A Cooking Life

Sweet Corn and Chanterelle Risotto

Mushrooms and corn seem to have a natural culinary affinity. This may help to explain how the fungus that causes hideous tumors (‘smut’) to grow on corn ears came to be considered a delicacy – what the Mexicans call huitlacoche. It's caught on in this country, too; I had my first taste at Francine Bistro in Camden, Maine. Chef Brian Hill had found a local grower with smutty corn, and paired the huitlacoche with sweet corn and crème fraîche in a tender crepe. While the huitlacoche may be monstrously ugly, its flavor is gentle and mushroomy and was well balanced by the flavor of the corn.

I've learned to love them together, corn and fungi. Last fall's sweet corn bisque got a garnish of crispy fried shiitakes. And yesterday's chanterelles just begged for some of this season's kernels.

Portuguese Almond Tart

This lovely, simple tart has a rich, buttery base, somewhere between a butter cookie and a very dense pound cake. The topping is caramelized, crunchy and nutty. It's an excellent dessert for those who like their sweets rich but not cloying. And it pairs beautifully with some of the golden dessert wines; I’ve loved it with Muscat de Beaumes de Venise and Trockenbeeren Auslese.

Country Fâté

Last weekend was our friends' annual Lily Party, which I wrote about in this post last year. I suppose I was still feeling guilty about showing up with naught but a pile of nuts, so I put in a little extra effort this year and made pâté. I used the recipe and instructions for a Country Pâté from Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn's excellent Charcuterie.

The result was nearly impeccable – the flavor was complex and satisfying, but it wasn't quite fatty enough, owing to a dearth of pork shoulder at the market. I used a roast, and supplemented with salt pork (holding back half the salt called for in the recipe to compensate), but failed to meet the requirement for 25 – 30% fat. Even so, all 2 or so pounds of pâté were eaten with gusto and appreciation. I served it on a long platter, sliced just over 1/8" thick, laid on a bed of psychedelic Savoy cabbage from the garden, with thinly sliced baguette, pickled sour cherries, and whole grain mustard. Several celebrants hunted me down to compliment my effort.

I have to say, though, that I found this pâté a little too...pristine? Poised? Finished? The last time I made a country pâté was about 20 years ago, and I used Julia's recipe from The Way to Cook. It was terrific, if a little...I don't know, naughty? More rustic, funky, idiosyncratic (and fatty). I'd made it for a similar sort of affair, and one of the guests happened to be Warren Picower, then Managing Editor of Food & Wine Magazine. He sought me out to let me know just how impressed he was with my pâté.

Some Serious Baked Beans

Yeah, I know it's been a while (uhhh...looks like three months to the day). I'd like to be able to say it's been all fun and games. We did get away for two glorious weeks on a deserted beach in the Bahamas. And I had Lasik surgery on my eyes. And I turned 50. Beyond that, it just hasn't been that interesting. I sent out an invoice last Friday for the draft I put together in June; I averaged 71 billable hours a week at the computer. That's really all you need to know.

So, beans. Baked beans. I love them. When I was a kid, one of my favorite dinners was franks and beans and brown bread. As a young bachelorette, when I could afford to be less cautious about my caloric intake, I would occasionally make my entire dinner of a can of baked beans – B&M, heavily doctored with chopped onion and strong mustard. Then one day, I learned to make them from scratch.

Soul Food

I was recently reminded of the power of food to soothe and heal when, earlier in the fall, I had to put down my 17-year-old cat, Miles. He'd been slowing down, and very early one morning I was wakened by his crying and found him crumpled in a heap on the laundry room floor; he'd lost power over his back end, and I knew in a heartbeat it was time to let him go.

Oops

I don't mean the turkey. It was perfect, all 21 pounds of it. Actually, all of the food was perfect except maybe the stuffing, which was tasty but a little bit dry. Nope, no family mishaps or uproar; my family is the best. My husband shopped, rearranged furniture, made pie, cleaned up after me. The kids ironed linens, set the table, peeled potatoes. And my friends: my friends saved the day.

No, “oops” because just as everybody was getting settled in and jolly, and I was about to enter the sprint for the finish that is the last hour of making Thanksgiving dinner, as I was chopping mirepoix for the brussels sprouts, being simultaneously tormented, entertained, and distracted by one of my hilarious friends, I very nearly severed the tip of my left pinky. Lucky me, I only got about halfway through.

Edible Creamed Onions

Raise your hand if you love the idea of creamed onions at Thanksgiving but find yourself disappointed by the reality of them...

I thought so. A certain amnesia always inspires me to put them on the menu, but I always end up leaving them uneaten on my plate. And I'm not alone. They seem to be the one item that routinely gets scraped from plate to compost, and the plastic tub of leftovers ends up growing a fascinating culture at the back of the fridge. Not so surprising, really. I mean, come on: boiled onions, butter, flour, milk, salt, pepper – a little nutmeg, if you're lucky. Sounds like a perfect definition of bland.

The last time I hosted Thanksgiving dinner, I tried a new approach to creamed onions. They were all eaten, and I'm quite certain the bowl was licked clean (and not by the dog). The key difference lies in roasting the onions.

My Husband's Apple Pie

Is that not a thing of perfect beauty? My husband made it. He thinks of himself as simply an adequate cook, but I beg to differ. An adequate cook doesn't turn out an exemplary apple pie, and his is exemplary. I've never cared a fig for apple pie, but I'd have eaten the whole thing myself. (I think a certain 3-yr.-old would say the same, judging from the way she carefully finessed a giant slab into her tiny mouth). I'd post a recipe but it would be beside the point. Honey, that's a mighty fine pie.

Goodbye Again (A Farewell Dinner)

My good friend and mentor, Pierre, is moving away from Vermont – again. Pierre is the chef under whom I served as sous chef in my only restaurant cooking gig. He took a chance letting me into his kitchen; I met the challenge and he taught me well. It seemed only right to send him off with a fine meal in the company of close friends.

Hot Tomato

Jaune Flammée d'Orange. It's the name that does it. Or maybe its flawless beauty. Or maybe its perfect tomato taste. Put them all together, and this tomato gets my vote for The One Tomato I'd Grow If I Could Grow Only One.