Something like nuts

Even though there is never a shortage of foodstuffs on the traditional Thanksgiving table, we still need snacks. Everyone needs snacks.

Something to munch on as the drinks are poured and the guests begin arriving. Something to flex jaw muscles as people hover around the kitchen, inhaling the scents of roasting bird and salivating, all Pavlovian-like, at the sight of pan gravy coming together. Something to look pretty, scattered about the house in precious little ceramic bowls and tiny dishes. Something that's easy to make from ingredients likely to be found in any freezer and pantry. Something warmly-spiced and festive-looking.

Something like nuts. Herbed, toasted, spiced nuts, to be exact.

It's way more fun to prepare and serve your own wonderfully-flavored nuts than it is to pick up ready-mixed nuts at the grocery store. It's also super-easy and the resulting mix tastes much better -- and is significantly less salty -- than what comes out of a can. This mix was born of necessity one snack-less holiday, when I reached into Mom's freezer where she keeps what she calls "the nut bag." You never know what types of nuts you'll find in the nut bag: almonds, hazelnuts, pistachios, pine nuts, cashews, Brazil nuts. Sometimes there are sesame seeds, which are not in fact nuts but find themselves cozying up to the nut bag regardless. (Actually, you'll hardly ever find cashews in Mom's nut bag, as they're Dad's favorite and rarely survive more than a few days in the house.) As a matter of housekeeping -- should you wish to start your very own nut bag -- it is best to use a large plastic bag to house many smaller plastic bags, to keep each nut variety separate. Sometimes the smaller bags are secured with rubber bands, sometimes those black office binder clips. Like Mom, the nut bag is full of surprises.

Anyway, I reached into the nut bag, extracted some of whatever was in there at the time, then went spelunking in the spice cabinet for some flavor to accompany the nuts. I also cut off a bit of fresh rosemary from Mom's plant that was still a hold-out from the summer, surviving nicely in her bright kitchen well into the winter. I mixed everything with some olive oil and a little salt, then roasted the concoction in the oven until it smelled pleasing. And a Thanksgiving snack was born.

Of course, these nuts are good any old time. You don't have to wait for Thanksgiving. They're wonderful set out in a pretty ramekin on a cheese board. They're great to snack on as you're enjoying a little post-work martini. Package them in a cellophane bag with a stylish ribbon for an easy hostess gift. Or give them to your dad for him to enjoy as he watches National Treasure on cable for the 58th time*.

Like I have to tell you when to eat nuts. You already know when to eat nuts, innately, because everyone needs snacks.

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MIXED NUTS WITH CUMIN AND ROSEMARY

Toasting and grinding your own spices will make a world of difference to this (and just about every other!) recipe. If you have the time, go ahead and buy the cumin and coriander whole, toast them over low heat in a dry skillet until they're fragrant, then grind in a spice/coffee grinder.

And of course you can use any ol' nut that happens to be in your nut bag. Lots of pistachios? Throw them in! No cashews? Who cares!

1 c. raw unsalted cashews

1 c. raw unsalted almonds

1 c. raw unsalted pecans

1 c. raw unsalted walnuts

1 c. raw unsalted hazelnuts

1/2 c. pine nuts

2 T. fresh rosemary, finely chopped

1 T. cumin

1 T. coriander

1 t. kosher salt

1/3 c. olive oil

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit.

Combine all ingredients in a large bowl and toss to combine well. Spread in a single layer on a baking sheet; bake until toasty brown and fragrant, 13-15 minutes.

Cool slightly on the baking sheet and serve while warm.

Makes about 6 cups.

*UPDATE, 11/18/2008, 8:27 p.m.: As I write, Dad is watching National Treasure for the 59th time. He just called to tell me they're at the part where Gates and his group of treasure-finding merrymakers enter Trinity Church in Manhattan.

An abiding love

November is here. The glorious, crisp, bright, colorful fall days are fading away, replaced by darkness at 5:20 p.m. and dustings of snow on the rooftop and -- gasp -- icicles on the railroad underpass near our house. While all that foretells blustery, miserable days ahead, it also means that Thanksgiving is almost here! Thanksgiving, my very favorite holiday.

I love Thanksgiving because it offers all the togetherness and warmth (and wonderful food!) of Christmas without the distraction and stress of gift-buying. No trips to the mall, no last-minute wrapping. Just a relaxing day off with a bounty of comfort foods and a license to have as many pieces of pie as you'd like. And then, and then! You are expected to nap. Those Pilgrims and Native Americans really knew what they were doing.

