We propped it more to the back and then more to the front, viewed it from every angle, but still, even though the iPhone spirit level affirmed it was technically perpendicular, the tree appeared to list drunkenly to one side.

“It’s not listing,” said Jon, stringing up the lights. “That’s just the way the floor is.” We decorated in silence for a moment as the Spotify carol playlis cycled through renditions of Holy Night. And then, maybe it was the tree “relaxing out,” as Jon had confidently hoped, maybe it was the assortment of baubles and shimmer, or maybe it was the Steaming Bishop, but suddenly, the tree was beautiful, and Christmas was coming.

Steaming Bishop (makes 6 glasses)

This drink, a mulled port, is the subject of one of my favorite appropriated family stories. A friend of mine told me that it was his grandma’s favorite tipple. Apparently, she would drink a couple after evensong and play christmas carols on her piano and make up rude lyrics. When I drink these, that’s exactly what I feel like doing.

• Put the orange into a medium oven for 15 minutes to roast
• Pour the port and the orange juice into a pan
• Heat gently with the clove-studded orange and the cinnamon stick until steaming but not boiling
• 

Think pumpkin pie, but creamier, and without the faff of pastry, and you’re thinking panna cotta. The perfect Thanksgiving-y treat, but one that seems generally Fall, not specifically just for Thanksgiving, which is always pumpkin pie’s limitation.

I first made these back in late September, for our friends Dan and Jen’s baby shower. On my list of things to be thankful for this year are all the babies that we have lavishly showered. And that means, I’ll blow my own trumpet here, I think we’ve got the hang of throwing a good baby shower party – a large, comforting Mac N Cheese, with little bowls of bacon, mushrooms, pickled onions and tomatoes to add in, a fancied up salad, (in this case, with toasted pecans and cranberries) and some kind of dessert in the mismatched china cups that I sourced from Goodwill.

This latest baby shower, for our friends Jenny and Dan, had an autumnal bent, which suggested something pumpkin-y in the cups. Not mousse (raw eggs), not a custard (not sure if the cups would survive being baked in the oven), which left panna cotta, always a third choice because of the gelatin, which seems like a step too far – though, every time I actually make it, I wonder why I was bothered by the gelatin in the first place. It really isnâ€t a deal breaker, just a little bit of soaking required.

So I bought the pumpkin (in a can) and set to work – not a whole lot of work. Around 15 mins, one pan and one blender.

One of the very best ways to eat Fall.

Makes 6-8 servings, depending on the size of your ramekins / teacups

For the panna cotta
1 ½ cups milk
1 cup canned unsweetened pumpkin
1 cup cream
1 packet of gelatin
¼ tsp cinnamon

For the toping
1 cup heavy cream
1 tsp good vanilla extract
1 tsp total cinnamon

• Pour half a cup of milk into a pan and sprinkle the gelatin on top. Leave it alone until it goes all spongy – five mins.
• Meanwhile, blend (or whisk) the pumpkin, cream, cinnamon and the rest of the milk until itâ€s really smooth and combined.
• On a gentle heat, stir the gelatin until itâ€s dissolved and the milk starts to steam. Pour through a sieve (just in case some bits of gelatin are still in tact) into the pumpkin mixture and blend or whisk again to combine fully.
• Pour into ramekins / vintage teacups, cover with plastic wrap and chill in the fridge overnight (or for 5 hours)
• Before serving, whip the cup of cream with the vanilla. Spoon onto the panna cottas. Sprinkle each one with a light dusting of cinnamon.

Some other decorating flourishes:

• A sprinkle of toasted dried coconut
• A shard of pumpkin seed brittle
• A blob of sour cream and a sprinkle of brown sugar
• Crushed up hard caramel candies
• A scoop of vanilla ice cream dusted with cinnamon

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness well underway, and vegetarians set to come to dinner on Friday, Jon and I were faced with the inevitable Sophieâ€s Choice: Squash or Mushrooms?

As far as Iâ€m concerned, squash. Every time, squash. Cannot get enough of it. Nowhere near done with it. Roasted, sautéed, pureed, soup-ed, stuffed, bring it, September through January.

“Mushrooms,” said Jon. “We always have squash.”

Since this is true, I took the point and set to with my mushroom brush. And hereâ€s the thing: Iâ€d forgotten how good mushroom ragu really is. Meaty and woodsy and exactly the thing for a dark Autumnal night. A fennel, apple, pomegranate salad to start. A tarte tatin to finish. Red wine. Lots of it. And the first log on the first fire of the season. A good night.

