An Extravagant Hunger in Paperback!

Yes, it's true! An Extravagant Hunger is now out in paperback. Same gorgeous cover but a little lighter, perfect for tucking into a beach bag, reading on the plane, or really curling up with. I know I like to bend back those book covers and dog ear favorite pages. You?

Because I'm so excited, I'm giving away a copy of the just-released paperback. Leave me a comment below sharing your best M.F.K. Fisher-esque food experience. Maybe it was a decadent meal with multiple courses, or perhaps it was the perfect summer peach. I'll chose a winner next Wednesday, February 8th, ok?

You can also help me celebrate by sharing this news -- and news of the giveaway-- on facebook, twitter, or the old fashioned way -- by buying a book to give to a friend, requesting it at your local library, or putting it in your book club queue.

Thanks so much for your support of this book -- If I could I'd invite you over for a chat over a hot mug of coffee and one of these. Maybe we can do that sometime soon?

Macaroni & Cheese with Mushrooms & Chard

Today I want to talk about plans, and how we have a tendency to get all hoity-toity about our goals and loudly broadcast our epiphanies and then -- as if to prove who's really in charge -- the universe makes us topple.

That's how it's been around here for the past couple of weeks: Challenging. So challenging that if you pressed me, I might say it's March but when I check the calendar it turns out that nope, we're just past the middle of January.

I've been hiding from the world a bit, escaping into Mad Men (can you believe I never caught that bug before?), reading (The Sense of an Ending, Foreign Bodies, The Lonely Polygamist, Just Kids, and now, Coming to My Senses), and knitting. There has been lots and lots of knitting. I'd forgotten how much I love the rhythmic click of the needles and the feeling of accomplishment that comes from simply finishing another row.

There was also this macaroni and cheese. Remember way back at the beginning of the month when I vowed we were going to eat healthy: Less meat and less wine? Well, it's worked, more or less, with the exception of a tiny stand-off about macaroni and cheese.

"There isn't meat in it," Sean said. He's right, of course, even though I'm thinking, "It certainly isn't healthy!" And truth be told I don't really love macaroni and cheese -- even homemade -- and I certainly never crave it. But he had a small fever and was home from work for the day and so I made it, wilted greens, dehydrated mushrooms, bechamel sauce and all, and you know, it was good.

But what I'll remember more than the crispy breadcrumb topping, or how it paired so perfectly with a tiny glass of crisp French Chardonnay, is taking photos of my just-out-of-the-oven casserole.

"That photo is terrible!" you think. And you're right. But what's a girl to do? She has this heavy dish full of steaming pasta and she can hear her new husband on the phone receiving some very bad news. She doesn't know if she should go sit beside him and grab his hand, or leave him for a moment to process what might be happen next.

So she turns on every light in the house, as bright as they can get. And she takes photo after terrible photo of the macaroni. Close up. Far away. On the floor, on the table, on a bright dishtowel that has a cheerfulness that mocks the gravity of the situation. Each photo is worse than the one before, the shadows darker, the light alternately sickly green or stark florescent. But it feels oddly apt to be documenting -- even in a very small way -- the exact moment when everything started to change. And when the phone was finally hung up, there was nothing to do but eat.

Macaroni and Cheese with Mushrooms and Chard
Adapted from The Beekman 1802 Heirloom Cookbook
3/4 lb. chard, stems cut from leaves (about 5 1/2 cups) -- original recipe calls for kale, so you know
8 ounces elbow macaroni
1/2 ounce (1/2 cup) dried porcini mushrooms, rinsed
3 tablespoons olive oik
4 garlic cloves, minced
3/4 pound crimini mushrooms, halved and thinly sliced
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon sage
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoon sweet smoked paprika
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 cups sharp cheddar cheese
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the chard for 5-7 minutes. With a slotted spoon, transfer the chard to a colander, but keep the pot of water boiling. Run the chard under cold water to stop the cooking, and then drain and squeeze out any liquid. Coarsely chop and set aside.
Add the macaroni to the boiling chard cooking water and cook according to package directions. Drain.
In a small bowl, combine the dried porcini with 1 cup warm water. Let stand until the mushrooms have softened, about 20 minutes. With your fingers, lift the mushrooms from their soaking liquid, leaving the grit behind. Line a fine mesh sieve with paper towels, a coffee filter, or cheesecloth. Pour the mushroom soaking liquid through the sieve into a bowl. Reserve the liquid. Coarsely chop the mushrooms.
Preheat oven to 325F.
In a large, heavy bottomed pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook, stirring frequently, until tender, about 2 minutes. Add the mushrooms, thyme, and sage and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms have wilted and released their juices, about 5 minutes. Stir in the flour and cook for 2 minutes. Add the mushroom soaking liquid, milk, paprika, and salt and cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture has thickened, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the cheese until melted. Add the macaroni and chard, and toss to coat.
Transfer pasta to a 9x13 dish or spoon into individual ramekins.
In a small skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the panko and toss to coat. Scatter the butter crumbs over the mac and cheese. Bake for 30 minutes, or until the sauce is bubbling and the top is crunchy and golden brown.