In honor of this most perfect holiday, for the rest of the month I'll be sharing some of my favorite Thanksgiving recipes -- both those that were a part of my family's Thanksgivings when I was growing up and those that I've come across since I, as a actual adult, have been preparing and hosting Thanksgiving dinners in our home. The food we serve at holidays is often deeply personal, imbued with nostalgia and comfort and happy memories. I hope you will welcome some of my favorites into your home, where they might take a place among your own treasured recipes.

Today: dark gingerbread pear cake. I have an abiding love for gingerbread. I find it to be one of the most divine holiday flavors out there. Its fragrant spice has an amazing way of warming your entire body, making it the single best dessert flavor to enjoy outside on a fall day, whether you're raking leaves, playing fetch with the pup, hiking under a cool blue sky or taking a break from a touch football game. Gingerbread also plays well with the other big flavors of Thanksgiving, both sweet and savory: pumpkin, apple, allspice, cranberry, caramelized onion, butter, clove. Though the gingerbread house and the gingerbread man are more reminiscent of Christmas, the pure flavor of gingerbread is in my opinion much better suited to Thanksgiving.

Next to apples, winter pears are what I think of when I think of holiday fruit. A single Bosc pear graces this cake, its subtle flavor mingling nicely with the gingerbread's assertive spice. The cake is not overly sweet, which puts it in the category of Desserts My Father Will Enjoy. And it's dynamite when paired with a scoop of homemade cinnamon ice cream. One last thing: this cake is easy to make. E-A-S-Y. Which any cook can appreciate on Thanksgiving, when you've got a turkey to baste and potatoes to mash and wine glasses to fill.

If you're anything like me, pecan and pumpkin pies will star in your dessert spread this Thanksgiving. If I might humbly suggest, make some room for a dark gingerbread pear cake, too. Of all days, the last Thursday in November is the one where it's acceptable to eat multiple pieces of pie and a piece of cake. Seize a variety of baked goods.

Then, go take a nap.

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DARK GINGERBREAD PEAR CAKE

Adapted from "Gourmet" magazine

I am a big fan of buying whole spices when possible, toasting them in a dry skillet over low heat and then grinding them myself. For this recipe, I'd suggest you do just that for the allspice.

1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour

1 t. baking soda

1/2 t. ground cinnamon (I like Ceylon)

1/8 t. ground allspice

1/4 t. kosher salt

1 stick (1/2 c.) unsalted butter

1/4 c. water

1/2 c. packed dark brown sugar

1/2 c. molasses (NOT robust or blackstrap)

3 large eggs

1/4 c. grated peeled ginger

1 Bosc pear

Using a microplane grater, grate the peeled ginger into a fine puree. Make sure to discard any big or fibrous pieces of ginger. Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and place the rack in the middle of the oven. Butter and flour a 9-inch cake pan, knocking out excess flour. (Or use one of my favorite shortcuts: Pam with flour.)

Whisk together flour, baking soda, cinnamon, allspice and salt. In the microwave or in a small saucepan over low heat, melt the butter and water together.

In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat together the dark brown sugar and the molasses until well combined. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well to incorporate each one. Reduce to low speed and add the flour mixture; mix until just combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add the butter mixture and the ginger, beating until just smooth. Pour into the prepared pan.

Peel the pear and cut into 3/4-inch pieces. Scatter the pieces over the batter. Bake until a toothpick or skewer inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean, about 40-45 minutes. Cool slightly and serve. (I prefer to serve the cake upside-down, as I like the look of the pears studded throughout.)

Makes one 9-inch cake.

Chocolate chip cookie vs. chocolate chip cookie

What was that line from Mad Max?  "Two men enter, one man leaves." Today my kitchen is a culinary Thunderdome, my oven an arena in which I pit the cookie which has served as my own personal ultimate chocolate chip cookie against a cookie which, on paper, has the scrappy ability to steal the crown right off the former's golden brown and cakey surface. Chocolate chip cookie vs. chocolate chip cookie in the World Series of [baked] love.

The road to chocolate chip cookie perfection is long. I hesitate to refer to it as arduous, as the metaphor refers to cookies and not any sort of journey that has actual risks. But each misstep -- each turn of the ankle into a pothole filled with, say, thin and too-crisp and nearly burnt chocolate chip cookies -- hurts nevertheless. The pursuit of chocolate chip cookie excellence is serious work.

