She’s at it again. Friend Maggie has become quite the baker, and during our visit last week, she showed me how to make her latest favorite: a delicious—and easy— granola bread.

Doesn’t it look tempting?

It’s chock full of dried fruits, almonds, and honeyed grains. The dough itself is barely sweetened; the abundance of jewel-like fruits provides bursts of sweetness throughout the loaf.

If she could, Maggie would have you over right now, for “a set” on her porch in the country. We’d savor the fall afternoon with a buttery slice and cup of coffee. Lining the front of her yard are the shrubs called burning bush–at this moment in their brilliant red blaze. We’d watch the flurry of chickadees, snatching and storing seeds for the coming winter. We’d talk about oddities we experienced gardening this year–how the tomatoes put more of their energy into vines than fruit, and did you know that groundhogs could climb a fence and eat green beans?

Instead, we’ll have to do the next best thing, and show you how it’s done…

What a fetching assembly of ingredients!

You could make this bread with just raisins and granola, if you prefer. And, if you’d rather put in pecans instead of almonds, you’d be well-pleased with the results.

Maggie had all kinds of dried fruits–apricots, blueberries, cherries, cranberries—in her pantry, so we took the “more is better” approach. For this bread, it proves to be the right one!

Yes, it’s a kneaded, yeasted bread, but don’t be dismayed. Remember, Bread=Time. And most of that time means leaving the dough alone. (after a vigorous kneading!)

This recipe calls for one major rising, followed by a brief one, once the loaves are formed.

The holidays are drawing near. Wrapped up in festive packaging, her fruit-n-granola bread would make a much appreciated gift.

Even better though, would be to have a loaf on hand to serve guests, sliced and smeared with soft butter. Served alongside a cup of hot coffee or tea—ah, I can’t think of a more pleasant way to share a chilly afternoon visiting with friends.

MAGGIE’S FRUIT-N-GRANOLA BREAD

1/3 cup Rolled Oats (not the “quick” kind)
1 1/2 cups Dried Fruit (use a variety & dice if necessary)
1 tablespoon Unsalted Butter (substitute vegetable oil for vegan)
2 tablespoons Honey
1/2 teaspoon Salt
1/2 cup boiling Water
1 cup Granola (chop into coarse crumbs if necessary)
1 cup lukewarm Water
1 pkg. Active Dry Yeast
2 1/2 cups Unbleached All-purpose Flour
1/2 cup Almonds, roughly chopped

In a large bowl, combine oats, 1/2 cup of the dried fruits, butter, honey, and salt. Add boiling water, mix well. Stir in granola and set aside.

In a small bowl, combine yeast and lukewarm water. Cover bowl with a dish towel and set aside to ferment.

When granola mixture has cooled down to lukewarm, stir in yeast mixture.

Stir in flour, 1 cup at a time. Stir in the remaining dried fruit and almonds. The dough will be fairly sticky.

Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface. Flour your hands, and adding flour as needed. knead the dough for about 8 minutes, or until it’s smooth and no longer sticky.

Place dough into an oiled bowl, making sure to coat all over. Cover bowl with a dish towel and place in a warm area – the oven with light on is a great place. Let rise until it’s doubled in size – 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Punch dough down. Cut in half and shape into two slightly oval balls. Place on an oiled sheet pan. Cover with a dish towel and let rise for 15 – 20 minutes.

Preheat oven to 375F. Bake for 35 – 40 minutes. It should have a golden brown crust and sound slightly hollow when tapped. Foolproof test is 190F on an instant read thermometer. Let cool on a wire rack.

Let cool for at least 10 minutes before slicing! (Gives you time to brew up that pot of coffee-)

Makes two small round loaves.

The first of November! The lure of the Feast!

A couple of years ago, Kim Severson and Julia Moskin, food writers at the New York Times, staged a battle: Turkey vs. Sides. Which brought more happiness to the Thanksgiving table, the noble bird or its myriad accompaniments?

Now I ‘m not one to take sides; I want ‘em all. One is incomplete without the others. But, if pressed to choose, I must say that I’d rather have a table full of exciting side dishes than a roast turkey. And, for the vegetarian in our household, there’s no contest. The sides have it.

With the onset of each holiday season, I know that there will be constants–certain beloved dishes that appear during this time, and vanish until the next. (Like Cornbread Dressing. Cranberry-Walnut Relish. Pumpkin Pie. )

But I like change. With side dishes, those supporting players to the Big Feast, there’s the opportunity to introduce variety. It’s good to bring something new to the table, while still upholding treasured traditions.

Today I’m sharing two terrific side dishes that I made recently for our potluck. I want to put them out there early, for your consideration. Both use lesser known, seasonal ingredients. Either would bring happiness to the holiday table.

First up: Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Red Pear, Shallots, Sage, and Hazelnuts. I have Gigi to thank for this one. Adding Red Pear to the mix is pure inspiration, a wonderful flavor balance, and color-wise, a true holiday beauty.

I’ve roasted and sauteed everything in olive oil. You could make this with butter–which would become brown butter—and I wouldn’t blame you for that. Brown butter!

But, the shallots, toasty hazelnuts, sage, and fragrant pear bites bring a rich harmony of flavors to the brussels, in a more healthful way.

I know what you’re thinking. For a long time, I wasn’t crazy about brussels sprouts either. This dish could change your mind. Even those who usually turn their noses up at the very thought of “little cabbages” relished the savory-sweet combination.

