Shrimp and asparagus risotto

Today brought a quick and easy early summer meal, when there are still a few bunches of local asparagus coming through and the craving turns to something more refreshing. Risotto is one of the best basic recipes; like a white dress shirt, it can be dressed up and down according to whim or necessity.

I had a bunch of asparagus in the fridge that was slouching towards the other side of fresh. We walked past Whole Foods on the way home, and the only counter not mobbed was the fish counter, so a package of shrimp later and we were on our way. We had some crisp Riesling in the fridge, so there was a little for the dish and a little more for us (my favorite kind of cooking). In the end, like the white shirt, the dinner was a result that belied the little effort that went into making it.

Shrimp and asparagus risotto

1 small onion, chopped finely

1 clove garlic, minced

1 C. arborio rice

1/2 C. crisp white wine

2+ C. vegetable stock

Handful of asparagus, the tough ends snapped off, cut into bite-size pieces

1 lb shrimp

In a large saute pan, add a swirl of olive oil and heat over medium heat. Saute onion until soft. Add garlic and cook gently for a few minutes, then add rice and cook, stirring, for another few minutes. Add wine and let it cook down into the rice. Start to add warm stock, 1/2 C. at a time, waiting between each addition for the rice to absorb the liquid as it cooks. Stir frequently (or just enough).

When rice is nearly cooked, add asparagus (if the stems are older or tougher, add earlier). Push rice and asparagus to edge of the pan and add the shrimp in the center, stirring for a minute until they begin to cook. Then stir dish around to ensure all ingredients are incorporated and cooked, and season to taste.

Serves 4

Mapo tofu

There's the most fantastic Sichuan restaurant near work, and although the rumor is that they have an extremely shady ownership, they make really, really good food. In particular, they make a version of Mapo tofu that is sublime. I like tofu anyway, but this dish would convert the most ardent soy-haters. The sauce is a piquant mix of chili, ginger, and fermented black beans, coupled with silky tofu and toothsome ground meat. I could eat it by the bucket. It is that good.

Anything that good, I want to know how to make it. I looked up recipes for Mapo tofu and discovered that it ain't rocket science, and in fact looks like a relatively simple affair. As well it should, for Mapo tofu is named, so the legend goes, for a pock-marked old lady who served the dish to travelers who passed by her home in Chengdu. (Yes, it is far more appetizing than the name would have you believe.)

I researched the recipe and gathered my ingredients. By a stroke of luck, I found some chili bean paste in a little bodega around the corner from me, saving me a trip to Chinatown for this vital ingredient. Fairway supplied the Sichuan peppercorns, and the local Associated supermarket carries 10 varieties of tofu (I [heart] NY!).

My first attempt was tasty, but with the wrong proportions. I had too much meat and not nearly enough sauce. It was a sort of Sichuan inspired bolognese. Good, but not Mapo standard. My second attempt was much more successful. I decreased the amount of meat, increased the liquid, and got it almost perfect. At least I think so; it may be completely alien to the chefs at my favorite Sichuan restaurant, or to Mapo herself, but it's pretty good to me.

Mapo tofu

1/2 cup chicken broth or water

2 Tbs. hot bean paste

2 Tbs. soy sauce

1 lb soft tofu, drained and cut into 1/2-inch cubes

1/2 lb. ground pork shoulder

1 1/2 Tbs. finely minced garlic

1 1/2 Tbs. finely minced peeled fresh ginger

1 Tbs. cornstarch dissolved in 2 Tbs. water

1 1/2 tsp. Japanese sesame oil

1/2 to 1 tsp. toasted Sichuan-peppercorn powder

3 Tbs. thinly sliced scallion

Stir together broth, bean paste, soy sauce, and set aside.

Heat a wok or large heavy skillet over high heat until hot and add 1 1/2 tablespoons corn oil, swirling to coat. Add pork and stir-fry, breaking up lumps and adding remaining 1/2 tablespoon corn oil if meat sticks, until no longer pink. Add garlic and ginger and stir-fry over moderate heat until very fragrant, about 2 minutes. Stir reserved sauce, then add to pork and bring to a simmer.

Stir cornstarch mixture and add to stir-fry. Bring to a boil, stirring gently, and cook until thickened and glossy, about 15 seconds.

Turn off heat and sprinkle with sesame oil, Sichuan-peppercorn powder to taste, and 2 tablespoons scallion. Stir once or twice, then serve sprinkled with remaining tablespoon scallion.

Serve over rice.

Pasta with sausage and saffron

I've been out of the blogging game for a couple of weeks. Work is busy, so during the week my blogging would be very boring unless you want to hear about bowls of cereal before bed or a plate of crackers, cheese, hummus and whatever else I can rustle up from the fridge (just like canapes, I like to tell myself).