That's why I was so confident when I found "my" cookie that it would always remain the utmost in chocolate chip cookiedom, at least for me. I was set in my ways. Regan Daley's recipe was my default recipe, my go-to cookie, the victor. I considered fashioning a tiny wreath of laurel to crown the chocolatey, cakey masterpiece. But the leaves were too big and, frankly, bay doesn't pair that well with chocolate.

But then last week I stumbled across a recipe for what is billed as the "consummate" chocolate chip cookie. Lots of people say they have the recipe for the consummate, ultimate, best, most phenomenalest chocolate chip cookie in the world (myself included), so I wondered, what makes this recipe any different or better? Well, David Leite traveled his own winding, gravel road to chocolate chip cookie perfection and enlisted the help of many experts and smart cookie people along the way. This was no, I just like this one the best and hence I shall call it "consummate." No. This effort involved research, best practices and awesome food scientist Shirley Corriher for crying out loud. Leite learned things. Things about texture and dough refrigeration and types and sizes of chocolate pieces. And he sprinkled the cookie with sea salt before baking. Never underestimate the delicious power of a dash of salt in your sweet. Certainly Leite's cookie could be a contender.

So this weekend I got to baking. I whipped up a batch of my favorite chocolate chip cookies (which I refer to here as "Daley's cookies," after that recipe's originator) and exhorted Husband to leave some of them for me so that I could perform a highly scientific taste test. I then made Leite's dough and left it to chill the requisite number of hours before baking. I broke the two cookies open, both Daley's and Leite's, and examined them side-by-side. I smelled them, inhaling their intoxicating chocolate aroma. I carefully considered questions of texture -- texture is nearly as important as taste, and in some cases even more so. I called for a second opinion; Husband shared his cookie-thoughts. The dog wanted desperately to weigh in but, alas, chocolate is bad for dogs.

The winner?

Well, Leite's cookies are bigger than Regan Daley's. Like, massive. Giant. If I hurled one at Husband's head, it might knock him out. Husband comments that the Leite dough tastes better raw. (Husband also stated about an hour ago that "In chocolate chip cookie vs. chocolate chip cookie, the winner is my belly." So I'm not sure how much stock you'll want to put in the words of someone so ridiculous.) Leite's cookies are buttery and chewy, with delightful crispy edges. They have bittersweet chips, while Daley's contain chunks of a semisweet baking bar. Yet somehow the bittersweet chips in Leite's cookies taste sweeter. It is magnificently fascinating. The sprinkling of sea salt (or fleur de sel, if you have it) is genius, pure genius. It adds a tinge of salty goodness in every few bites -- not at all overwhelming. On the salt's merit alone, I am inclined to pronounce Leite the winner.

But Daley's cookie is no shrinking violet. It scores points for chocolate shardage -- a sharp corner of baking chocolate poking out from the cookie here and there is a pleasing textural bonus that the Leite cookie doesn't have. This cookie is flakier, not as chewy, not as sweet. Which are good things, especially if you prefer your chocolate chip cookies to have a cake-like texture or if, like my dad, you like moderate sweetness in your baked goods. But I must admit, this cookie is plain in comparison with Leite's confection. Its taste is not as complex.

So as much as I am loathe to turn my back on Ms. Daley, tonight a consensus has emerged in my kitchen. Leite wins. Daley will remain a fixture in my repertoire, however, because Leite's cookies take at least a full day to make and, it must be restated, Daley's recipe is a knockout, too. So when I need a quick fix, Daley it is. But when I have the luxury of time, I will have the luxury of Leite's complex cookie.

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LEITE'S CONSUMMATE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

Adapted from smitten kitchen, adapted from David Leite

I give some measurements by weight here. I am an advocate for the kitchen scale and would recommend that you all go to Target and pick one up. They're not very expensive and you will be amazed at how often you'll find yourself reaching for it. 

Note: This dough has to rest in the refrigerator for at least 24 hours. Be sure to allow yourself enough time for this step.

8 1/2 oz. cake flour

8 1/2 oz. bread flour

1 1/4 t. baking soda

1 1/2 t. baking powder

1 1/2 t. kosher salt

2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 c.) unsalted butter

10 oz. light brown sugar

8 oz. sugar

2 large eggs

2 t. vanilla extract

1 1/4 lb. bittersweet chocolate, at least 60% cacao

Sea salt or fleur de sel

Sift cake flour, bread flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a medium bowl; set aside.