Next up: Roasted Baby Yukon Potatoes, Harukei Turnips, and Thyme

It’s been a while since I’ve written about these remarkable turnips that Tally grows each year. Petite, white, and earthy-sweet, they defy all my former notions and experiences with the lowly turnip. ( I have bitter, bitter associations with ill-prepared gratins from my youth.)

Harukeis are naturally mild and sweet. Roasting only coaxes that out all the more. And they pair beautifully with potatoes.

When simply roasted in a little olive oil with buttery yukon golds and fresh thyme, the turnips burst with juicy sweetness.

I first made this dish for the Fretboard Journal Local Farm Feast last month. Another time, I added roasted cauliflower and onions to the batch. This made a very tasty melange, and visually worked as an “all white” vegetable dish.

In the process, I realized that I liked the roasted harukei turnips better than the potatoes. Kind of shocking, I know. I wished I had included more of them in the dish, and fewer spuds. That’s how delicious they are.

BRUSSELS SPROUTS WITH RED PEAR, SHALLOTS, HAZELNUTS, AND SAGE

1 lb. fresh Brussels Sprouts, washed, dried, ends trimmed
1 large Red Pear, firm but ripe–cored (not peeled) and diced medium
2 medium, (or 1 large) Shallots, diced small
1/2 cup chopped Hazelnuts
1 bundle fresh Sage leaves
Olive oil
Salt-n-Peppa

Place brussels sprouts on a baking pan and lightly coat with olive oil.
Season with salt and pepper and place in a preheated 325 degree. Allow to slow roast for about 25 minutes. Outer leaves will get crispy-brown, and the interior will be firm but tender.

In a deep saucepan set on medium heat, saute shallots in olive oil ( 2-3 T) until translucent—about 2 minutes. Stir in hazelnuts and sage leaves and saute a couple of minutes longer. Add diced pear, and gently stir. The pear will break down slightly, and get coated with the shallot-hazelnut mixture.

When the sprouts are roasted, remove from the oven and add to the saucepan. Stir in, combining all the elements well. Taste for seasoning and adjust as needed.

Serves 6-8

ROASTED BABY YUKON POTATOES, HARUKEI TURNIPS, AND THYME

2 lbs. small Yukon Gold Potatoes
1 bunch Harukei Turnips
several sprigs Fresh Thyme
Olive Oil
Salt-n-Peppa

Because these yukons were small, I was able to roast the turnips and potatoes together. But it is also fine to roast them on separate sheet pans, and then combine, post-roast.

Place turnips and potatoes on a sheet pan, and lightly coat them with olive oil. Season them with salt, black pepper, and the leaves from several sprigs of fresh thyme.

Place in a preheated 375 degree oven and roast for 40 minutes. Check on them, about half-way, shaking them in the pan, and rotating in the oven. Test for doneness.

Serves 8

How strange to think of giving up all ambition!
Suddenly, I see with such clear eyes
The white flake of snow
That has fallen in the horse’s mane.

I found this Robert Bly poem, “Watering the Horse” tucked in the back of a mottled recipe notebook, long untouched. It was on a sheet of mimeographed paper, that odd purplish ink, the public school printing method of long ago.

I still love this poem today, perhaps more than when I was a teen–the notion of ambition having altered with experience. At the other end of child-rearing and career building, I call it into question: what I embrace; what I give up; what has meaning.

And then I cook.

One clear ambition, I tell myself, is that each autumn, I seek out alternative ways to prepare butternut squash.

You may recall, in seasons past, that we’ve cooked up Butternut Lasagna layered with leek bechamel, swiss chard-butternut gratin, flan-like timbales with walnut pesto, and savory bread pudding , served with vegetable veloute, perfect for the holiday dinner table.

Each recipe, a tasty vehicle for this versatile gourd.

Now, that ambition could run wild: this being the first year that I tried my hand at growing our favored winter squash—and harvested a healthy basketful.

All sizes and shapes!

This morning, a cushy blanket of fog cloaked our neighborhood. Emerging colors of yellow, gold and burgundy fairly glowed as the fog gave way to an overcast day. I love how brilliant colors come forward in that kind of dull, diffuse light.

The air was cool, too. Chili weather! And then, it occurred to me that the meaty nature of the orange-hued squash would work well in a vegetarian chili.

I decided to give it a go. With Rancho Gordo beans in my pantry, assorted peppers: poblano, banana, jalapenos along with a few stray tomatoes from the garden, garlic, onions, and spices, I had the foundation for a hearty batch.

While the beans began their long simmer, I roasted the diced butternut pieces along with the poblanos. I let them get a little caramel crust, and set them aside to cool. Not wanting the squash to break down in the chili, I would add the chunks towards the end of the cooking cycle, to meld with the “pot liquor” the sauce made by the beans as they cook. I turned my attention to bread–cornbread.

My go-to recipe uses 12 tablespoons of melted butter–an ingredient I lacked. My friend Maggie has a skillet cornbread recipe that uses canola oil–another ingredient missing at the moment in my pantry. What if I made the cornbread with olive oil?

What if, indeed!

I hand whisked the batter. It came together quickly-easily, and went into the cast iron skillet, into the oven.

It baked into a firm but tender crumb, the olive oil imparting depth, an Old World sense to a New World dish.