Serves 4

(I work on the principle of at least a cup of mushrooms per person – try to go for a variety of interesting ones, shitakis, chantarelles, trumpets, and bulk them out with portabellas and chestnuts as your budget allows.)

4 cups of mushrooms
1 fat clove of garlic
1 tbsp butter
2 sprigs of fresh thyme
¾ cup vermouth (or white wine)
½ cup heavy cream
Parmesan cheese
1 box of penne

• Boil a big pot of water. Salt and put in the penne. Set a timer for 1 min less than the box suggests.
• Melt the butter in a frying pan. Slice and add the mushrooms. Season well.
• Keep cooking as the mushrooms go flabby, then suck back in again and roast. Grate in the garlic. Add the vermouth to deglaze the pan, then add the cream. Let everything bubble and thicken slightly.
• Reserve about a cup of the pasta liquid, then drain the pasta and toss into the mushroom sauce. Grate in about ¼ cup parmesan and toss everything together. If the sauce seems stiff, add a little bit of pasta water to bring it together into a glistening slick.
• Serve with more cheese and plenty of black pepper.

Last week, we took my visiting parents to Blaze, a pumpkin festival in a somewhat mythical place that city-dwellers refer to as “upstate”, which turns out to be about an hour out of the city near Sleepy Hollow. It is a common urban-living fantasy to rent a car, and head “upstate” for the day to see fall colors and eat apple cider donuts, both of which we did.

As night fell, we headed under the glowing pumpkin arch, hot apple ciders in hand, and began to explore Blaze, a magical series of tableau constructed entirely out of pumpkins, glowing warmly into the cold dark. It was about as Fall as Fall gets, really. Unless you’re eating pumpkin soup. In which case, that’s as Fall as Fall gets.

Serves 4
1 can of pumpkin
1 tray of pre cut up squash (or half a small squash tat youâ€ve peeled and de-seeded and chopped yourself like a grown up)
1 large onion
2 cloves garlic
1 can chick peas
1 can chopped tomatoes
1 handful ditilini pasta (the very tiny kind)
4 cups of spinach or kale – something green and leafy
+ pretty much any CSI vegetables you want to get rid of, cut into similar sized pieces as the squash. Not by any means necessary to add extra veg, but pleasing.

• Peel and dice the onion. Get it into a large pan with a good slug of olive oil, season really well, and let it cook gently until translucent – about 5 minutes.
• Grate in the 2 garlic cloves and toss in the oil to coat.
• Add the squash, any CSI vegetables that are not leafy (swede, carrots, parsnips, fennel, leek, sweet potato, yam …) the can of pumpkin, and the tomato. Add 6 cans worth of water, clamp the lid on, and cook until the cubes of squash (and other veg if using) are tender (about 20 minutes).
• Rinse the chickpeas and add along with the ditalini and the spinach.
• Put the lid back on and simmer until the pasta is cooked (about 5 minutes, though check the packet for instructions since they come in all kinds of different sizes).
• Serve with a generous grating of parmesan and a grind of black pepper.

It takes a bit of time, sure, but there’s close to zero effort involved, and you can make a couple of tins at a time, and keep them for a couple of months in the fridge to cheer up impromptu ice cream night, or add to a mug of hot chocolate, or spoon over apple pie …

A few pointers:

1. Any brand is fine. I tested three different brands and couldn’t taste any difference.

2. Make sure the tin is entirely covered. If it gets uncovered, apparently, the pressure will be unequalized and it could explode.

3. Let the caramel cool in the can in the pan of hot water overnight before you open it. Again, apparently it could explode if you release the pressure when it’s hot.

This version uses blueberries.

1 cup blueberries
1 1/4 cups flour
1/4 cup cornmeal (or just use another 1/4 cup of flour)
3/4 cups sugar (plus about 1 tbsp for sprinkling)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp lemon zest
2 tsp lemon juice
2 eggs
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup plain yogurt

• Preheat the oven to 350f, and grease an 8 inch spring-form pan with a little olive oil
• In one bowl mix the blueberries, 1 1/4 cups of flour, 1/4 cup of cornmeal, 3/4 cup of sugar, 1 tsp baking powder, 2 tsp lemon zest and 1/2 tsp of salt
• In a jug, whisk the 2 eggs, 1/2 cup of yogurt, 1/2 cup of olive oil and 2 tsp lemon juice – it might look a bit curdled, thatâ€s totally normal
• Add the wet mix to the dry and stir to combine
• Spoon into the tin, sprinkle about 1 tbsp of sugar on top, then bake for about 1 hour – check after 45 and cover if the top is browning too quickly
• Cool in the tin for 10 minutes, then slide a knife around to loosen and pop out of the spring form. Cool on a rack then serve
• This cake is delicious with a spoonful of sour cream on the side or with a little drizzle of extra virgin olive oil

If You Can Make That You Can Make This

• Use a cup of any summer fruit that you love instead of blueberries – Iâ€ve recently made a raspberry  and a peach version, and I love to make a purple grape version, in which case I lay a couple of sprigs of rosemary on top before baking and fondly think of it as being a little bit Tuscan
• Or this spiced apple cake with maple frosting
• Or these spiced peach sour cream muffins

Did we get enough of it?