Using a mixture fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter, brown sugar and sugar together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Mix in the vanilla. Reduce the speed to low, add the dry ingredients and mix until just combined, about 10 seconds. Add the chocolate and mix gently to incorporate. Press plastic wrap onto the surface of the dough, then cover the mixing bowl with another piece of plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least 24 hours, or up to 72 hours.

When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat or parchment paper and set aside. Remove the chilled dough from the refrigerator and allow it to warm up to a scoopable consistency.

Scoop 6 3 1/2 oz. mounds of dough (about the size of generous golf balls) onto the baking sheet. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt or fleur de sel and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Don't over bake! Allow the cookies to cool on the baking sheet set over a wire rack for 10 minutes, then remove to a rack to cool completely. Repeat with the remaining dough.

Makes 18 cookies. 

My athlete-spouse

I get my recipes from a reliable stable of sources. Of course there are those recipes which I learned from my parents, dishes that I have long since adapted to my own kitchen. There are also those recipes that I've created. Then there are recipes that come from the old standby magazines, as well as from a few more unique and treasured titles. Television shows can inspire, though with the overall decline of the Food Network quality food programs are in ever shorter supply. I find fantastic recipes on a host of amazing blogs -- the Internet is likely the single most interesting and reliable source for good food ideas that exists today.

I generally do not get my recipes from "Runner's World" magazine. Not that there's anything wrong with "Runner's World." It's just that I expect that publication to contain information about the most notorious hills in marathon courses around the world, or perhaps a plan to get from the couch to your first 5K, or a slightly frightening article -- for me, anyway, as I am married to a marathoner -- which asks the question, "Are marathons dangerous?"

But looking up at me from page 46 of the December 2008 issue was a recipe for ribollita, a beany, greeny, thick and enriching Italian-inspired soup, and I couldn't say no. It's a coldish fall day here in Ohio and the brightly-hued leaves are swirling in devilish vortices in the street. Husband ran the New York City Marathon last Sunday. So today seems like a good time to whip up a pot of warming soup -- and cooking a recipe from the pages of "Runner's World" seems a fabulous excuse to brag about my athlete-spouse.

Husband finished his 26.2 miles through the five boroughs of New York City in about four hours and 55 minutes. Which is less than five hours. Which means he got his name in The New York Times. An exquisite accomplishment for a man running his first marathon. The most astounding part? He was not winded and his feet did not hurt. His legs were tired and sore, but, I repeat, his feet didn't hurt. My feet hurt after standing at 59th St. and 1st Ave. for two and a half hours waiting to see him come off the Queensboro Bridge at mile 16. But his feet were fine. Here's to Husband's totally impressive fitness level!

Anyway, the "Runner's World" soup. It is good. Let me tell you. It is starchy and velvety and filling, and so delicious that it has made marathoner Husband forget, for just the slightest amount of time, that he does not like beans. It gets its stick-to-the-ribs consistency from not one, not two, but three sources of starch: cannellini beans, red-skin potatoes and day-old crusty bread. It's no wonder that such a recipe would appear in the pages of a magazine that advocates carbo-loading before a big run. It's also healthy, as it's a great way to slip some nutritious kale into your diet. The ribollita is super easy to make, too: some chopping, some stirring, some waiting and then some eating.

So as Husband trains for his next marathon and dreams of other races to run, I will be cheering him on every step of the way. And I might have a bowl of ribollita in my hand.

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RIBOLLITA

Adapted from "Runner's World" magazine

2 15.5-oz cans of cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

1/2 c. olive oil

1 T. garlic, minced

1 T. fresh rosemary, finely chopped

1 large white onion, diced

2 celery ribs, with leafy tops, chopped

1 carrot, chopped

1/2 bunch kale (leaves only), roughly chopped

4 red-skin potatoes, peeled and diced

2 c. canned whole peeled tomatoes, broken up with a spoon

32 oz. chicken stock (homemade or store-bought)

3 slices day-old crusty bread, cubed

1 t. kosher salt

3/4 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

Olive oil, to garnish

Grated Pecorino cheese, to garnish

Place 1 cup of the cannellini beans into a medium bowl and mash, using the back of a fork, until smooth. Set aside.