Weekends, therefore, are prime cooking time. If I don't get a meal or two, or a post or two, in on a Saturday or Sunday, that's it until the next week. Last weekend, fortunately, was filled with fun. My brother and sister-in-law came for a visit. We walked around Central Park, took in the sights, explored my neighborhood. Friday night, we went to see American Idiot. I will happily admit that it was amazing. I take some small pride that despite it being on Broadway, I probably have a bit more street cred than most of the people in line (also a good few years on most of them. I had a head-in-hands moment when I told a staff member I was going to see the show and she told me that she remembered when their "first" album came out in fourth grade. Though having staff probably isn't very punk... But I digress). If anyone goes, look out for the "I Hella [heart] Berkeley" grafitti near the entrance.

Saturday night, we went to the local wine store and picked out a few good bottles. We put on music and cooked up a feast, singing and nibbling and generally having as good a time as one can without risking the wrath of the little old lady in the apartment next door.

This particular recipe was inspired by a similar dish I have made before, but that recipe was lost sometime since. Thank you, google: Foodandwine.com produced a sufficient substitute. Things I liked about this recipe included the slow-cooked onions and the addition of some pecorino at the end. Also, the fresh sage was an unexpected but delicious addition. (As a side note, why can't you buy just a sprig or two of fresh herbs? They are only ever sold in bunches, and I just cannot use an entire head of sage. But I discovered that it freezes well -- thank you again, google.) I can safely say that a good time and a good meal was had by all.

Pasta with sausage and saffron sauce

Large pinch of saffron threads

1/4 cup hot water

3 Tbs. extra-virgin olive oil

3 medium/2 large onions, halved and thinly sliced

3/4 lbs. Italian sausage, meat removed from the casings and crumbled

One 28-ounce can plus one 14-ounce can Italian plum tomatoes, drained and chopped, liquid reserved

3 Tbs. slivered sage leaves

Salt and freshly ground pepper

1 lbs. malloreddus (I used cavatappi)

1/3 C. freshly grated aged Pecorino cheese, plus more for serving

3 Tbs. slivered basil leaves

Steep the saffron in the hot water. Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the onions and cook over moderately low heat, stirring frequently, until soft and golden, about 20 minutes.

Push the onions to the edge of the pan. Add the sausage meat and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until browned, about 8 minutes. Stir in the chopped tomatoes, saffron water and sage, season with salt and pepper and bring to a boil.

Reduce the heat and simmer for 40 minutes; whenever the sauce becomes very thick and begins to stick to the pan, stir in some of the reserved tomato liquid. Season the sauce with salt and pepper.

Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil. Add salt, then add the pasta and cook until al dente. Drain the pasta and immediately add it to the hot sauce; toss well. Stir in the 1/3 cup of grated Pecorino and the basil and serve, passing additional Pecorino at the table.

Serves a lot.

Perfect chocolate chip cookies

With my recent purchase of my now beloved Tramontina cookware, an issue of Cook's Illustrated, which extolled the virtues of said cookware, was tucked inside the box. I love the magazine, for its pleasingly retro, low-tech, no ad feel. Also, there's a beautifully illustrated back page of seasonal varieties of fruit and vegetables. The magazine does a complete investigative journey into each recipe, with testing, tasting, and scientific explanations. These sorts of things give me a fantastic high-school-chemistry sort of tingle. I'm an avid reader of Harold McGee's column in the NY Times and remember fondly one of the first recipes I ever made, Oobleck.

This particular recipe, in the May & June 2009 issue, aims to perfect the chocolate chip cookie recipe. I have always been a fan of the classic Tollhouse cookie, but hey -- any excuse to make a batch. Plus, this one looked like fun.

Cook's Illustrated involves browning the butter to decrease its moisture content and increase the chewiness of the cookies (this is not a crispy cookie recipe). The browned butter also creates a rich and nutty flavor.

The other different technique is letting the dough rest. Some may recall Jaccques Torres's article about letting his cookie dough rest for 24 hours. This version involves a combination of resting and stirring that claims to achieve the same rich flavor objective. In any event, I can't plan my cookie consumption that far in advance, so a rest of 10 minutes is about the maximum I can handle.

Ultimately, this was actually very easy to put together and did indeed produce moist, chewy cookies with a little crispiness around the edges, and a buttery, toffee flavor around the chocolate chips.

Cook's Illustrated Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 3/4 C. all-purpose flour

1/2 tsp. baking soda

14 Tbsp. unsalted butter

1/2 C. granulated sugar

1 3/4 C. dark brown sugar

1 tsp. salt

2 tsp. vanilla extract

1 large egg

1 egg yolk

1 1/4 C. semi-sweet chocolate chips

3/4 C. chopped walnuts

Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees. Mix flour and baking soda together in a small bowl.