The Scared Center of the Dining Room Table

A Short Panegyric
by Mark Strand

Now that the vegetarian nightmare is over and we are back to
our diet of meat and deep in the sway of our dark and beauty-
ful habits and able to speak with calm of having survived, let
the breeze of the future touch and retouch our large and hun-
gering bodies. Let us march to market to embrace the butcher
and put the year of the carrot, the month of the onion behind
us, let us worship the roast or the stew that takes its place once
again at the scared center of the dining room table.

A note from me: In case you didn't know (and I didn't) a panegyric is "formal and elaborate praise." The dictionary also defines it as a eulogy, "a lofty oration or writing in praise of a person or thing," which makes me think of a prayer, which reminds me -- thanks to this poem-- of the words we can use to bless our food. My family always says this prayer: "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful." You?

Herb, Chard, and Feta Soup (And an Epiphany)

“Life is always changing.” 

Yes, I thought from my downward dog position, watching the San Francisco sunlight pour into the yoga studio, feeling my shoulder protest the deepest stretch. Yes, it is. 

Change. It’s something we’re all aware of, something so ubiquitous that mentions of it quickly begin to sound overly yogic or Zen, especially when they are pounded into our brains in this week after the dawn of a New Year. We’re collectively encouraged to make resolutions (though now, the popular thing seems to be to call them “intentions”), clean up, cut back, and start fresh.  

I’m into this concept of self-renewal. Though I didn’t take down the tiny tree, the collection of penguins on the mantle, or the merry line of cheerful cards just yet, I did scour the fridge, organize the laundry and utility closet, and go through a jumbo stack of papers and old to-do lists. We committed to trying to eat vegetarian for the entire month, and vowed to limit the booze. It felt good, like I was setting the tone for a productive 2012, a year where I’d never feel flustered or behind. 

But the real revelation came when I was making soup: Herb, Chard, and Feta soup from the January 2012 issue of Bon Appetit magazine. The instructions were simple. After tossing a bunch of chard and herbs into a pot along with some vegetable stock, you blend the cooked greens and top with feta, Greek yogurt, lemon juice and more herbs. 

Here’s where things got funky. With immersion blender in one hand, I stared down the pot and felt my stomach sway. The greens looked swamp-like, and I had an immediate memory of a rank, raw green juice I choked down one hot New York day. 

You see, I grew up not eating anything green. There was no lettuce, no celery sticks, and certainly no spinach, broccoli, or chard. I didn’t even eat guacamole. I think I may have made an exception for asparagus, but that’s not much of a compromise, is it? This changed quickly, in my early twenties, as my mother promised it would, and now I eat greens in abundance. 

Still, the soupy sludge was testing me. I thought about the decades where I never ate a vegetable and how they led to this confrontation, this Me vs. Chard Soup Showdown. I thought about this time two years ago when I was broken-hearted, and how I met Sean, miraculously, on Epiphany. About how this time last year I wasn’t married, and now I am, and how this time last year I was an anxious, about-to-be-published writer, now I’m an anxious published writer. 

Life is always changing. Sometimes the change comes from decisions we make: Resolutions, intentions, to-do lists, whatever. And sometimes the change comes from within, or around. Sometimes the change is quick. Other times it is so subtle and collective that you’re not even aware of the blunt force of it all until you’re left alone in the kitchen, two days into a new year, with an immersion blender and a pot of green soup, marveling at just how far you’ve come. 