Place 1/2 cup olive oil in a large stock pot or Dutch oven. Add the garlic, rosemary, onion, celery, carrot and kale and gently cook over medium-low heat for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the mashed and whole cannellini beans, chicken stock, potato and tomatoes. Partially cover and simmer for at least one hour, stirring occasionally.

Add the bread and stir through. Continue to simmer until the bread begins to dissolve into the soup. Taste, then add the salt and pepper as needed.

Serve drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with Pecorino.

Makes 4-6 generous servings.

The real challenge

Want to attempt something really daring?

Try to make pizza dough from scratch while my mom -- not just any mom; my mom -- makes cinnamon ice cream from scratch in the same kitchen at the same time.

October's Daring Bakers charge was pizza. And while I do not wish to take away from the challenge of homemade yeast dough...seriously, the actual dough-making was not the difficult part of this month's baking endeavor. Maybe they should call the group the Bakers Daring Enough to Share a Kitchen with Dianne's Mom.

You see, Mom is a excellent cook. She always has been. She is a great influence on my love of the kitchen and I have always admired her willful disregard for recipes. "Oh, I don't need a recipe. Just put some of this in....How much? Oh, I don't know. Enough." Hers is a marvelous way to learn to cook; it inspires creativity and flexibility and resourcefulness and instills a certain confidence in the kitchen.

But as she has gotten older, her willful disregard for recipes has evolved into a certain hilarious hostility toward culinary directives. This recipe-disgust manifests itself in sentences such as, "Martha needs a recipe to make that? I have been making that for years." Or, "It calls for a vanilla bean? You have got to be kidding me. Do you have vanilla extract? Just put that in instead. Some. I don't know how much, exactly. Just give me the bottle."

This past Sunday was the day before my birthday. Mom and Sister were planning a family dinner: Sister was making the turkey chili, Mom was to make the cake (carrot) and ice cream (cinnamon). Mom decided that she would use my kitchen, which is all well and good. However, Sunday was the day I had set aside to complete this month's Daring Bakers challenge. So as Mom second-guessed Gale Gand's cinnamon ice cream recipe in a hysterical fashion, I two-stepped around her with my yeasty from-scratch pizza dough. The situation was made slightly more complex by the fact that my dad is retrofitting our pantry from the laundry closet that it once was to the glorious kitchen storage area that it will be. Dad is hammering away; Mom is cursing at egg yolks and waiting for the "puff of steam" that is supposed to emanate from the custard at 160 degrees; I am trying to find a spot of counter space large enough to divide a sticky dough. No small task considering that the pantry has been emptied to facilitate construction, which means that there are sacks of bread flour and boxes of penne and bags of powdered sugar shoved and stacked in each square inch of the kitchen.

So. This pizza dough? Not that challenging, in and of itself.

The real challenge is the context in which it was prepared. Mom, you are a riot.

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PIZZA MARGHERITA

and

PIZZA WITH SAGE-WALNUT PESTO AND GORGONZOLA
Dough recipe adapted from The Bread Baker's Apprentice: Mastering the Art of Extraordinary Bread, by Peter Reinhart

The dough is the focus; however, part of the Daring Bakers challenge this month was to display creativity through the choice of toppings. Though pizza Margherita is neither terribly creative nor groundbreaking, I chose that route because I possess more than 20 jars of home-canned tomatoes from my backyard garden. They are lovely red jewels, lined up above my cabinets, just begging to be used. It makes sense to me to use the bounty I have on hand, even at the expense of creating something totally different and unique. Plus...it snowed today. Not accumulating snow, but flakes nonetheless. The first snow of the season. Seems like a good time to bust out a jar of preserved summer sun.

(But of course I couldn't just leave it at that. So I whipped up a batch of sage pesto and paired it with some crunchy walnuts and tangy gorgonzola. An easy, quick, yummy departure from the red sauce-mozzarella pizza route.)

UPDATE: Since this post, I have made this pizza dough again, this time reserving one of the six pizzas for a sweet treatment. I brushed it with melted butter, then sprinkled it with cinnamon sugar before baking. It was fantastic on its own for a dessert, but it would be especially marvelous topped with a scoop of homemade cinnamon ice cream (hey, Mom!) and maybe just a drizzle of chocolate sauce.

ANOTHER UPDATE: I keep making this pizza dough and I keep learning new things. This dough freezes really well. After it has rested in the refrigerator overnight or up to three days, stick it in the freezer instead of baking it right away. I wrapped each ball in plastic wrap, then packaged the dough balls in a freezer bag. The day I wanted to make the pizza, I moved the dough into the refrigerator in the morning and by the time I was ready to cook dinner, it was ready to go. Best of all: there was no discernible decrease in texture or flavor, and it was a total boon to realize that I had homemade pizza dough in the freezer just waiting for me.