Melt 10 tablespoons of the butter in a 10 inch skillet over medium heat until melted. Then, swirling pan constantly, continue cooking for another 1-3 minutes until butter is dark golden brown and smells nutty. Remove from heat and pour into a heat-proof bowl, then add the remaining 4 tablespoons of butter and stir until melted.

Add both sugars, salt and vanilla to the butter and whisk until combined. Add eggs and whisk until smooth. Let mixture stand 3 minutes, then mix for 30 seconds. Repeat twice more.

Stir in flour mixture until just combined. Add chocolate chips and nuts.

Drop about 2-3 tablespoons of dough onto the cookie sheet. Bake in batches for about 10 minutes, until the cookies are golden brown and puffy in the center, and starting to crisp around the edges.

Makes 16-20 cookies.

Linguine with mussels

I can eat a lot of mussels, especially when as delicious as my previous recipe. However, even I cannot work my way through two pounds of them, so I had a large batch left over the next night. I thought I'd reincarnate them in a different dinner.

The basic recipe made this easy enough. The mussels were already cooked, their garlicky, briny liquid extra flavorful for having bathed the mussels overnight. I decided to cook up some toothsome linguine and head down to Italy for my next meal.

As the pasta was cooking, I halved some cherry tomatoes and chopped some more parsley. I threw the mussels and liquid into a pot to warm up, then added the tomatoes to soften. After I drained the pasta I mixed it in with the tomatoes and mussels and a squeeze of lemon juice. Topped with a bit of parmesan (bien sur!) and a good grating of pepper, and my quick, easy, but very satisfying meal was done.

Moules marinieres

It was a beautiful spring weekend. The sun was shining, the trees finally burst into bud, and summer clothing was out in full force. The streets were thronged with people who took their first run of the season, and later in the day they were thronged with people who had their first blisters of the season.

Something in the air made me think of a day at the beach. Clean, sharp flavors and the ocean. I could get a lemon and bunch of parsley, then some mussels: steamed in some white wine and their own liquid.

Moules marinieres is a dish that looks gourmet and fancy, but really is the essence of quick and comfort cooking. If you can chop some garlic and an onion, you're most of the way there.

Starting out with these two as the foundation of the dish, you simply tip the cleaned mussels into your pot, pour in your wine, clap on the lid, and come back in 5 minutes to dinner. Don't forget to pour the other glass for yourself.

I had a beautiful bunch of parsley which looked so good I had to take a photo. Anyone know what to do with a ton of parsley?

So that was dinner on the first real weekend of spring. The year is flying by and summer will be coming soon, long sweltering days and stifling nights, months of not turning on the stove, but for now, the evening is perfect, and dinner is on the table.

Moules marinieres

2 lbs mussels, rinsed and cleaned

1 clove garlic, minced

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 C. white wine (something more dry than fruity)

handful of Italian parsley

squeeze of lemon juice

Soften the onion and garlic in a little swirl of olive oil in a pot. When translucent, add the mussels and the wine (pour another for yourself), then cover the pot. After 5 minutes, the mussels should have opened and released their liquid. Throw in your parsley and give the lemon a good squeeze. Serve in bowls with bread to soak up the juice.

Serves 2

Chilly day Chili

Did anyone else experience the apocalyptic weather known as the nor'easter that blew in on Saturday? I had to go outside to go to work (boo hiss) and do some errands. Far from being productive, I spent most of the day huddling in doorways, afraid to step into the gale. More than once I did the full revolution in the revolving doors, convinced when I began to leave that it wasn't as bad as it looked, got a little taste of the wind and rain as I got to the 180 degree mark, and kept going right around back inside where it was safe and dry. The mangled bodies of umbrellas littered the streets. People greeted each other like survivors of some team-building ropes course that really didn't look that bad when they started out but quickly showed them they were not the boss. I made the mistake of trying to go into my building through the back entrance, which I had forgotten is a wind tunnel on the best of days. I kid you not when I say I was thrown from wall to wall and pinned against the gate until I could get it open.

So I ordered delivery for dinner.

But that's not what this is about. This post is about chili, which is what I would have made on that Saturday evening had I had the faintest inclination to leave the safety of my apartment again. Mmmm... chili. It really is one of my favorite dishes. I sometimes make variations on it -- anything with beans, tomatoes, chili and cumin will do -- but this recipe is my master recipe. Another one handed down from parent to child, both my brother and I left home with a copy in our hot little hands. I remember my brother visiting from college when I was living in my first apartment and had barely started to cook. We made chili. (And buttermilk cake.)