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but the Rancho Gordo Beans (used in this recipe: “Good Mother Stallards” but other beans would also be delicious) are remarkable for their richness. Meaty beans make mighty good chili.

The butternuts proved their mettle in the mix, too. Slightly sweet, they latched on to the layers of peppery heat. A little allspice and cumin, perfect with this squash, added intrigue. It’s a worthy veggie chili, complex with minimal ingredients, hearty, full-bodied, aand satisfying on a gray autumn day.

And, not at all ambitious to make.

BUTTERNUT SQUASH-HEIRLOOM BEAN CHILI
3 cups chopped (large dice) Butternut Squash (I used 2 small butternuts for this)
1 large or 2 medium Poblano Peppers
Olive Oil
1 heaping cup of dry Beans ( I used Rancho Gordo’s Good Mother Stallards. But, use a good bean of your choice. This recipe would work with black beans, too.)
2 cloves Garlic, minced
1 medium Onion, chopped
2 Banana Peppers, chopped
1 Jalapeno, sliced thin
Salt
Black Pepper
2 t. Allspice
1 t. Cumin

Heat oven to 425 degrees. Spread diced butternut squash and halved poblano peppers on a baking sheet pan. Coat with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and roast for about 20 minutes. The squash will roast and caramelize. Pepper skins will blister—peel, chop and set aside separately.

In a large saucepan on medium heat, saute diced onion, banana peppers, and garlic in olive oil. Season with salt and pepper, and cook until onion is translucent. Add dry beans, and stir until they are coated with the olive oil-onion mix. Pour in water, covering the beans by at least 2 inches. Add roasted poblano pieces.

Simmer until beans are tender ( at least 2 hours), adding more liquid as necessary. When the beans are “soupy” and yield tender flesh, add the roasted butternut. Season with allspice and cumin. Taste for salt, and spicy heat.

Serve alone, or over rice. Dollop with sour cream, garnish with green onion, if you like. Enjoy with cornbread.

OLIVE OIL CORNBREAD

1 1/2 cups Cornmeal
1 cup All Purpose Flour
1 T. Sugar
1 T. Baking Powder
1/2 t. Salt
2 Eggs
12 T. Olive Oil
1 1/2 cups Milk
1 cup corn kernels (optional)
1/2 cup shredded white cheddar (optional)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
Sift the dry ingredients together. Beat the eggs, oil, and milk together lightly, then beat into the bowl of dry ingredients. Fold in corn kernels, shredded white cheddar.
Pour into an oiled cast-iron skillet (or bread pan.)

Bake for 20-25 minutes. Test for doneness. Cool slightly, cut into wedges and serve right out of the skillet.

Aubergines. Courgettes.

Don’t the French words for eggplants and zucchinis seem more evocative of the summer bounty?

I can imagine kitchen counters throughout homes in Provence strewn with these oblong purple and dark green beauties, along with other ripe jewels from the sun-drenched garden: plum tomatoes and sweet red peppers. I can imagine cooks ducking into the cool of these kitchens to examine the pick-of-the-day, formulating a plan for a good meal. And, I feel certain that each takes pride in her own recipe for that traditional Provencal dish, ratatouille.

At its core, the vegetables remain constant: eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, bell peppers, onion. Garlic, the Provencal mainstay, goes without saying. Cooking techniques and seasonings vary widely.

How the vegetables are cut makes a difference: small dice, or thin slices, sauteed in a stewpot in stages or simply tossed together with abandon and simmered for hours.

The spicing tells a story, too. High in the rugged countryside, the floral notes of lavender would find their way into the dish. There could be Italian border crossings that introduce basil. Along the Mediterranean coast, Greek influences might prevail. Some swear by a pinch of cinnamon, others season with a little anise. And, don’t forget a fleck of hot red pepper flakes for fiery bite.

Like the Provencal cooks I’ve conjured, I’ve prepared ratatouille many many ways–always seeking another variation when the market baskets brim with these veggies. Over the years, my roasted “rat-a-tat stack” has become my go-to. It’s the caramelization that occurs in the oven-roast that makes it so appealing. I like the layered aspect; each vegetable maintains its integrity, yet melds in the final bake.

We also eat with our eyes, and this assembly provides a visual feast. The line-up of ingredients on sheet pans, ready-to-roast, is a modern art mosaic.

Post roasting, they make a pretty mandala of color arranged in the cast iron skillet.

If you’d like to depart from tradition, you could spread ricotta between some of the layers, or sprinkle some grated parmesan cheese. This would serve to really solidify the stack. But I like the deep candied vegetal flavors, unencumbered by the richness of dairy. The caramel-like juices come together in the final bake, tout ensemble.

Enjoy with some crusty bread. Thank you aubergines, courgettes, good cooks of Provence. We relish your ratatouille straight out of the hot skillet for supper, or scarcely warmed the next day at lunch. Santé!

ROASTED RATATOUILLE STACK
2 Eggplants (medium large)
2 Zucchinis (medium large)
4 Tomatoes (try 2 yellow and 2 red, with a smatter of roma and cherry tomatoes)
1 large Onion
2 Red Bell Peppers
4 cloves Garlic
Olive Oil
Salt
Black Pepper, a pinch of red pepper flakes (optional)
Fresh Basil—a few sprigs

3 Baking sheet pans

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Slice eggplants lengthwise, about 1/4″ thick, and layout on a lightly oiled baking sheet. Brush with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper. Slice zucchinis in similar fashion, and layout on a separate (lightly oiled) sheet pan. Brush and season.