Please note: the dough needs a day or more to rest. So be sure to start at least a day before you plan on feasting on your pizza.

For the dough:

4 1/2 c. unbleached bread flour

1 3/4 t. kosher salt

1 t. instant yeast

1/4 c. olive oil

1 T. sugar

1 3/4 c. water, ice cold (about 40 degrees Fahrenheit)

Cornmeal, for dusting

At least one day in advance, combine the flour, salt, yeast, olive oil, sugar and water in the bowl of an electric stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on low speed until the mixture comes together. Switch to the dough hook and knead on medium-low speed for 5-7 minutes, until the dough clears the side of the bowl but sticks slightly to the bottom. If the dough looks too dry (if it doesn't stick slightly to the bottom of the bowl), add more ice water, a tablespoon at a time, until it reaches the correct consistency. Alternatively, if the dough looks too wet, sprinkle in a little more bread flour. (When I made the dough, it took a little extra water to achieve the proper consistency.)

Sprinkle a work surface with bread flour. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat or parchment paper. If you are using parchment paper, lightly oil it. If you are using a Silpat, skip the oil.

Place the dough on the floured surface. Using a bench scraper or a knife, divide the dough into six equal pieces. Sprinkle some bread flour over the divided dough. Shape each dough piece into a ball and place on the baking sheet. Mist the 6 dough balls with spray oil (I have an olive oil spray bottle, but you could use Pam). Wrap the entire baking sheet with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator. Let the dough rest overnight or up to 3 days.

About 2 hours before you are ready to eat pizza, remove the dough balls from the refrigerator. Dust the counter with bread flour and place the dough on the work space. Dust the top of the dough balls with additional bread flour. Using your fingertips, press the dough balls into rounds that are about 1/2-inch thick and about 5 inches across. Lightly mist with spray olive oil (or Pam) and loosely cover with plastic wrap. Allow the dough to rest for 2 hours.

While the dough rests during this 2-hour period, prepare the toppings. Note: about 1 hour and 15 minutes into this period, place a baking stone in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. (If you do not have a pizza stone, you can use the back of a baking sheet as a baking surface. However, DO NOT preheat the baking sheet.)

For the pizza Margherita:

28 oz. can of peeled tomatoes, drained (or 28 oz. of your own home-canned tomatoes)

1 T. dried basil (or 2 T. fresh basil, chopped)

1 t. flat-leaf parsley, chopped

1 t. fresh rosemary, finely chopped

1 t. fresh oregano, chopped

1/2 t. kosher salt

1/4 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

8 oz. fresh mozzarella cheese

Combine first 7 ingredients in a medium bowl. Mix well with a wooden spoon, smashing the tomatoes with the back of the spoon to create a chunky sauce. Set aside. Slice and set aside the fresh mozzarella.

For the pizza with sage-walnut pesto and gorgonzola:

2 oz. fresh sage leaves (about 1 c., packed)

1/4 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves, packed

1 clove garlic

1/3 c. walnuts

1/3 c. grated Pecorino cheese

2 T. unsalted butter, at room temperature

2/3 c. olive oil

3 oz. gorgonzola cheese, crumbled

1/2 c. walnuts

Combine first 6 ingredients in a food processor; pulse to roughly chop. Stream in the olive oil to form a smooth puree. Set aside. Also set aside the gorgonzola cheese and walnuts.

So now...time to make the pizzas. Make 1 pizza at a time.

Generously sprinkle the back of a baking sheet with cornmeal. Flour your hands (palms, backs and knuckles). Lay 1 piece of dough across the back of your knuckles and carefully stretch it by bouncing it on your knuckles, giving it a little stretch with each bounce. Once the dough has expanded outward, move to a full toss. If the dough doesn't stretch, place it back on the counter for about 10 minutes to allow the gluten to relax. Then, resume the stretching/tossing.

When the dough is about 8-10 inches in diameter, place it on the back of the baking sheet, making sure there is enough cornmeal on the pan so that the pizza slides around freely. Top the pizza with the tomato sauce and sliced fresh mozzarella, or with the sage pesto and crumbled gorgonzola and walnuts.