Chili

olive oil

2 lbs. ground turkey

1 14-16 oz. can whole tomatoes

1 8 oz. can tomato sauce

1 C. chopped onion

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 cans drained pinto beans

1 can drained kidney beans

1 C. water

1 T. chili powder

1/2 tsp. cumin

1 tsp. salt

Brown turkey, onion and garlic in olive oil in a dutch oven or other large pot. Once turkey is browned and onion is soft, chop tomatoes and add them to the pot along with their juice. Add tomato sauce, water, spices, kidney beans. Set aside 1 C. pinto beans, add remainder.

Bring to a boil, simmer 30-35 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add water if the chili dries out.

Mash reserved beans and add to the pot, mixing well. Simmer 5 more minutes until chili comes together.

Serve with sour cream, cornbread, or just enjoy straight up.

Betty Robertson's Buttermilk Cake

After showing off my bee-yoo-tiful Kitchenaid in the last post, I decided I needed to do some actual baking with it. A little house-warming, too, was in order. I have heard that real estate agents put cookies in the oven or leave vanilla out to make the house smell warm, inviting, and homey. Even though most of my possessions are still in boxes, and my items of furniture have yet to be counted on more than one hand, I thought that a cake, warm from the oven, wafting its scent of vanilla, butter and sugar, would transform my little apartment into my new home.

The cake would have to be the one that I grew up eating and one of the first I ever baked myself. This recipe came from Betty Robertson, long-time friend of my mother's family, who baked it for them. My mother got the recipe when she was in high school, I started baking it myself about the same age, and I in turn have passed it around to friends. It's just a good cake: moist, delicious, pretty much foolproof and failsafe. It's practically perfect on its own, and when berries or peaches are in season it's gilding the lily.

Surprisingly, it came out well even though it was the first thing I baked in the new oven. Golden on the outside, smelling of home, it tasted great even eaten off the cardboard box I have functioning as a table.

And, by the way, the Kitchenaid was amazing. I made the cake in record time. I even took pictures, but fortunately for you all I accidentally erased them. You might indulge in cake, but surely wouldn't indulge me in too many photos of my mixer.

Betty Robertson's Buttermilk Cake

1 C. butter

2 T. shortening

3 C. sugar

3 C. flour

1 C. buttermilk

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. vanilla

5 eggs

Butter and flour a bundt cake pan. Pre-heat oven to 325.

Cream butter, sugar, and shortening. Add eggs one at a time. Dissolve baking soda in buttermilk, then add the buttermilk and flour slowly to the mix. Add salt and vanilla.

Bake at 325 for about an hour, or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Long time no blog: new year, new life, New York

Hello world. I know you've missed me (or at least those related to me say so, but then blood ties demand such allegiance). I know I have missed cooking, writing, and reading, three things I have sorely neglected as of late. My cooking, in these hectic days, has amounted to hummus and crackers, popcorn, or plating some take-out.

I think I have had a reasonable excuse. As some of you may know, I have been living in London for the last 6+ years. I enjoyed my time in the city, and enjoyed my occasional griping about the quirks of life in the Big Smoke, but as of December I became an official resident of the Big Apple. Yes: I have come home(ish).

So on to new things: most of January was spent apartment hunting. Along with the requisite room measuring and fee negotiating, I have had a veritable gastronomic tour of the five (or three) Boroughs. I had great cheesecake in Astoria (Athens Cafe), fantastic pizza in Williamsburg (San Marco), roast chicken and other Dominican delights in Washington Heights (El Malecon, the Caridad restaurants), and the best grits north of the Mason-Dixon line in West Harlem (Coral). Not to mention my discovery of Delivery.com and all the little hole in the wall lunch options that my new colleagues have introduced me to.

Most of February was spent moving and getting a little bit settled, not to mention working very long days and nights.

When moving to a new place, there are a few things one must purchase as a matter of priority. There is the bed (check), some chairs to sit on (check), a table of sorts, even a cardboard box (checked to the max). Before I'd even gotten the bed, however, I had placed my order for my set of Tri-ply clad Tramontina cookware. High quality pots and pans for a third the price of All-Clad? Yes please. And the thumbs are most definitely up.

My second order was for my red Kitchenaid mixer. For years I have coveted this piece of equipment, but never ordered it because of the problems between US and UK electricity, not to mention the cost of shipping such an item cross-continent. But no more worries on that front. Next up: the ice cream maker attachment. Though maybe I should buy a table first.

And yes, I will do some actual cooking, just as soon as I explore all the delivery options in my neighborhood first...

