashed and peeled
2 fresh rosemary sprigs
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 large leek, white and light green parts, quartered and sliced
1 teaspoon dried basil
½ teaspoon dried oregano
5 cups chicken broth
2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Chopped parsley or chives, for garnish

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Toss the cauliflower with the garlic, rosemary, red pepper flakes, and 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.

Spread the cauliflower onto a rimmed baking sheet and roast until it is golden brown and tender, stirring occasionally, about 35 to 40 minutes.

Heat the remaining oil in a saucepan over medium heat and cook the leek until soft, about 5 minutes. Stir in the basil and oregano and cook, stirring, until fragrant, about1 minute. Add the broth to the leek mixture and bring to a boil. Add the cauliflower, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook 20 minutes.

Puree the soup until smooth and creamy. You may need to do this in batches. Return the soup to the pot and stir in the Parmesan. Taste and adjust salt and pepper, if needed. Ladle into individual bowls and top with the chopped parsley or chives.

The Meyer lemon love fest continues. Last week, I posted a recipe for Chicken Soup with Orzo and Meyer Lemon. It was one of my most popular recipes to date. I'm not surprised because the recipe is super simple, freshly flavorful and healthy all at once. Plus, there's that radiant Meyer lemon sweet-sour kick. 

My Meyer lemon trees continue to bestow me with brilliant, sunshine-y yellow gifts. It's a banner year. These magical little lemons deserve a place in the ciaodonata sun. So, herewith, a super simple yet sumptuous recipe for Meyer Lemony Roasted Broccoli and Cauliflower. #dolcevitadelish. Enjoy!

RECIPE

MEYER LEMONY ROASTED BROCCOLI AND CAULIFLOWER

Serves 4

1/2 pound broccoli florets
1/2 pound cauliflower florets
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 small Meyer lemon, thinly sliced
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Kosher salt, to taste

Preheat an oven to 475 degress. Place the broccoli and cauliflower on a rimmed baking sheet and toss with the oil, garlic, and lemon slices. Roast until the vegetables are browned and tender, about 30 minutes. Toss the vegetables halfway through. Serve immediately.

When January sets in, shrouding the world in gray, sunny Meyer lemons arrive, too - just in time for my birthday. In December, tiny white blossoms, tinged with lavender in the center, appear on the trees almost overnight as if the moon fed them. When I brush up against the blossoms on my way to feed the birds, their heady perfume startles me. 

If you've never tasted a Meyer lemon, you're missing out on a citrus celebration. The Meyer lemon is the fruit that makes the party. Like the guest who glows with charisma yet seems to harbor a delicious secret, Meyer lemons are blessed with alluring attributes, too. The egg-yolk yellow rind outside, the translucent marigold flesh inside. A thin edible rind without the pinch of bitter pith. A sweetness that trumps the acidity of common lemons, though that doesn't mean the Meyer's flavor doesn't resonate.  It brilliantly straddles the richness-brightness line. 

When the earth is soaked with rain and the skies are bearing down, the Meyer lemon "spills a universe of gold" (Pablo Neruda). 

RECIPE

CHICKEN AND ORZO SOUP WITH MEYER LEMON

Serves 4 to 6

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium leek, white and pale green parts only, halved lengthwise, sliced into
1/2-inch-thick slices
1 celery stalk, sliced into 1/2-inch-thick slices
1 garlic clove, minced
Zest of one lemon and juice of two
1 pound skinless, boneless chicken breasts
8 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 bay leaf
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup small pasta, such as orzo or tubetti
1/4 cup chopped mixed fresh herbs, such as thyme, parsley, and dill

In a large heavy pan over medium heat, warm the olive oil. Add the leek, celery, and garlic and cook until translucent, 5 to 8 minutes. 

Add the chicken and the broth to the pan along with the lemon zest, lemon juice, and bay leaf. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat, and simmer until the chicken is cooked through, 15 to 20 minutes. Transfer chicken to a plate. Let cool and then shred the chicken into bite-size pieces.