Carefully slide the pizza onto the hot pizza stone, using a wide spatula to facilitate the process. Bake for 6-8 minutes. Remove the pizza to a cutting board and allow it to rest for 3-5 minutes before slicing and serving.

Makes 6 pizzas.

Near as good

My mom is infamous for her ability to stir up trouble. Sometimes it's that devilish, fun kind of mischief: smoking cigars with the groomsmen at a wedding, or with the piano player late in the evening at her favorite bar. The kind of mischief that once made Dad-- when I asked him if he was aware of something outrageously silly that his wife did -- respond in a non-plussed, not-at-all-surprised manner: "Well, I didn't know what was going on, but I've been around your mother a little bit."

Sometimes when she stirs things up, it's because she means business. Like if you need to fight with the cable company, she is a good person to consult on strategies. Should you need to return something without a receipt, well, she is your woman.

So last Saturday, as we were sitting in Sister's kitchen eating delicious homemade chicken noodle soup, I mentioned that I'd like to make a batch of the soup, too, to enjoy at home. Mom's response, muttered just to get a rise out of me: "You could make some of this soup, but it wouldn't be near as good as your sister's." Hunched over her bowl, gripping her spoon, grinning with her mouth full, glancing sideways in a trouble-making fashion, she was gleefully waiting for me to protest. Sister stood smugly by the refrigerator, lording over her superior soup. I gently reminded the two clowns who in the family has the cooking blog.

Setting aside the fact that Sister's soup was phenomenally good and absolutely perfect for a fall evening, I was compelled to cook up a batch at home, just to prove my mischievous relatives wrong. But you know what? I will not stoop to their level. Sister's soup and my soup are equally tasty. We playfully compete with each other a lot of the time; however, the battle of homemade chicken noodle soup is a draw.

Well, I call it a draw. Mom hasn't tasted my version yet.

The recipe comes from Emeril Lagasse. Though I appreciate Emeril -- he seems to be a very nice man and a talented chef -- I have never been a huge fan of his shows. Regardless, this simple soup recipe is just perfect. It allows you to get away with using store-bought stock, thereby drastically reducing the cooking time, but still allows you to inject plenty of home-cooked flavor into the soup thanks to the hour-long poaching of chicken with various aromatics. (Of course you could use your own homemade stock, which would be superior, but store-bought stock will work wonderfully, too. But make sure you buy stock, not broth. Stock's depth of flavor is far superior to comparatively watery broth.) The result is a flavorful, complex but not at all salty, clear beautiful chicken noodle soup that you can make and enjoy on a week night -- when time is often limited and long-cooking soups aren't exactly practical.

Mom, I suppose it's your turn. How will your chicken noodle soup turn out? Probably not near as good as your daughters'.

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SIBLING RIVALRY CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP
Adapted from Emeril Lagasse's recipe

Though I cook the stock with both white and dark meat chicken, I only shred the chicken breasts to add back into the soup. I don't care for dark meat, but I do appreciate the flavor that the bones bring to the party. By all means, if you like dark meat, shred it, too, and add it back into the soup. Otherwise...teeny bits of the poached thighs and legs make wonderful doggie snacks.

3 skinless, boneless chicken breasts

1 1/2 lb. chicken thighs

1 lb. chicken legs

1 quart chicken stock (homemade or store-bought)

2 quarts water

2 large onions, quartered

2 carrots, roughly chopped

2 celery stalks, roughly chopped

6-8 sprigs fresh thyme

10 fresh parsley stems

1 bay leaf

2 T. unsalted butter

3/4 c. onion, diced

1/2 c. carrots, diced

3/4 c. celery, diced (leafy tops included)

2 1/4 t. kosher salt

1 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

8 oz. whole-wheat angel hair pasta, broken into one- or two-inch pieces

1/4 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley, minced

Place the chicken in a large stockpot or Dutch oven and cover with the chicken stock/broth and water. Add the onion quarters, roughly chopped carrot and celery, thyme, parsley stems and bay leaf. Bring to a boil, then partially cover and reduce the heat to a simmer. Simmer for 1 hour, until the chicken is falling off the bone.

Using tongs, remove the chicken from the broth and set aside until cool enough to handle. Strain the broth through a fine wire-mesh sieve lined with cheesecloth, set over a large bowl or pot, to separate the stock from the vegetables. Reserve the stock; discard the vegetables.