Herb, Chard, and Feta Soup

Once I got past my fear of this green brew, I fell in love with this Yotam Ottolenghi recipe from the January issue of Bon Appetit. The soup is savory, silky, and has a richness that belies its 100% healthful ingredients. The best part may be that it keeps for a day or two and makes for vibrant lunch leftovers. I recommend stocking up on the crumbled feta; we found we liked the soup best when it was liberally sprinkled with cheese.

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large onion, coarsely chopped

2 garlic cloves, crushed

1 pound Swiss chard leaves (center ribs and stems removed) or spinach, coarsely chopped (about 10 cups)

3 1/2 cups vegetable broth

1 cup coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley

1/2 cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro

1/4 cup fresh mint leaves

1 tablespoon dried mint

1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

salt and freshly ground black pepper 

Garnishes:

5 ounces plain Greek-style yogurt (about 1/2 cup)

1/2 cup mixed chopped herbs (such as parsley, cilantro, and mint), divided

4 ounces feta, crumbled, divided

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Fresh lemon juice (optional)

Olive oil (optional) 

Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and garlic and cook, stirring often, until translucent and soft (do not brown), 7–8 minutes. Stir in chard, broth, parsley, cilantro, fresh and dried mint, and nutmeg. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until chard is tender, about 10 minutes. Stir in lemon juice and season to taste with salt and pepper. Working in batches, purée soup in a blender until smooth. Return to pan. DO AHEAD: Can be made 8 hours ahead. Cover and chill. Rewarm soup before continuing. 

Place 1/3 of yogurt in a medium bowl. Add 1/2 cup warm soup; whisk until smooth. Repeat process twice more, adding a total of 1 cup more soup. Whisk yogurt mixture into soup in saucepan. Stir 1/4 cup herbs and half of feta into soup. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and lemon juice, if desired. 

Ladle soup into bowls and garnish with remaining 1/4 cup herbs and 2 oz. feta. Drizzle with oil, if desired.

Candied Orange & Anise Scones

Have you ever spent Christmas away from home? M.F.K. Fisher did in 1929. This was long before she was the famed food writer who composed evocative prose about the exquisite pleasures of the table. Then, she was a young bride who had just moved to Dijon, France with her new husband, Al.

The two traveled South for Christmas, to a little town on the Mediterranean Coast called Cassis. On Christmas Eve, the couple drank rum punch and waited sleepily to go to Midnight Mass at a little church on the top of a high hill.

Fisher would describe it as an evening that rang like crystal in her memory: “Midnight mass, with fishermen playing wild sad songs on oddly shaped hautbois and windy flutes, over the bleating of two sheep by the alter glittering with candles; a new human baby wailing in its modern cradle trimmed with blue satin bows, and filled with Christmas straw; all the short square women dressed in black, with shawls over their heads.”

When Mass ended, instead of going to sleep, Mary Frances and Al joined a crowd of village revelers for a traditional French holiday celebration. She was handed a plate piled with an anise flavored bread, a piece of sweet nougat, and a glass of pale pink wine.

The seemingly random selection was, in fact, thoughtful. It was a few of the Thirteen Desserts, an array of sweets -- fresh and dried fruits, nuts, bread, nougat, and candies -- that are traditionally served after Midnight Mass and signify the 13 participants in the Last Supper.

An essential part of the 13 Desserts is a sweet bread made from olive oil and flavored with anise, orange water, and candied citrus. Similar to an Italian panettone, the bread -- called gibassier (or pompe à l’huile) -- must be torn with the hands when served to insure good luck in the new year.

That night, she and Al were strangers at the holiday feast. She was far from home and family, but the gift of food and wine soothed her soul.

I prefer my 13 desserts to be of the chocolate variety and like to have gibassier for breakfast. When I wrote this piece for The Kitchn, I made "real" gibassier (you can find the original essay that recipe here). But I also wanted to share an easier version of gibassier, something that could be easily made up on a busy pre-holiday morning, but that still shared the same lovely flavors of anise and candied oranges. These scones are very easy but, like the original gibassier, are best warm, smothered with butter and honey, beside a mug of bitter black coffee.

Happy Holidays, one and all!

Gibassier-Inspired Scones
2 cups flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup sugar
1 1/4 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup chopped candied orange peel
1 tsp anise seeds
1/2 - 1 tsp orange flower water

1 Tbsp melted butter for brushing the tops
sugar for sprinkling the tops

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking pan with parchment paper.