On the third sheet pan, place the cored tomatoes, cut in half, along with the onion, garlic, and seeded red bell pepper halves.

Roast the vegetables until : (15-20 minutes)
edges of the eggplants and zucchinis are browned
skins of the tomatoes and peppers are blistered

Remove the skins of the tomatoes, peppers, garlic. Coarsely chop 2 of the roasted tomato halves with the garlic. Season with some red pepper flakes, if you like.
Brush the bottom of a casserole dish or cast iron skillet with olive oil, and layer the roasted vegetables in this order:
Chopped tomatoes w/ garlic
Sliced Eggplants
Sliced Zucchinis
Onions
Basil leaves
Red Peppers

Repeat the layering. If using the cast-iron skillet (or round casserole dish) Lay the pieces in circular mandala-like design.

Bake in 325 degree oven for 20 minutes to “anneal” the layers, deepen the rich flavors.

A garden will teach you.

If nothing else, the lesson is that there are no constants–what thrived one summer may do poorly the next; what escaped borers, beetles, and bunnies over one growing season may be ravaged by any or all the following. There are so many variables: too much rain, too little; stifling humidity, parching heat; blights, droughts, floods, infestations, wind and hail damage…the dizzying list goes on!

Bill’s dad, a Missouri farmer, always said that the best you could expect was one really good year out of seven. If you accomplished that, you could survive in farming.

This year, at “The Hooper Garden” (our little urban plot in my brother’s office backyard,) things have been more promising than in previous years. Spring was wet, with balmy days and cool nights. Everything got off to a terrific start. Our tomato plants became laden with green, hopefully soon-to-ripen fruit. Squash plants grew large, their fanlike leaves shielding basketfuls of zucchinis and yellow crooknecks.

My pride, though, resides with our string bean crop. We planted two rows each of French haricot verts and yellow wax. Initial visits by a hungry neighborhood rabbit made me fearful that we wouldn’t get any beans at all!

We replanted the decimated patches, and crossed our fingers. Fortunately, that rabbit preferred only the young leaves–once the plants reached a certain height or age, they were deemed undesirable to our furry garden connoisseur.

As it worked out, some plants existed to feed him, and the remainder flourished for us. Another lesson: plant enough, and there’s enough for all.

My big tangle of green and yellow beans reminded me of a dish that I never cared for—Three Bean Salad.

Likely you’ve seen that mix of chopped string beans, pintos, and sweet vinegar dressing packed in jars on supermarket shelves, often purchased, then dumped into bowls at a picnic. “Three Bean” recipes that I’ve come across call for canned beans, canned pintos, bottled dressing. No wonder I passed over it.

But, it doesn’t have to be that way. It couldn’t have been always that way.

At one time, I suspect, people made this salad from garden-picked beans, and pintos simmered in garlic on the stovetop.

I suspect they blanched and chilled their beans tender-crisp, before cutting them into smaller pieces. They’d test the beans for doneness, relishing the sweet pop of the pods.

And, no doubt, they’d whisked up a robust vinaigrette chock-full of red onion, red bell pepper, and flat-leaf parsley.
And shake in a little extra S&P.

They’d give it all a generous toss, until all the beans gleamed with a shiny coat.

Now here was a summer picnic salad, they’d bluster.
No sugar was needed, not even a tetch.

FRESH THREE BEAN SALAD
1/2 lb. dried Pinto Beans (or other meaty bean—we love Rancho Gordo’s selection of beans)
2-3 cloves Garlic
1 Bay Leaf
Sea Salt
Black Pepper
Red Pepper Flakes–pinch
1 lb. Green Beans
1 lb. Yellow Wax Beans
1 small Red Onion, diced small
1 small Red Bell Pepper, diced small
1 batch Chunky Herbed Vinaigrette (recipe below)

Place pinto beans in a deep saucepan with minced garlic (2 cloves) and a bay leaf, and cover with water by at least 2 inches.
Season with salt, black pepper, and a pinch of red pepper flakes. Bring to a boil, then reduce and simmer, covered, for at least 2 hours–until beans are tender, but not mushy. Allow to cool. (This can be done ahead of time, the day before…)

Bring a skillet of water seasoned with salt and sliced garlic clove to a boil. Prepare an icy bath to plunge in the string beans when cooked. Cook haricots verts for 1-2 minutes and “shock” in the icy bath. Cook yellow wax beans for 4-5 minutes and then shock as well.

Drain and dry off blanched, chilled beans. Cut on the diagonal into pieces. Combine with chilled pintos, additional diced red onion and red bell pepper.

Toss well with Chunky Herbed Vinaigrette.

Makes a nice bowl for a picnic.

CHUNKY HERBED VINAIGRETTE

1 clove Garlic, minced
3 T. finely chopped Red Bell Pepper
3 T. finely chopped Red Onion
3 T. finely chopped Italian Parsley
4 T. Red Wine Vinegar
Sea Salt and Cracked Black Pepper, to taste
pinch Red Pepper Flakes
1 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Vigorously whisk all of the ingredients together EXCEPT the olive oil. Slowly drizzle in the olive oil to emulsify the dressing. Makes one chunk cup!