When the chicken is cool enough to handle, shred the meat into bite-size pieces. Discard the bones, skin and fat. Set the shredded chicken aside.

Melt the butter over medium heat in the same stock pot that you used to boil the chicken. (It's especially yummy to capture some of the little browned bits that remain in the pot after you strain the broth.) Add the diced onion, carrot and celery and cook until the vegetables are softened, about 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in the shredded chicken. Add the reserved chicken stock and bring the soup to a boil over medium-high heat.

Season the soup with salt and pepper. Add the angel hair pasta and simmer until the pasta is cooked through, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the parsley. Serve hot.

Makes 8 servings.

Chess pie is an actual dessert

My dog's name is Jet.
However, I rarely call her Jet.
I call her Chess. Chessie. Chessa. Chesapeaker. Chesapeakin' Peaker. (She is, after all, a Chesapeake Bay Retriever.) I also call her Sweet Pea, Sweet Pie, Sweetie Pea, Sweetie Pie. At times I just call her Pie. Sometimes she is just called Beauty. Sometimes, Sweetheart. And often, Chess Pie.
And though I have been calling her Chess Pie with some regularity for the past two years, it only occurred to me three days ago that chess pie is an actual dessert.

Though Chess Pie sleeps in my bed every night, I have to admit, I have never had chess pie before. So it is not on the merits of its own baked goodness that chess pie makes an appearance here today. But seeing as how I inadvertently nicknamed my dog after an old-fashioned Southern dessert -- and seeing as how I write a blog devoted to the intersection of food and joyful life experiences -- well, this seemed like the right time to explore the sweet simplicity of the chess pie.


The confection, not the pup.

So what is chess pie? Basically, it's pecan pie without the pecans. A sugary, eggy filling untempered by nuts. And the name? It could be a reference to an archaic usage of the word "cheese," where "cheese" was used to describe a baked good that had the consistency of (cream) cheese even if it didn't include the ingredient itself. Or it could refer to Chester, England. Or it could have to do with the pie chest/pie safe, a piece of furniture where pies were placed to await consumption. What it doesn't seem to be, sadly, is a reference to my dog, much as I think she is the center of the universe.


This recipe comes from the tried and true Helen Corbitt's Cookbook. When it dawned on me last week that there was such a pie as chess pie, my first instinct was to call Mom and ask she if she had a recipe somewhere in her library of books and/or her repertoire of culinary life experiences. Her first instinct was to refer me to dear old Helen. I love the recipe's simplicity: five ingredients, 10 lines of text including the title. As much as I like mammoth complex recipes, every so often I relish a dish whose preparation can be encapsulated in just a handful of printed characters. I think there is a reason culinary classics are so simple: they stand the test of time because they are easily prepared with readily available ingredients and unfussy methods that can be effortlessly communicated and passed on between generations.


But back to Jet.
As I bake this pie this evening, each time I refer to it by its name I get a large, inquisitive pup at my side. I get a snout wedged between my apron and the counter top. I get a pair of big hazel eyes staring hopefully at my hands as if to wish the contents of the mixing bowl into her mouth. I get a head cocked with adorable anticipation that maybe, just maybe, my human is talking about a treat for Chess Pie, not chess pie as a treat. But tonight Jet will have to be sated by the Roast Toasties. The chess pie is for the people.


++++++
CHESS PIE
Adapted from Helen Corbitt's Cookbook

A word to the wise: like my Chesapeake Bay Retriever, this pie is sweet. Cut the slices small and maybe enjoy it with a cup of coffee or tea.

1 1/4 c. sugar
6 T. unsalted butter, at room temperature
6 egg yolks
3 T. heavy cream
1 t. vanilla
1 9-inch pie crust, ready-made or your own favorite recipe
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Blind bake the pie crust for about 10 minutes, until it begins to crisp and turn a light brown color. Remove and set aside.
Helen Corbitt urges us to mix this pie by hand, not in an electric mixer. So, in a medium mixing bowl and using a wooden spoon, cream together the sugar and butter. Go ahead and use your hands to really combine the sugar and butter, if you find the wooden spoon isn't doing the trick. Add the egg yolks and stir briskly to combine well. Stir in the heavy cream and vanilla.


Pour the filling into the pie shell and bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 10 minutes. Lower the oven temperature to 275 degrees and bake for an additional 40-45 minutes, until the filling is golden brown and set.
Allow the pie to cool and set. Slice, and serve! Then, kiss the dog.


Makes 1 pie.