Return the broth to a boil. Add the orzo and cook until al dente, according to package directions. Stir in the chicken and herbs.  

When it's rainy or snowy, gloomy and cold, I say let's throw New Year resolutions to the wind. Once you try a warm cheese toast, I think you'll agree. My grandmother made them for my sisters and me and we would devour them with teeny tiny glasses of red wine mixed with Sprite. This precursor to the ubiquitous avocado toast is honest and simple and, yeah, simply delish. 

Whether employed as an hors d'oeuvre at a cocktail party, an accompaniment to soup or salad, a protein-rich breakfast, or an afternoon snack, a warm cheese toast earns its keep. As that potato chip commercial says, "Bet you can't eat just one." After all, when we're old and gray, what will we remember? Our New Year diet resolutions or the small (edible) treasures in life. I think you know the answer.

RECIPE

WARM CHEESE TOASTS

Old-fashioned yet somehow still appropriate, cheese toasts are timeless in their appeal. I like the trio of cheeses I call for in this recipe but feel free to adapt if you wish. Gruyere would be a nice substitute for the Fontina (they're both nutty) and Roquefort makes a nice understudy for the Gorgonzola. 

Serves 6

1 sweet baguette, cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup grated Fontina cheese
1/2 cup crumbled blue cheese such as Gorgonzola

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Brush the bread slices on one side with the olive oil and place in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake, turning once, until just beginning to become golden, about 2 minutes on each side. Remove from the oven and turn the bread slices so the olive oil side is face up.

Combine the cheese in a small bowl. Sprinkle the bread slices with the cheese, dividing it evenly among the slices. Return to the oven and continue to bake just until the cheese melts, 3 to 5 minutes. Serve immediately.

After the excess, the abstinence. Whether you're enduring dry January, swearing off sweets, or embracing Paleo, this is the month that's buttressed by food resolutions (yes, I used BUTTress intentionally). Thankfully, resolving to eat healthfully doesn't mean jettisoning flavor. To wit, this winter salad with Gorgonzola and pears. Its crisp textures and full flavors are at once satisfying and refreshing. Yes, I know the salad includes cheese. Leave it out if you must but you'll miss the lovely creaminess that counterbalances the crunch of the other ingredients. Since you're eating so healthfully EVERY SINGLE DAY, a little bit of Gorgonzola won't harm you. 

RECIPE

WINTER SALAD WITH GORGONZOLA AND PEARS

This robust salad is terrific with roast meats and poultry. Store the walnut oil in the refrigerator after it's opened. 

Serves 8 as a side dish

1/2 cup walnuts
6 tablespoons red wine vinegar
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
Salt and black pepper
3/4 cup walnut oil
1/4 cup crumbled Gorgonzola
Leaves from 2 small heads romaine lettuce, torn into bite-sized pieces (about 8 cups)
3 ripe but firm small pears, such as Red Crimson or Bosc, halved, cored and thinly sliced
1 small red onion, thinly sliced

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spread the walnuts on a baking sheet lined with parchment. Roast until the nuts are fragrant, about 10 minutes. Cool and then coarsely chop the nuts. 

In the bottom of a large salad bowl, stir the red wine vinegar, mustard, a generous dash of salt, and a sprinkle of pepper together. Gradually whisk in the olive oil and taste for seasoning, adjusting as necessary. Add the cheese and stir to combine. 

Add the lettuce, pears, and red onion to the bowl. Toss gently to coat the salad with the dressing. Sprinkle with the nuts and serve.

Holidays drift upon memories and traditions. We hang baubles on the tree and a holly wreath on the door. We collect pine cones and make pomanders. We sing carols and stuff stockings. Well, maybe "we" don't but you may. Amongst the flurry of holiday activities, I am willing to bet that one tradition reigns supreme: baking cookies. If you are a holiday cookie baker, chances are you harbor a favorite, must-have, it's-not-Christmas-without cookie recipe. I know I do.