The Hooper Garden

Our Yellow Wax and Green Bean Plants

Beauty at Work

Making risotto invokes cooking tips I’ve come across that sound like life aphorisms, from the practical “Your risotto is only as good as your broth.” to the lofty “Time and loving patience create the creamiest bowl.” to the cautionary “Never turn your back on a bubbling pot.”

I don’t make risotto often, so when I have all the right elements for a perfect one: a mound of fresh asparagus, fresh herbs and green onions from my little garden, a delectable lemony vegetable broth, and my favorite Carnaroli rice— I am ready to slip into a meditative mode and stir up a big loving batch.

Have you ever used Carnaroli rice? Its grain is longer than Arborio, and has a higher starch content. Firmer too–It retains its shape better, and yet yields a marvelous creamy texture. The Italians call it “superfino” and the king of rice.

I found this bag in an unexpected place–the gourmet food shelf at a TJ Maxx discount store. There, you can usually count on an assortment of vinegars, preserves, and olive oils at a savings, but a bag of Carnaroli? A lucky-lucky find.

With the bounty of local asparagus arriving at our markets, making an asparagus-rich risotto is not only irresistible, it is also easy. I like to load it with a couple of bundles, and use the entire spear.

Nothing is wasted. The woody ends go into the vegetable broth. The middle section is chopped small, and sauteed into the risotto’s foundation. The delectable tips are saved for last—stirred in during the last ten minutes of cooking to retain a nice tender-crisp green.

I prefer a vegetable broth to chicken. It brings a lighter touch ( and zero fat content!) that truly enhances the springtime ingredients. And, unlike chicken or meat based broths which benefit from long-slow cooking, you can make a lively veggie broth in thirty minutes. ( Any more time, and it can go bitter.) Lemon juice and strips of zest lend a pleasant tartness that marries well with the asparagus.

The risotto itself doesn’t take as long as you might think to make. From the time the rice gets stirred in with the onions and asparagus, the process entails thirty minutes. With its heavy enameled cast-iron, my Le Creuset Dutch oven works well on low-to-medium heat, insuring a creamy-not-sticky risotto.

At around the twenty-minute mark, I add the asparagus tips. They will finish cooking, retaining nice bite, in the remaining ten minutes.

And, it does not require constant stirring. Oh, I keep up with the process, pour in the sumptuous broth, paddle the thickening rice to coax out that starch. It’s a zen thing to watch the grains become plump.

But I have been known to turn my back on it, just for a moment or two, to monitor the busy finch-feeder in my backyard. A new addition to the shade garden, it has drawn a remarkable number of brilliant yellow and purple finches, a migrating rose-chested grosbeak and some feisty chickadees.

ASPARAGUS RISOTTO
2 lbs. fresh Asparagus: stems removed and set aside for broth, tips cut and set aside for later incorporation in the risotto, remaining center section of the spear chopped small
1 bundle Scallions, chopped
2 Tablespoons Butter (can use good olive oil)
Salt and Black Pepper
2 cups Carnaroli or Arborio Rice
8 cups Lemony Vegetable Broth (see recipe below)
a few shavings of Romano cheese (optional)

Melt butter in a deep saucepan or Dutch oven on medium heat. Sprinkle in salt and black pepper. Saute chopped onions and asparagus spears for about 5 minutes.

Add rice, and stir well, coating all the grains. Pour in 2 cups of broth and continue stirring until the liquid is absorbed. Pour in another cup of broth and stir. Continue this process–about 20 minutes, add broth and stir, add broth and stir. Gradually the rice will plump and get glossy and a creamy soup will begin to form.

Stir in the Asparagus tips that had been set aside along with more broth and cook for another 10 minutes.

Pour into bowls. Top with a few shavings of romano cheese, a few grindings of salt and pepper, garnish of chopped chives or parsley, and serve.

Serves 8

LEMONY VEGETABLE BROTH
Peel and Juice of 1 Lemon
3 Carrots, cut into chunks
1 medium Onion, quartered
2 cloves Garlic
Asparagus stems (see above)
10 cups Water
Salt and Black Pepper
Bouquet Garni: parsley, dill, thyme

Place all the vegetables and herbs into a stockpot and cover with water. Season with salt and pepper and bring to a rolling simmer. Simmer for no longer than 30 minutes. Strain vegetables from broth, squeeze out any remaining juices, and toss. Have pot of vegetable broth ready to cup into the risotto.

Think that thick lush-looking white sauce cascading over the lasagna stack is a heavy cream-based bechamel—rich beyond words?

Think again.

The sauce here doesn’t have a speck of dairy, let alone the high butterfat favorite. Nor does it use any soy or tofu based products to mimic cream or cheese.

It’s cannellini beans!

And, not just any cannellinis. These are Rancho Gordo’s pride–great, fat white runner beans, that swell up to mammoth proportions when soaked, with meaty interiors that become creamy-dreamy when pureed.

This recipe experiment was prompted by Bill’s simultaneous love and intolerance of All Things Dairy. It might be better to say that, while this vegetarian loves it, it doesn’t always love him in return.

And, while I have no interest in omitting cheeses and milk from our diet, I have been considering different ways to achieve that creamy satisfaction in cooking—without him resorting to a carton of Lactaid.

Doubtless you have made Tuscan White Bean Dip—that garlicky puree we like to serve alongside a bowl of pita chips, or spread across crisp crostinis. Our White Bean Sauce is made in similar fashion—just thinner.

