My recipe for polenta stuffed artichokes came about thanks to winning some heirloom artichokes from Ocean Mist. When I was working on my first cookbook I needed artichokes and it wasn’t quite artichoke season. Fortunately Ocean Mist came to my rescue and kindly shipped me a whole carton full and I’ve been a fan ever since. I've found each of the varieties of artichokes they grow to be particularly plump and meaty with great flavor and not overly bitter. I'm a subscriber to their newsletter, which alerts me to when and where artichokes are on sale locally and sometimes also gives away artichokes.
Most recipes use just the artichoke hearts or they call for stuffing the whole artichoke with bread crumb stuffing. I decided to try an entirely different kind of stuffing — lemon and goat cheese polenta. Artichokes tend to make other ingredients taste sweet, so the tangy and salty flavor profile of lemon and cheese complements it perfectly. It will seem like a lot of polenta, but it's what makes the dish so hearty. Use as much or as little of the polenta as you like.
Sweet potatoes were not my responsibility this year, instead, I volunteered to make my stuffing, a shaved brussel sprout salad, cranberries, this tart, and mini-cranberry hand pies.
While the tart was baking in the oven, I decided to roast the one sweet potato I had on hand and 3 purple beets. The oven was already pre heated – time management is the key to life. Don’t you agree? I knew I wanted to make a quinoa and beet salad over the weekend and roasting the beets in advance, stored in a bit of vinaigrette is always a great time saver. The sweet potato, I decided, would be breakfast, “the day after”.
I had found this muffin recipe a few weeks back and experimented by swapping out some of the original ingredients and turned it into a pumpkin-pecan muffin. They were very good. Packing some up for both Levi’s teacher as well as a friend of mine who suddenly lost her husband to a massive heart attack, I was only left with a nibble and a few crumbs. I liked them enough, but felt they needed that WOW factor.
Bittersweet chocolate chips and a sprinkling of streusel topping was just what I was looking for. The WOW factor was achieved and a basic, gluten free muffin base is now happily tucked away in my overflowing recipe binder.
This is a delicious fall/winter soup that makes a perfect first course at Thanksgiving. It’s packed with carrot flavor that’s enhanced by a double dose of ginger.
Cook’s Illustrated suggested adding fresh carrot juice to enhance the flavor of the soup which really appealed to me. I’ve been using my Hurom Slow Juicer to create all types of fresh, nutritious vegetable and fruit juices, so making fresh carrot juice is quick and easy.
If you don’t have a juicer, bottled carrot juice will also work just fine.
I decided I wanted to try out some new Thanksgiving side dishes, it’s always fun to mix new tastes with old favorites.
Turnips and parsnips are not a taste I grew up with. It kind of surprises me as I was exposed to all kinds of different foods, heavy with Eastern European influence (not that the turnip or parsnip originated from that part of the world). However, root vegetables were a staple in my childhood household, but I don’t remember turnips and parsnips being part of the repertoire.
Fast forward into adult life, my husband introduced me to what is now one of my favorite tastes, parsnips. Have you ever had parsnips mashed up like potatoes with butter and garlic? Or added them to soup? They are mild and sweet, and were used as a sweetener before the arrival in Europe of cane sugar. They mimic the taste of a roasted carrot, but with more complexity. I also add them to stews for a layer of unsuspected flavor.
For me, eating turnips was just a natural progression from parsnips. They are however very different in flavor from other root vegetables, more like a peppery radish with a bitter edge. Very distinct in taste but amazing when roasted, which brings on a milder flavor.
I’m calling it…the last of the Thanksgiving leftovers that is. This was truly the end of my turkey…those last two cups of shredded meat. It is December, time to wrap up this turkey thing and move on to the next holiday. However, I do know lots of you also make a gobbler for Christmas, so this recipe might come in handy at the end of the month. You’re welcome:).
I have to say I thought long and hard on how I was going to use up these last bits of the Thanksgiving bird. For me it’s a challenge, there’s no way I’m going to serve it with gravy like the regular holiday meal. I want to make something completely different.
Since it was lunchtime and after I fiddled through the spice cabinet, I decided on this A-M-A-Z-I-N-G sandwich. I added everything I possibly could because texture in a sandwich like this is key. Is has to have crunch.
My husband had it for lunch and requested more for dinner…it was that good. This is definitely a nice way to send off the bird for another year. (Okay I’m lying, I’ve stockpiled two turkeys in my deep freeze. I know I’ll be breaking them out over the winter.)
There's no other month that represents comfort food better than December. Right now it's all about soups, stews, roasts, and much more. But sometimes all that rich food is just too much to handle! (Thanksgiving was for me.) So when I crave something comforting that doesn't weigh me down, I turn to pasta.