My Italian aunts called them simply Chocolate Christmas Cookies. In reality, they are sweet, rich bites of Puglia, the Italian region from which my family hails. The cookies are spiced with cinnamon, cloves and allspice, studded with toasted walnuts, chocolate morsels, and raisins, and spiked with a healthy dose of bourbon that knits the ingredients into rich and complex goodness. You can't help but swoon.

I published this recipe last December but I have had so many people request it again that I'm sharing it once more. For the recipe as well as more about my aunts who bestowed this holiday ritual upon me, simply click here. 

Buon Natale. May you have a happy and delicious holiday.  

Happy Holidaze! My fingers ache from online shopping. My feet relentlessly remind me (at 3 AM) of time spent cooking and baking. My derrière seems to expand every day, no thanks to cocktailing and celebrating at various holiday soirées. It's time for a rejuvenating, healthy bowl of soup. And this one's a winner. 

Farro Soup with Beans, Broccoli, and Chicken Sausage is just the foundational recipe. You can add other vegetables (cubed potatoes, green beans, and peas come to mind). If you are of the vegetarian persuasion (shout out to Glo and Randee), you can take that route. Simply omit the sausage and use water or vegetable stock in place of the chicken stock. Go for broke and add tubetti pasta for a farro-y take on pasta e fagioli. 

I'm giving a dinner party this weekend. Rather than serving an over-the-top menu, I'm thinking of offering this soup with warm crusty bread and a salad. For real. Cozy vibes all around! 

RECIPE

FARRO SOUP WITH BEANS, BROCCOLI, AND CHICKEN SAUSAGE

Borlotti beans, also known as cranberry beans, complement the earthy flavor of farro. Sure you can use canned beans (use 2 cups if you opt for this route) but the texture of the cooked dried beans is so much more substantial. You can also opt to make this a vegetarian soup. Simply omit the sausage and use water or vegetable stock rather than chicken stock. This is a hearty, satisfying soup that tastes even better on the second or third day. It freezes well, too.

Serves 6 to 8

1 cup dried borlotti (cranberry) beans
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
8 ounces fully cooked chicken or turkey sausages, sliced
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
2 celery stalks, finely chopped
2 carrots, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup farro
One 28 oz can chopped tomatoes
8 cups chicken stock or water, more as necessary
2 cups broccoli florets
1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
Freshly grated Parmesan, for serving

Place the beans in a large, heavy pot. Cover with water about 2 inches above the beans. Cover the pot, bring to a boil, and then remove from the heat. Let the beans soak in the water for 1 hour and then drain.

Heat the oil in a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and cook until browned, 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer to a plate.

Add the onion, celery, and carrots to the pot along with a ¼ teaspoon salt and ¼ teaspoon pepper. Cook, scraping up any brown bits of sausage from the bottom of the pan, until the onion has softened and turned translucent, 5 to 10 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the farro, beans, tomatoes, sausage, and stock. Bring to a boil, and then decrease the heat and simmer until the farro and beans are tender, about 1 to 1 ½ hours. Add the broccoli florets and cook until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the parsley and stir to combine.

Serve the soup and pass the Parmesan at the table.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year and by that, I mean holiday parties are in full swing. Sure we, or should I say I, will ingest and imbibe a bit too much but what’s a celebration without a bit of recklessness?

I was once invited to a cocktail party where the menu featured nothing but Champagne, caviar, and sugared fruit. The room was lit with candlelight and the delicate honey scent of beeswax rippled the air. Talk about reckless but talk about elegance, too.

Therein lies the beauty of the cocktail party. It can be as lavish or as spare as you wish it to be. Simply be sure you have enough drinks and hors d’oeuvres, a witty guest or two to keep things interesting, and the rest will work itself out.

The cocktail party traditionally lasts two to three hours and for this, I doubly bless it. Not that I don’t adore my friends and like most of my acquaintances, but I’m over hosting dinners that go on and on into the oblivion of a drunken night and a murky next morning. I generally specify an ending time for the party, which signals that my guests should make their own arrangements for dinner (as for me, frozen pizza or tamales beckon). If you exist in a world of capriciousness and abandon, simply list the time of the party and see what develops. Send me a note. I’d love to hear about the shenanigans.