Pear and maple syrup cake

It was last Sunday afternoon that I decided I must have a cake. I have written about this before: the gloomy Sunday slide into darkness that must be staved off by hook or by crook. I try to go out for a walk through the flower market on Columbia Road -- lined with shops selling furniture and trinkets from India and Thailand, each one a little bit less authentic than the last as they all carry the same bowls and incense holders; the high quality bespoke perfumier; the takeout window selling fried calamari and shrimp for 1.50 per bowl -- where the stall holders are almost Dickensian in their hawking and you can get bunches of flowers for practically nothing if you go at closing time. I try to take a bicycle ride in the country, where the promise of a pub lunch at the end of the road provides more encouragement for the cyclist than wanting to break a personal best. I go to the cinema, take in the latest exhibition at the National, poke around the tables of old prints and maps under Waterloo Bridge. Frequently these are all great outings and distractions from the impending work week. Sometimes, however, only a cake will do.

I read about this cake in Nigel Slater's column for the Observer a few weeks ago. His photo looked mouth-watering: soft pear, fragrant spices, sticky maple syrup. I could almost smell the aroma wafting from the pages of the magazine and filling the flat with warmth and comfort. (Emotional eating? Not me, nah...) It also looked fairly quick to make, and I thought I had all the ingredients on hand. I started to stir everything together, chopping up the pear and setting it on the stove to soften. Alas, my maple syrup was down to the last few sticky drops in the bottle, so I had to improvise by adding some dark brown sugar to the pears in lieu. I think the syrup would have been better, but my substitution was pretty good too. The pears didn't sink the way Nigel said, but made a good top layer. The cake was light and moist and redolent with pear and cinnamon. Warm out of the oven and served with a dollop of cream, nothing could have made life any better.

Nigel Slater's pear and maple syrup cake

100g butter, softened

50g golden caster sugar

50g light muscovado sugar

150g plain flour

1 tsp. baking powder

50g ground almonds

3 large eggs

2 Tbsp. of milk

a couple of drops of vanilla extract

450g ripe pears

20g butter (I used hardly any)

a couple of pinches of cinnamon

3 Tbsp maple syrup

Nigel's instructions: Line the base of a deep 20cm baking tin with baking paper. Peel, core and chop the pears. The pieces should be quite small, about 1cm square. Put them into a shallow pan with the butter and cinnamon and let them soften for 10-12 minutes over a moderate heat, stirring from time to time so they do not burn. Pour in the maple syrup, let the mixture bubble up briefly then remove from the heat. The pears should continue cooking until they are sticky and deep golden. Set the oven at 180C.

Put the butter and sugars into the bowl of a food mixer and beat till pale and thick. They need to be the colour of milky coffee. Sieve the flour and baking powder together. (I don't normally suggest sieving flour but it is essential when you are incorporating baking powder, to ensure it is evenly distributed.) Add the almonds to the flour. Beat the eggs and milk in a small bowl with a fork then add to the butter and sugar mixture a little at a time, alternating with the flour and almonds. Stir in the vanilla extract.

Tip the mixture into the cake tin and smooth the top. Spoon the pears and any remaining syrup over the cake mixture. It will gradually sink on cooking to make a sticky layer further down.

Bake for 40 minutes or till golden and lightly firm. Serve warm, in thick slices with cream and a little more maple syrup.

Shredded chicken in mole, roast acorn squash and pinto beans

Was this the world's easiest dinner? It seemed like it. It was definitely the easiest leftovers and made a fine lunch the next day.

After I made my mole sauce the first time around, I froze half of it for another use. When we had some friends around for dinner, I knew it was the perfect opportunity. I could whip up an impressive meal with practically no effort (but they didn't need to know that).

I bought some chicken breasts and poached them gently for about 20 minutes in lightly simmering water. I then shredded them and put them back in the pot with my defrosted mole sauce. After heating the mixture through, I served it with rice, pinto beans and acorn squash.

The acorn squash I had cut into wedges along the ridges of the squash, tossed with a little olive oil, salt and a pinch of chili powder, cumin and a dash of cinnamon for good measure. I stuck these in an oven at 350 and forgot about them for 45 minutes while I made the rest of dinner.

Easy? Definitely. Delicious? Oh yes. A perfect meal in all ways.

Butternut squash, roast beets and grilled halloumi salad

In winter, my salad consumption drops dramatically. This is partly because I think winter is for hot cocoa, soups, casseroles, and other foods that warm you from the inside out. Partly, I think it's because we all know that animals couldn't hibernate based on a salad diet, so it seems to go slightly against nature. However, I don't actually want to put on 30 pounds and sleep for 4 months, so sometimes a salad is what's called for.