It’s like you’re making a vegetarian White Bean Soup, vigorously seasoned with garlic, onion, bay leaf, thyme, that you puree, beans and broth, until the melange becomes velvet—a smooth and pourable sauce.

Like all lasagnas, it’s really more a matter of creating all your layers that takes the time. Assembling them goes quickly.

I decided that sauteed Swiss Chard would make a terrific lasagna layer–seasonal, and compatible with the sauce. Other winter greens would be good too. I recommend Lacinato, or Black Kale.

I had an opened jar of sundried tomatoes packed in oil, shoved into the back of my fridge. In keeping with my intent to use good things before they go bad, I sprinkled these over the chard in my layering process. They added a sweet, sunny note to the dish.

I admit, this is not the most eye-appealing lasagna. When it bakes, there’s a slight crustiness to the top layer of white bean sauce. Not pretty–but savory.

I had some extra sauce left after the layering. You can warm it, and pour a little over your servings. It softened the look, and added more of the cannellini goodness.

I served this at our potluck—an icy night where 17 potluckers braved the slickened streets for good food. We were surprised that anyone came! But those who did loved the no-cheese lasagna. It had rich creamy mouthfeel, robust greens, a hint of heat and sweet.

Bill did not miss the cream, not one bit.

WHITE BEAN LASAGNA

White Bean Sauce
2 cups Cannellini Beans, soaked overnight and rinsed
Olive Oil
6 cloves of Garlic, chopped
1 large Onion, sliced
Salt
Black Pepper
Red Pepper Flakes
Bay Leaf

In a deep saucepan on medium heat, warm the olive oil. Saute garlic and onions for five minutes. Season with salt and black pepper. Add soaked and rinsed cannellinis. Stir until the beans are coated with the olive oil.

Cover beans with water. Add a couple of bay leaves, a few pinches of thyme, and a shake of red pepper flakes. Bring to a boil.

Simmer, covered, for two hours. Check periodically and give the beans a stir.
Test for bean doneness-the exterior will remain intact, but will give way to a creamy interior.

When beans are tender, remove from heat. Discard bay leaves.

Puree beans and broths, a few cups at a time, in the food processor. (Or,use a portable immersion blender if you like) Taste for seasoning and adjust.

Sauce should be smooth and pourable—ready to go! But, this can be made in advance, and refrigerated until you are assembling the lasagna.

Swiss Chard Layer
2-3 T. Olive Oil
1 medium Onion, chopped
2 cloves Garlic, chopped
Salt
Red Pepper Flakes
1 bundle Swiss Chard, cleaned, stems removed and diced, leaves coarsely chopped

Heat olive oil in a skillet and saute onions, garlic, and chard stems. Season with salt and a dash of red pepper flakes, and cook for about 9 minutes. Stir in leaves, and cook until they are collapsed. Add 1/2 cup water to facilitate the “collapsing” process–and allow the water to cook away. Remove from heat, and allow to cool.

1 Box dried Lasagna, cooked al dente, drained, cooled and oiled

1 cup Sundried Tomatoes packed in oil, drained

1 9″x13″ casserole/lasagna baking pan, coated with olive oil

Assembly

Preheat oven to 350º

Spoon a layer of the white bean sauce on the bottom of the pan. Top with lasagna noodles. Spread sauteed chard over the pasta, dot with sundried tomatoes, and place pasta layer over that. Repeat the layering, until the pan is filled.

Be sure that you finish with the white bean sauce, dotted with sundried tomatoes.

Also, reserve about a cup of the white bean sauce to spoon over the cooked lasagna squares when you serve them. Garnish, too, if you like, with additional sundried tomato pieces.

Cover the lasagna with aluminum foil and bake for 30 minutes. Uncover and finish baking for another 10 minutes. You want the casserole to be heated thoroughly. Since all the elements are already cooked, now you are cooking them all together.

Like many of you, I am regularly astonished at how foodblogs have transformed the way that we approach our cooking. Indeed, I have a wealth of cookbooks and years of anchored-to-the-stove experience. But for fresh ideas and personal connection, nothing beats the community of dedicated cooks that I have at my virtual fingertips via the blogosphere.

Like this velvet dream of a soup that I found earlier this month on Nancy Liguori’s blog, The Smart Palate. If you don’t know her blog, hustle on over. A terrific chef, food writer, and non-practicing MD, Nancy lives in Manhattan and posts about her culinary adventures with a healthy, seasonal, and sustainable slant.

Her pairing of carrots, parsnips, and ginger in a creamy puree captured my attention. It’s not a difficult soup to make. It relies on the vegetables themselves and a little assertive spice for its body and flavor. There’s no potato for thickening. There’s no stock. There’s no cheese, no cream, no dairy. (unless you count the yogurt garnish—entirely optional, vegan friends!)

Parsnips make all the difference.

I confess, I’ve arrived rather late to the Parsnip party. It’s only been in recent years that I’ve eaten them, let alone devise recipes with them. I think they’ve been a relative unknown in the South, and thanks to intrepid local farmers, they’ve begun to show up at our markets.

They are sort of carrot-like, possibly better than carrots, if we were to be so bold or silly to compare them. Parsnips have a little different texture, a deeper, earthier flavor–yet with a pleasant sweetness. As such, they provide a marvelous base for this lush soup.