Old fashioned spaghetti and meatballs or any other tomato sauced pasta dish is always a welcome meal around this time. But my favorite way to enjoy pasta is with simple flavors and seasonal produce. A dish like this pasta with sautéed Brussels sprouts is perfectly comforting and light, all at the same time. There aren't too many comfort foods that can be both.
This recipe is unique because the sprouts are separated into leaves and then sautéed. There's no need to worry about smelly and awful tasting sprouts since sautéing is a gentle cooking method that coaxes out all the sweet flavors of the sprouts. Red onions add additional sweetness to the dish and Parmesan cheese creates a thin sauce that clings to the pasta and vegetables. This dish is worth making now while Brussels sprouts are in season.
I haven’t been to Paris in a while, but I’ve been to the next best place: Encino.
There are two reasons why I go to Encino, a small city (or enclave or district or borough or cluster or whatever it is) in the San Fernando Valley, north of where I live. One is that I have a superior dentist there. The other is that I know a fabulous cook who lives there, and I like to take advantage of every opportunity to eat at her house.
Last time I dropped by (“Oh, is it dinner time? Who knew? What’s cookin’?”) Suzanne offered me a sample of her French onion soup. While my memory is admittedly badly impaired, I don’t recall eating a better version of it, ever.
For those of you who do not want to go to Encino because you are too busy visiting more glamorous places like, say, Cleveland, I have managed to procure the recipe for Suzanne’s soup. If you know what’s good for you, you will make it.
I confess, I couldn’t live without onions - maybe if I was marooned on an uninhabited tropical island and there was literally ‘nothing’ to slow cook or even firewood [I suppose] I would have to adapt. No other vegetable makes me happier then local onions - it is my favorite. All the different varieties have separate flavors and I love to do different thing with each variety from Ailsa Craig to Walla Wallas.
The first onion of the season is always baked whole with a knob of butter, a few tablespoons of maple syrup and wrapped in foil or parchment paper. I slow bake the onion parcel at 325 degrees F for at least and hour and a half-you will know when it is done when the aroma makes its way all the way to the other side of your house. How is that for precise recipe writing?
After I’ve eaten my first baked onion of the season with a spoon I can relax and get a bit more creative. Did I mention I encourage my onion farmers to leave the green tops on? They think I’m a little daft to pay for the extra weight only because they have never baked one of their onions split in two, covered with a touch of stock and baked in a covered dish until it is tender and very little liquid is left. I pour a little heavy cream over the top along with its distant cousin, chopped chives and reduce the cream until thick-ish. Any variety of onion works - red onions will tint the cream a delicate rose color.
Roasting broccoli is probably my favorite method – it’s quick and easy to prepare. High heat roasting enhances the natural sweet and nutty flavor while creating a beautiful brown, caramelized exterior. People seem to either love or hate broccoli, which is a shame because few other vegetables are as naturally abundant in indole-3-carbinol, a powerful antioxidant.
President George H.W. Bush apparently disliked it so much that he never, ever, wanted to see a sprig of broccoli on his plate. According to reports he proclaimed, “I'm President of the United States, and I'm not going to eat any more broccoli!"
It seems things have changed a bit at the White House, and broccoli is back on the menu. Last year at a Kids' State Dinner, President Obama told a kid reporter that broccoli is his favorite food. He may have been exaggerating a tad, but give this recipe a try, it might just change your mind about broccoli.
I can't think of anything more American than chowder. This seafood soup is synonymous with chilly days and large family gatherings. Even though we're almost into spring, the weather has continued to be cold and dreary here in the Northeast. I've been craving hot bowls of soothing soup. There are many different recipes for chowder, including the little-known Rhode Island-style made of clear broth. But the one I'm a fan of is creamy New England-style, which was probably the first recorded chowder recipe, dating back to the 18th century. It just so happens that I'm the outlier in a family of all Manhattan-style lovers. Still for me, the fish broth enriched with cream holds the most appeal. That richness is what makes this chowder so soul-satisfying.
The recipe for chowder originally came from France ("chowder" comes from the word chaudière, meaning cauldron) and eventually made its way to England and over to the New World with the colonists. The recipe evolved according to the surroundings, availability of seafood, and the specific tastes of the region. Somewhere along the line certain recipes became more popular than others. Immigrants added their particular spin: the Portuguese added tomatoes to clear-broth chowder and invented what we know as Manhattan-style. That began the epic rivalry between New England- and Manhattan-style chowders, now typically made with clams. But the first chowders in America were made with fish.