The secret to winter salads is to base them around heartier, more substantial vegetables, and to make the flavors zing. In my vegetable box this week, I got a butternut squash and a few beets. Roasted, the sugars in the squash become toasty and caramel flavored while the texture goes wonderfully soft, and the beets retain a wonderful density. Both vegetables are on the sweet side, so I dressed the salad with a very lemony dressing to add acidity for balance. To make the salad more of a meal, and to add some needed saltiness, I bought some halloumi to grill.

For those of you who have never had grilled halloumi, you are in for a treat. Everyone loves a grilled cheese sandwich. But halloumi is cheese that can go straight on the grill. It looks like a hard mozzarella right out of the package, but add some fire and it softens, then crisps up and browns. It is indeed something magical.

All in all, this is a great salad for the cool evenings. Also, I might add, it makes a great lunch that does not induce post-prandial hibernation. Sleepiness might be good for bears, not so much for the working stiff.

Butternut squash, roast beets and grilled halloumi salad

Cubed butternut squash, roasted

Wedges of beets, roasted or boiled and peeled

Slices of halloumi, grilled in a nonstick pan until browned on both sides

Watercress, arugula, or other peppery leaf

Dressing made with 1 part lemon juice, 2 parts olive oil, dash of Dijon mustard whisked together

Mix dressing in a bowl. Toss all ingredients except beets with the dressing in the bowl and plate. Toss beets in the bowl to coat with remaining dressing, then add to salad. (Or, if you don't mind them bleeding onto the rest of the salad, toss all together at the same time.)

Roast figs with goat's cheese and balsamic-honey glaze

As I'm sure you can all guess, since figs are well and truly out of season by now, this picture is from a dinner more than a few Saturday nights ago. However, I had sort of forgotten that I had taken the photo, so it's now getting its moment of glory (or its second moment, after the original making when -- yes, I will brag -- it elicited great acclaim) until now.

Figs -- I love figs. I couldn't give a fig because when I get a fig I keep a fig. I am a figgy piggy. I love them fresh in salads, baked in cakes, dried and chopped into granola bars. I love how they can be super sweet, oozing with syrup, or just mildly fresh, used as a counterpoint in savory dishes. Figs have a little bit of the diva about them; they are extremely sensitive and prone to sudden changes of mood. Your firm fig will turn to jelly on the inside overnight if you're not careful, and the slightest bruising in the bag on the way back from the market can ruin your fruit for anything but fig jam.

It must have been in September sometime, when I picked up the last handful of figs from Borough Market to have with dinner. I had done one of my classic over-shops so cooked up a frenzy of dishes for our meal, and by the time I got to dessert I really didn't feel like doing anything that required more than 5 minutes. I decided to roast the figs to concentrate their flavors, stuffed with goat's cheese because hey -- everything's better with goat's cheese -- and finished with a little sweet and piquant glaze to tie it all together.

Roast figs with goat's cheese

Figs (3 x person)

Goat's cheese

1 tsp honey plus 1/4 tsp. balsamic vinegar per person

Cut off top stem of each fig. Make two cuts at right angles 1/3 way down figs so you can stuff about a teaspoon of cheese into each fig. Whisk honey and vinegar and drizzle over the top. Bake in 325 oven for about 10 minutes, or until figs are hot and softened. Drizzle more glaze over the top to serve.

Cauliflower with paprika, tomatoes and chickpeas

I saw this recipe for cauliflower with tomatoes and pimenton in the New York Times earlier this year and it has become one of my go-to recipes whenever I have any cauliflower on hand. The sweetness of the cauliflower, which melts into the rest of the dish as it softens, is perfectly complemented by the sweetness in the pimenton. The tomatoes lend some acidity to the dish and provide a base for the paprika. I love the smokiness of the paprika, so mix hot and sweet so I can up the flavor ante without burning my mouth.

The original recipe was pure vegetable, but I have taken to adding some chickpeas to make it a one-dish meal in and of itself. Below is my slightly amended, but filling and extremely satisfying version.

Cauliflower with paprika and chickpeas

1 medium head cauliflower, trimmed

1 T. olive oil

1 mild dried chile, optional

1/2 onion, chopped

1 tsp. minced garlic

1 can chopped tomatoes plus juice

1 T. sweet paprika (or hot paprika, or a mix)

1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

Salt and pepper to taste

Chopped fresh parsley leaves for garnish, optional.

Chop cauliflower into florets, then place in a covered bowl with a spoonful of water and microwave until soft, about 5-10 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat oil in a large pan and add onion and chile, if using. Cook until onion softens, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and let soften, about 2 minutes, then add paprika.

Add tomato, chickpeas and cauliflower and cook, mashing cauliflower a bit, until cauliflower is coated with sauce and chickpeas are hot. Garnish.

Serves 2 as main dish.