You have lots of options for drinks. Simply stock the bar with wine and beer or elaborately fortify it with hard liquors, mixers, and aperitifs. Lately, it’s all the rage to offer a specialty drink. Maybe a classic cocktail such as a Manhattan? A selection of margaritas in a variety of flavors? You can go for broke and offer a custom libation. I’ve got you covered on this with a recipe for the Red Paisley, a colorful concoction of pink grapefruit juice, vodka, and lemon. A few dashes of cocktail bitters add a snap of extra flavor.

RECIPE

RED PAISLEY

Wearing the pattern isn't necessary when sipping this drink - but just think of the effect.

Serves 1

3 ounces fresh pink grapefruit juice
2 ounces vodka
1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice
3 to 4 dashes cocktail bitters, or more to taste
Lemon wheel, for garnish

Fill a cocktail shaker with crushed ice. Add all the ingredients except the lemon wheel and shake well. Strain into a coupe or martini glass and garnish with the lemon wheel. Cheers!

Like so many cooks, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. The pre-game starts a week or two before the holiday and with each day comes a task or two. Stir up the cranberry sauce and roll the pie crusts (freeze 'em). Chop vegetables for the dressing and bake off those pies. Before you know it, you've cruised into the day before the big day (yes, you can make your mashed potatoes the day before). Set the table. Stock the bar. Finally, the kick-off! Chill the wine. Bring the turkey to room temp, season it and stick it in the oven. Cue the seductive aroma that lures guests into the kitchen. We all know this. You can create a magnificent hors d'oeuvres presentation on the sideboard and a lovely selection on your bar cart but everybody slinks into the kitchen - and stays. It's a tailgate for the big game aka dinner. 

As time has tumbled the years, the years have tumbled me, too. Count the wrinkles. I used to insist on making EVERYTHING for Thanksgiving. The turkey. The dressing. The sideshows. The pies. Even the rolls, God help me. When family and friends asked, "What can I bring,?" it was all I could do to sputter, "Wine." 

But now I've seen the light. I've quarterbacked many a holiday but I've realized that there are some plays I dread. I am not a baker. The pie crusts know this and they always fight back, shrinking in the pie pan. I would rather not make the appetizers either, but I  realize that if I assign that task to a guest, she/he may arrive late and that is so not cool. Fumble in the end zone.

So here's my theory re: appetizers: If you are relegated to making the appetizers, you can always buy them (shout out to Trader Joe's stuffed mushrooms). If I were a bigger person, I would do the same. You can serve shrimp cocktail (and you should) and maybe even a crudité platter for those guests who refuse to cast aside their CrossFit and Paleo diets.  

Hear me on this, though. While the turkey is roasting, the football games are toasting. That means a dip. That means a time-honored dip. And yes, my teammates, that means Onion Dip. Sure, you can opt for the soup mix based dip, no judgment, but why not make it from scratch? It's super easy and yes, you'll exalt in the applause from the spectators. After all, isn't this what playing for a crowd is all about? 

RECIPE

HONEST AND GOOD ONION DIP

This onion dip is "honest" because it's homemade and "good" because it's downright delish. Its sweet caramelized flavor and sinfully creamy texture make this dip irresistible. If you have the time, refrigerate it overnight and the flavors will sing even more harmoniously. Serve with potato chips, crackers, or vegetables.

Makes about 1 cup

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 yellow onions, coarsely chopped
Kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
Freshly ground pepper to taste
Dash (or more) of hot sauce
Chopped chives, for garnish

In a medium skillet over medium-high heat, melt the butter with the olive oil. Add the onions, a generous dash of salt, and the thyme and sautéuntil just beginning to brown, 5 to 7 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are very soft and golden brown, another 20 to 30 minutes. Transfer the onions to a bowl and let cool.

Add the sour cream, mayonnaise, and lemon juice to the onions and mix well. Season with salt and pepper and hot sauce to taste. Garnish with the chives.