I followed Nancy’s recipe with only minor deviations. I had more parsnips on hand. I added a smidge of celery. I didn’t have fresh coriander seeds to toast and grind–just some already ground. Same with the pepitas, which Nancy skillet-toasted herself. I picked up a small package of salt roasted seeds for my garnish. I sauteed the parsnips first before adding the carrots and apples, just to account for the inherent variations in cooking times. Parsnips are denser and take longer to become tender.

The soup is both silken and vibrant. A dash of red pepper flakes, or flick of hot sauce would not be out of the question, if you’d like a little fire. Ginger imparts its own kind of heat, but wouldn’t mind being accompanied with some peppery piquancy.

If you are vegan, and decide to leave off the yogurt part of the garnish, it’s okay. But don’t omit those pepitas—not only are the greenish seeds visually appealing atop the puree, their salty, crunchy bites are a welcome contrast to the smooth sweetness of the soup.

GINGERED PARSNIP-CARROT SOUP
adapted from The Smart Palate, Chef Nancy Liguori

1 Tablespoon Butter
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil (plus more for a little drizzle!)
1/2 medium Onion, chopped
2 stalks Celery, finely chopped, leaves included
3 Parsnips, sliced
6 Carrots, sliced
1/2 Apple, diced
1 heaping Tablespoon fresh Ginger root, finely chopped
1 teaspoon Coriander
1/2 teaspoon Cumin
Sea Salt and Black Pepper

to garnish: Plain Greek Yogurt (about a teaspoon per bowl)
Toasted Pepitas (pumpkin seeds)

Melt butter and olive oil together in a deep saucepan on medium heat, and saute onion and celery for a couple of minutes. Stir in parsnips and continue cooking for another five minutes. Add carrots, apple, and fresh ginger. Allow the vegetables to caramelize as they cook, and scrape up the little browned bits from the bottom of the pan.

Season with salt, pepper, cumin, and coriander.

Cover vegetables with water—about 5 cups—-and bring to just under a boil.
Simmer, covered, until parsnips and carrots are tender–about 20 minutes.
Puree the veggies and broth in a food processor fitted with the swivel blade.
Taste for seasonings and adjust.

Gently warm the pureed soup and pour into bowls.
Garnish with a swirl of plain Greek yogurt, some toasted pepitas, and a drizzle of fruity olive oil.
Serves 4-6.

One of the most charming gifts I received this holiday was a package of Leftovers. Yes! In Italy, they are known as “Monnezzaglia.” Pastas in all manner of shape and flavor, odds and end bits, are gathered from different runs and packaged together. My Leftovers came from a pasta factory in Puglia.

These delicate cast-offs, tomato-orange butterflies, pinstriped bonnets, tight-petaled flowers, nautilus twists, made me think of the little treasures you collect, while strolling the beach after high tide.

In the package were spinach rigatoni, beet-based radiatori, multi-colored bow ties, wheels, flowers, tubes, striped ribbons—-so pretty and festive. I wanted to cook them immediately, and had to consider what I had in the kitchen to complement them. With all the colors and textures at hand, it needed to be something with a light touch. I didn’t want a thick sauce to mask their vibrancy.

Without question, I could simply boil them, toss them with some good olive oil and dust with a little sharp cheese, done! Simplicity is my preference—but these Monnezzaglia deserved a tetch more attention, and we deserved a more rounded meal.

Had there been seafood of some kind in the house, say, shrimp or crabmeat, I would have made a thin shellfish-based velouté to coat the pasta and incorporated the sweet fruits of the sea into the toss. As it was, I had a large head of cauliflower and a bundle of fat green onions from our Fresh Harvest Co-op.

Have you ever sliced cauliflower into slabs and roasted it? It’s quite tasty—the florets sweeten and mellow, and get caramel-brown, crispy edges. They make rather meaty, substantial fare, too. Roasting a few handfuls of chopped green onion along with them adds another welcome savory-sweet element.

I could imagine these vegetables, seasoned with just salt, red pepper flakes and a drizzle of green olive oil, as fine partners to the Monnezzaglia. Once, I had prepared them in similar fashion with some orzo–a different textural experience, but the visual white-on-white worked, and all the flavors were in easy harmony. The point being, if you don’t have the odd package of Leftovers, then pick out another fun shaped pasta in place.

The Monnezzaglia package directions say that all the varieties miraculously cook in the same time–about 12 minutes. I cooked them slightly less, maybe 10 minutes, and reserved a little salted pasta water, in case I needed more liquid when I added my roasted cauliflower.

But, it didn’t need it. The oil and “sweat” from the roasted vegetables were just right for coating the quirky and elegant shapes. A simple garnish of finely sliced green onion adds brightness and a few strands of shredded gruyere a little creamy gilding.

Quick to prepare, delightful to behold, and delicious to eat:

Fresh Leftovers!

I’d love your suggestions on how to use my remaining Monnezzaglia….

ROASTED CAULIFLOWER-ONION PASTA
1 head Cauliflower, washed and sliced into 1/2″ slabs
1 medium Onion, sliced
2-4 Scallions, rough chopped
Olive Oil
Sea Salt
Red Pepper Flakes
1/2 lb. “Leftovers” or other Pasta
Shredded Gruyere (optional)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Lay out slices of cauliflower on a baking sheet pan. Place sliced onion and scallions around the cauliflower. Drizzle with good olive oil. Sprinkle with sea salt, and dust with red pepper flakes. Place in hot oven and allow to cook to a toasty-brown, about 15 minutes. Flip the cauliflower pieces over and allow to roast on the other side.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Toss in the pasta and cook according to package directions—in our case, about 11 minutes.