Roast duck legs with red wine and dried plums, roast potatoes and cabbage

I had a pair of duck legs in the freezer, a souvenir of a trip to the Blackheath farmer's market where I slightly over-shopped and came back with more food than possible to consume before it all went bad. Luckily, the cooler nights and longer evenings call for something rich and comforting, something a little bit special. A Saturday night in was the perfect opportunity to cook up a duck feast.

I can't give an exact recipe because I improvised as I went along and forgot to write down my exact measurements. However, nothing was so complicated that it can't be figured out or approximated.

I wanted to cook the duck slowly in the oven, making a sauce in the roasting pan as everything cooked together. Though I would be roasting the bird, I wanted to make sure the skin got crisp and some of the fat drained out (I had other uses for it). I cooked the legs, skin side down, in a medium hot non-stick pan for about 5-10 minutes, until the skin was cooked and I had several tablespoons of fat in the pan.

I then transferred the duck to my baking dish and thought about what I would cook with it. I had some red wine from Friday night, some red onions, and decided I would add in some dried plums (yep, prunes), as they do in France. I poured in about a cup of wine and a cup of water, thinly sliced the red onions, and chopped the handful of prunes in half. I popped the dish into a 350 oven and forgot about it for half an hour.

What to make to go with the duck? With the extra duck fat, roast potatoes would clearly be on the menu. I poured off most of the duck fat in the saute pan and mixed it with some cut up potatoes, and in they went to the oven with the duck. All they needed was to be stirred around once or twice during roasting.

And, of course, we needed some greens. I had a head of savoy/Napa cabbage. This I cooked in the same saute pan as the duck, with the last remaining drops of the duck fat, and 1/4 cup of vegetable stock. I put the lid on the pan and steamed the cabbage for 5 minutes until it turned bright green, then took off the lid and let the little bit of liquid in the bottom evaporate.

Finally, when the duck and potatoes were ready, I took out the duck from the oven, removed it to a covered plate to rest for a few minutes. I poured the liquid from the pan into a fat separator, straining out the onions and prunes, then poured the pure liquid back into the pan with the vegetables and fruit.

A little plating up and we were ready to feast.

Pattypan squash stuffed with sausage and white beans

Last of the summer squash, those fresh, thin-skinned varieties that (sometimes) grow to massive proportions, forgotten under a large leaf in the garden. I have no garden, but I do have a vegetable box that brings me such treats, often revealing a surprise. Such as the giant pattypan squash that arrived recently.

What to do with two large pattypans? These are the squash that look like they came from space, giant flying-saucer-like vegetables. Being such a fun shape, I wanted to cook something that showed it off or at least made use of it.

I have always loved stuffed squash. (A great example I made last winter: delicata squash stuffed with barley and quinoa) The pattypan variety is great for this because you can get a lot of filling squashed (sorry) into these puppies, and the flavor of the filling transfers to the container. With their soft skin, you can eat everything. Very efficient.

But it's the beginning of November (where did the year go?), so goodbye summer squash, hello butternut, acorn, delicata and other heartier, more wintry varieties. Wrap up warm and enjoy the change.

Pattypan squash stuffed with sausage and white beans

2 pattypan squash, boiled or roasted until tender.

1 clove garlic, minced

1 small onion, diced

1 medium carrot, chopped

2 sausages, casings removed

1/2 C. small white beans (cannellini, haricot, etc.)

1/4 C. breadcrumbs

Roast at 350 or boil the squash until tender.

Cut off top and scoop out seeds. Any extra flesh, reserve and mix with the stuffing. Cut a small, thin slice off the very bottom just to flatten the squash so it stays upright in the baking dish.

In a skillet on the stove, cook sausage in a little olive oil, breaking up the meat into little crumbles. Add onion and carrot and cook until soft, then add garlic and saute for a few minutes. Add beans and stir through breadcrumbs.

Stuff the sausage mixture into the squash and place into an oiled roasting dish, with any leftover stuffing scattered around the squash.

Bake at 350 for about 10 minutes, until everything heats through and the breadcrumbs crisp.

Serves 2.

Pasta with fresh basil and tomatoes confit

This is hardly a recipe, but it's one of my favorite uses for my tomato confit. In the same way that I love a fresh tomato pasta, as the heat of the spaghetti cooks the tomatoes, with maybe just a little garlic and olive oil, the tomato confit makes for a slightly more robust version. In this dish, the intensity of the tomatoes is balanced out by a good handful of fresh basil. Especially in winter, when tomatoes need to be coaxed to release any sort of flavor, this dish still brings back memories of summer.

So there you have it, a simple dish that can't be improved by any addition of any ingredients. I think that's about all that needs to be said. Eat up.