1. Was there enough ice cream? Ideally the salted caramel goat milk ice cream from Victory Gardens.  http://victorygardennyc.com/

2. How about Paella. Reservation at Socarrat made. Crispy bits? On it.

4. Time for a few more lobster rolls. Loving the one at Fig and Olive, even though, inexplicably, itâ€s on a round bun.

5. Bring it, watermelon, in all your forms. Jump into my feta, parsley, red onion, black olive salad. Dive into my ice-filled blender and become a Campari melon cocktail.

6. Slice up the cucumber and pour on the Pimms. Even though itâ€s crazy difficult to find real lemonade in New York. Even though Schweppes only comes in mini cans that cost a kingâ€s ransom. Worth it.

7. Corn. All the corn.

8. Peaches. All the peaches. Potentially on a shortcake with a blob of whipped cream.

9. Tomatoes. Olive oil. Salt. Maybe + burrata. Blitzed and stirred into warm pasta. Roasted on top of a puff pastry base spread with herbed goat cheese. Rubbed onto garlic toasts. Topping ramshackle pizzas. Panzanelle salad. No way to lose.

If it’s summer, then there probably should be Sangria, right? Ideally, peach sangria, made with white wine, because, honestly, even though the incident where Jon was carrying a jug of red sangria and did not see that the screen door (yes, we had to repaint the walls and ceiling)  was 3 apartments ago, that kind of drama lives on in memory.

In other news, we got a new couch. It’s very fancy. Blue velvet, non-slip covered. Seems like a massive risk.

And so, white wine sangria it is. Luckily, when it tastes this good, there’s no hardship in that.

White Wine Sangria

¼ cup of peach syrup (from a can of peaches) – you could dissolve ¼ cup of fine sugar into the Cointreau if you donâ€t have a tin of peaches

Pour into a pitcher, stir and serve. You can make it several hours ahead of time and keep it chilled in the fridge, but only add the club soda at the last minute or it will go flat.

This is my favorite supper in the summer: a picnic of great things:

a lovely cheese, good bread, a crunchy salad, maybe some avocado spritzed with lime and salt, maybe a plate of ham, maybe a salami. A little bowl of olives. And, ideally, bringing a little Liberace beauty to the table, a bunch of radishes.

Dip them in unsalted butter, sprinkle with sea salt. Done.

Open the wine. No oven needed.

This is the picnic, minus the wine, that we took to Storm King. I adjusted the salad for wilting purposes – more of a slaw with cucumber, carrots, cabbage, fennel, a lemon dressing and slivered almonds. All packed up in paper Chinese take out boxes. This is a top tip from Ms Ina Garten, cheaply actioned on Amazon and it’s changed my picnicking life, since slimy post-picnic tupperwear kind of grosses me out.

SMores Bars for dessert.

Art. Friends. Sunshine. Happiness.

Now I know it’s never usually a good idea to mess with a classic, and honestly, if I could only GET Schweppes lemonade here in New York, I’d never have bothered experimenting, but I can’t so I did, and honestly, Pimms with ginger and prosecco is absolutely worth having in your summer cocktail rotation.

“We have to be able to get Lemonade,” said Jon, exasperated. “I mean, we can get actual Alligator Foot in more than one market off Canal Street!”

But we can’t.

Lime and lemon, sure. Sprite, yes, but with Pimms, absolutely not. Last year we bought a few ruinously expensive cans from Tea and Sympathy (cost more than the Pimms), and made our own lemonade (pretty successfully really) with soda streamed water, lemons and sugar syrup.

I am aware that this is the absolute definition of a First World Problem, and so is the solution we cam up with this year: really good spicy ginger beer and prosecco. Really. I’m almost ashamed to tell you about it, only it tastes so good!

So you make regular Pimms, basically. Cucumber, strawberries, mint, apple maybe, orange slices, blueberries … wherever your aesthetic and fridge leads you. Let the fruit sit in the Pimms for ten mins or so, then top up the jug with bubbles.

So, proportions: 1 part Pimms, 1 part ginger beer 1 part prosecco. Easy like a sunny afternoon.

And for classic Pimms, check Classic Pimms