Drain and toss pasta well with roasted cauliflower, onions, and the oil in which they cooked. Garnish with finely sliced scallion and shredded gruyere. Serves 4.

No self-respecting Southerner would dream of beginning a new year without a heaping bowl of Hoppin’ John. No ma’am. Black-eyed peas simmered to creamy bite with jasmine rice plumped up in its savory broth insure the finest form of good luck, if only by the fact that you are mighty lucky to dine on such a humble, delectable dish.

Typically, Hoppin’ John is cooked with pork (This is, after all, The South) using pieces of ham hock or chunky bacon, to render rich smokiness. But, in our household, we cook up a vegetarian version with terrific results.

A hefty dose of garlic and onion cooked to translucence in olive oil makes a fine start. Be sure to shake in a little fire; crushed red pepper flakes begin to release their zing in warm oil. Adding vegetable stock to simmer the black-eyeds after they’ve had a roll around in the onion-garlic sauté brings more flavor. A couple of bay leaves tossed into the broth is quite nice, too.

As with most legumes, when you have good fresh peas, it doesn’t take much to help them along. And, you don’t want to mask the black-eyed’s intrinsic creamy nature–you want to bolster!

If you use dry beans, it is best to soak them for for at least 4 hours. (It’s fine to soak them the day before.) Fresh peas (which I used this time) just need to be rinsed before cooking. The fresh peas take less time to cook–less than an hour, really. Soaked dried beans require anywhere from 2-3 hours.

When the peas are tender, but have a little resistance, add the rice. Cover and continue to simmer for 20 minutes or so. The rice will absorb the rich broth as it cooks. While that’s cooking, you can go on to the next step…

We like to serve The Hoppin’ with some sort of hearty greens: kale, mustard, turnip, collards. Not only delicious, they are part of the lore: chopped up, those greens resemble folding money–a significant piece of the Hoppin’ John road to prosperity.

This year I was drawn to the great ceremonial fans of collards, lovely dark green leaves with a vivid network of white veins. I enjoy the earthy bitterness of greens, but like to have that bitter edge balanced with a little acid, sweet, and heat. Many recipes call for adding sugar to the braise, also vinegar. I resisted that, and wanted to try something new. In my research, I came across a few recipes that used tomatoes, and that seemed to be an interesting direction for me to follow.

And, very lucky!

I discovered that making a braising base with tomatoes, onions, garlic, and coriander accomplished that desired balance without using that white devil, sugar. The tomato’s sweet yet acidic nature took the place of both sugar and vinegar. It caramelized and coated the collards in the braise. Coriander provided depth and heat.

The collards’ thick leaves have a natural resiliency, yet cook to tenderness. I think that you’ll enjoy their toothsome bite. Right now, they are my favorite greens. On this first day of 2011 I may not be ready to make grand resolutions, but I’m excited to begin the year pairing something tried-and-true with something new!

Here’s to a year of creativity and prosperity—in whatever forms it manifests.

HOPPIN’ JOHN
2 cups fresh Black Eyed Peas (1 cup dried, soaked, and rinsed)
5 cloves Garlic, minced
1 large Onion, chopped
Olive Oil
Red Pepper Flakes
6 cups Vegetable Broth, or Water (or combination)
2 Bay Leaves
Salt and Black Pepper
Louisiana Hot Sauce (optional)
1 cup Jasmine Rice

In a large pot, sauté onions and garlic in olive oil. Sprinkle with red pepper flakes. When translucent, add black-eyed peas. Stir well, allowing the peas to become coated with the seasoned oil. Add vegetable broth (and/or water) and 2 bay leaves. Season with a little salt and black pepper. Cover with tight-fitting lid and let the peas simmer until almost done (45 minutes for fresh peas, about 2 hours for dried/soaked peas) Test the peas–the skins should remain intact, but the interiors should be somewhat creamy.

Stir in rice and cover. Simmer until rice has absorbed the liquid, and is cooked–about 20-25 minutes. Fluff the Hoppin’ John with a fork. Taste for salt.

Serve up in a bowl, alongside greens. Pass the Louisiana Hot Sauce, for a little extra ping!

Makes 4-6 servings

COLLARDS BRAISED WITH TOMATOES, GARLIC, AND CORIANDER
1 large bunch fresh Collards, washed well, stems removed, leaves coarsely chopped
1 can chopped Tomatoes and juice
Olive Oil
1 medium Onion, diced
4 cloves Garlic, minced
1 t. Coriander
Salt
Red Pepper Flakes

In a deep pot on medium heat, add olive oil and sauté onions and garlic until translucent, about 3 minutes. Stir in tomatoes and juice. Season with salt, red pepper flakes, and coriander. Cook the mixture for 5 minutes, then stir in collards, a handful at a time. Stir to coat the leaves with the tomato braise, and keep adding greens until all are in the pot. They will begin to collapse. Cover the pot with a tight fitting lid and allow the greens to braise for 15-20 minutes.

With optimism and goodwill, a HAPPY 2011 from Nancy
Good Food Matters