Tomato confit

Most of the time I think tomatoes are one of nature's most perfect foods. Rarely can anything beat a fresh, ripe tomato (sprinkled with a little salt and pepper). Straight from a garden, with that dusty flavor of sunshine, I could eat them like apples. I think it's a shame to do anything to them. However, there are times when cooking is a necessity, or a luxury. Perhaps when tomato season begins to wane, or maybe at the height of it with a bumper crop, it's time to turn the heat up.

Aside from being an amazingly delicious thing to do to a tomato, this is one of those recipes that you can turn into anything. A foundation recipe, if you will, on which to build a food empire. Confit actually refers to a technique of preserving food, either in salt, sugar, oil, or vinegar (so far as I can tell), but most often "confit" conjures up the taste of tender and rich meat slowly cooked in its own fat (or that of a more generous species).

These tomatoes confit are cooked in a bit of olive oil, not enough to drown them, but just enough so that the oil and tomato juices create a nectar-like emulsion as the liquid concentrates in the oven. A few cloves of garlic thrown into the pan never hurt either.

What to do with all this goodness? Toast some rustic bread and top with the tomatoes; stir in some plump cannellini beans; spoon some onto a delicate white fish. The possibilities are nearly endless.

Tomato confit

Tomatoes (cherry tomatoes or quartered Roma tomatoes)

A few cloves of garlic

Olive oil to coat (about 1/4 C. for an 8" pan)

Sprigs of rosemary or thyme if on hand

Toss tomatoes in olive oil in pan. Add in garlic and herbs if using. Bake at 300 for an hour or so, until tomatoes are collapsed and tender.

Mark Bittman's Mexican chocolate tofu pudding

Anyone sensing a theme? I seem to be stuck on Mexican food, though this is not a bad thing. Who doesn't like cumin, cilantro, chili pepper, cinnamon? (And is all Mexican food alliterative?) However, after my mole recipe and pico de gallo salad, I thought I should do something for dessert.

I like cooking with tofu. It has a great texture, ranging from silky soft to firm and crumbly. Better yet, it will absorb whatever flavors it snuggles up with like the way I wished I could absorb calculus by sleeping with my textbook under my pillow. I have often used soft tofu to add body and protein to blended soups and firm tofu as the main act in my stir fries. However, I had not, until now, considered the soy product as a potential dessert.

Mark Bittman's article in the New York Times about tofu included this recipe for Mexican Chocolate tofu pudding. I pretty much like anything he creates, so I thought I'd give it a shot. The recipe was easy and produced a great result. The pudding has the deep undertones of cinnamon supporting the high and hot notes of the chili. If you like the flavors of Mexican chocolate, this dish has it in spades. If you like your chocolate a bit less adulterated, it is also a treat without the spices. An extra table spoon or two of cocoa mixed in with the liquid would make it seriously decadent. At the same time, there's something wonderfully guilt-free about eating tofu. Go on.

Mark Bittman's Mexican Chocolate Tofu Pudding

3/4 C. sugar

1 pound silken tofu

8 ounces high-quality bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, melted

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp. chili powder, or more to taste

Chocolate shavings (optional).

In a small pot, combine sugar with 3/4 cup water; bring to a boil and cook until sugar is dissolved, stirring occasionally. Cool slightly.

Put all ingredients except for chocolate shavings in a blender and purée until completely smooth, stopping machine to scrape down its sides if necessary. Divide among 4 to 6 ramekins and chill for at least 30 minutes. Garnish with fruit or chocolate shavings.

Serves 4 to 6 (depending on size of ramekin and appetite)

Pico de gallo and quinoa salad

Hello again. I'm back after another hiatus. September was a busy month: three countries, four time zones, a birthday, a wedding, several amazing dinners out, and (oh yes) crunch time at work. But I'm back now and raring to go with a few new recipes.

First up, a sort of non-recipe that turned out to be inspired (in my humble opinion). I had made fajitas with the required accompaniments, i.e. pico de gallo and guacamole, courtesy of my brother's recipe. Surprisingly, I actually had some left over. The guacamole was easy -- I practically ate it with a spoon -- but the pico de gallo was a little more challenging. Luckily, the fridge provides unexpected inspiration through juxtaposition: another container held some quinoa from an earlier meal, and I had an ear of corn -- the last of the summer -- which came in my vegetable box. After throwing in some pinto beans, also from the meal, this combination made for a tasty lunch. Quick and easy for when life gets to be a bit too hectic.

Pico de gallo and quinoa salad

1/2 C. pico de gallo

1/3 C. cooked quinoa

1/2 C. pinto beans

1/3 C. corn

lime

salt to taste

Mix all ingredients together, adjusting lime, salt and pepper to taste.