Sift or whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, lemon peel and anise seeds in a mixing bowl. Add the cream and orange flower water and stir gently with a fork. Stop mixing when it starts to come together and the cream seems fairly absorbed. Be careful not to overmix. The dough will look loose and lumpy and not like a finished dough.

Pour the mixture onto a lightly floured work surface. Using a very light touch, begin to gather and gently pat into a 9” circle, taking care to press the edges into a solid border. It will come together just enough to look like it might work. Do not handle very much to achieve maximum tenderness!

Using a lightly dusted bench scraper or sharp knife, cut into 8 scones. Use the bench scraper or a metal spatula to lift the scones gently onto the baking sheet. Be careful as they are very soft and delicate to handle. Brush the tops with a bit of melted butter and a sprinkle of sugar.

Bake on the middle rack for 15 minutes or until they are golden. Serve immediately. These scones are best warm.



This recipe was adapted from one found on the blog Bread Baby.

Gifts for those who like words, wine, food & beauty

I saw an ad the other day that read: Nothing says "I think you're brilliant" more than a book. I couldn't agree more.

I try not to do a lot of overt self promotion on my blog. I'd get tired of it and so would you. But it's Monday December 19th and I still have a few gifts to pick up. Maybe you do too? If so, I'd be honored if you'd consider one of these books to wrap up and hand off to someone you love. Of course I'm seriously biased, but they do seem to be pleasing, and they certainly are lovely:

An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of M.F.K. Fisher. My first book, soon to be released in paperback. Get the hardcover while it's available -- I can't imagine that there will be anything prettier.

Love in a Dish and Other Pieces by M.F.K. Fisher. Published in the UK by Penguin's Great Food series, this book is a perfect hostess gift. You can also buy the full Great Food collection for the devout food historians on your list.

Love in a Dish and Other Culinary Delights by M.F.K. Fisher. The American version of the Great Food book. Post winter supper, you'll look great curled up on the couch with this and a glass of cognac.

The Food and Wine Magazine 2012 Wine Guide. I helped wrangle the world's top 500 wine producers that were selected to be featured in this handy guide. This makes a great gift -- perhaps packaged with some of the featured bottles?

I've linked to Amazon, but would love it if you bought these books from your local bookstore {Omnivore Books, The Booksmith, Book Passage, The King's English, Word Brooklyn, Powells, Third Street Books McMinnville and Ravenna Third Place Books have all been very good to me this year.

Happy Holidays! I'm so thankful for the success 2011 has brought and owe much of it to readers like you. xoxo

My Winter List

So, it's nearly the middle of December. We have a tiny tree, a snow globe collection, a parade of penguins lined up on the mantle. Every morning I light candles to brighten up those grey moments between night and day. Yesterday, there were even some Christmas tunes involved.

And yet -- I just spent six days in New York and am headed to Los Angeles later today. While I dream of cookie baking and gift wrapping, my reality is flight check-ins, email returns, and detail management. I'm the kind of person who sees a photograph of snow in April and starts to countdown till Christmas. The fact that I can't quite fully embrace the holiday spirit makes my heart hurt.

And yet -- Two weeks ago we attended a friend's lyric choral concert. It was in a chilly but beautiful church. The music was in Latin; full of highs and lows and lots of melody. We paused and listened.

The next night, we went to the Singalong Sound of Music in the Castro. To see it on the big screen -- those mountains and hills! -- was a treat. We laughed and sang.

And yet -- Some night next week Sean will surprise me. We'll get in the car and head south towards West Portal, stopping along the way to look at the big houses with opulent Christmas lights. Once arrived, we'll buy a ticket for a movie. (Any movie, but nothing too morose, maybe The Muppets?) Last year we were sneaky and brought in burgers.

The lesson? Sometimes, instead of you finding the holiday, the holiday finds you. 

And yet -- There are some traditional things that just must be done, because without it, it wouldn't seem like the holidays. Here are some cozy, wintery things I'm looking forward to this season:

Forcing my brother to decorate sugar cookies with me. He always resists. He always dives in. (Albeit with typically "boyish" results. Ex: A bloody reindeer.)

Reading by the tree, in front of the fireplace. That spot in the photo is the most prime lounging real estate in the house.

 My mom's holiday table. Believe it or not, this is a weeknight meal.

Snow. Walking in it; looking at it; skiing through it. Snow.

What's on your Winter List?