Bright Palate

Spiced Nuts

Let’s get down to brass tacks: do not make these spiced nuts unless you are prepared to give your heart, soul, and stomach to them. They will sit on top of your fridge, or in your pantry, or hidden away where you’ve asked your spouse/roommate/child to put them, and taunt you with their siren song. They are dangerously addictive. And the recipe is very easy to double.

Fortunately, as a happy alternative, spiced nuts make an excellent gift. This version keeps well; it’s dairy-free, and the egg white coating the nuts stays crisp and fresh for over a week.

This recipe first called to me from the side of a McCormick’s jar of allspice that I purchased when we moved to California. It took three years and another jar of allspice before I made it as a Purim treat. I tried that again this year, but have somehow been slow in getting these goodies out to my friends. If you can resist the lure, they’re perfect for holidays, housewarmings, or entertaining.

Spiced Nuts

Adapted from the McCormick’s allspice jar

Note: The original recipe calls for mixed nuts. I used all pecans, with terrific results. Walnuts or almonds would also work well.

1 egg white
1/3 cup sugar
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt (or make your own with a scant 1/2 teaspoon salt, one pinch paprika, one pinch onion powder, one pinch garlic powder, and one pinch turmeric)
3 cups pecans, walnuts, almonds, or mixed nuts

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Line a baking sheet with tinfoil or parchment paper and spray with cooking spray or brush with a little oil.

In a large bowl, beat the egg white until foamy. Add all ingredients except the nuts and stir together. Add the nuts and toss until they’re coated.

Spread the nuts in a single layer on the baking sheet. Bake for one hour, stirring once. Allow to cool slightly, then break nuts apart and cool completely.

Simple Tomato Soup + Simpler Vegan Pesto

It’s February. And while I can’t complain about a great grey beast here in California, eating all of us alive while we feel too blah to do anything about it, I am experiencing an overwhelming urge to make and consume soup, an urge that can only be described as seasonal. Never mind that it’s sunny and 60-something most days; it’s still winter, and winter demands hot, steaming, flavor-filled concoctions designed to warm you from the inside out.

When I caught sight of this straight, uncomplicated tomato soup on SassyRadish, I immediately wanted to make it. This is surprising, because I have an ambivalent relationship with tomatoes. Salsa, tomato sauce and ketchup: tasty; raw tomatoes in salads and sandwiches: often to be avoided; tomato soup: can go either way. As of the writing of this paragraph, the only other tomato soup attempt I’ve made is still sitting in the freezer, in a large tupperware, dating from a period that’s been lost in the sands of time; its heavy cream couldn’t save it from being too tomato-ey, in the not so good sort of way. 

This soup, though, is worth making space for. It probably won’t make it to your freezer, because you will want to eat it all, but if it does, I have no doubt that it will freeze well. It’s free of cream, and really, most other flavorings, because the tomatoes are the star. And it’s easy. Chopping a couple of onions is the hardest part of the recipe. With an immersion blender and a few pantry ingredients on hand, you’ve got a savory, satisfying dinner that’s perfect for pairing with a salad or dunking grilled cheese sandwiches. A dollop of pesto, stirred into the hot soup as you eat, takes the flavor to the next level.

Most pestos call for parmesan cheese. I prefer to make a vegan pesto that allows the piquancy of the basil to take center stage. Once you’ve got the basic recipe, it’s endlessly adaptable: walnuts or pistachios for pine nuts, mint or arugula or cilantro for basil. It’s delicious spread on crusty bread, topped with mozzarella, and broiled; charming spooned over fish; and, of course, a classic when tossed with hot pasta. 

Simple Tomato Soup
Adapted from sassyradish
Yield: 6 servings

I used Hunt’s organic tomatoes with basil. San Marzano tomatoes were recommended in the original recipe; these don’t come with basil, so if you opt for them, add a good pinch of fresh or dried chopped basil. Imagine No-Chicken broth is an excellent vegetable stock.

2 medium or 1 large onions, finely chopped
6-7 cloves garlic, minced
Olive oil
2 28-oz cans crushed tomatoes with basil
2 cups/16 oz vegetable stock
Salt
Pepper

Pour a glug of olive oil into a large pot over medium heat. Saute onion & garlic in olive oil slowly until soft and translucent.

Add the tomatoes and the stock. Bring the soup to almost boiling and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 30 minutes to allow soup to thicken.

With an immersion blender, blend the soup until the tomatoes and onions are pureed and the soup is smooth.

Season with salt and pepper. Garnish with a dollop of pesto.

Vegan Pesto
Adapted from VegWeb
Yield: About 1 cup

3 cups fresh basil leaves, rinsed
6 tablespoons pine nuts
2-4 cloves garlic, peeled (I usually stick to 2)
1/2 - 3/4 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Put the basil, nuts, garlic and salt into a food processor or good blender.

Process until all the ingredients are finely chopped.

Pour in the oil in a thin stream as you continue to process the ingredients. Process until smooth.

Blueberry Sour Cream Pancakes

Brace yourselves for an un-American confession: pancakes have never done much for me. I do have a fond memory of tasting a chocolate chip pancake, hot off the griddle, when I was about four, but that was really about the chocolate. Since then, I’ve watched people’s enthusiasm as they dig into a stack of maple syrup-soaked pancakes, and have really wanted to share it. Just picture the iconic image of a stout, neatly aligned heap of pancakes, one perfect wedge cut out and poised on a fork, ready to deliver the epitome of breakfast, family, and fun to a lucky mouth. If that’s not good, clean Americana, I don’t know what is, and yet, whenever I’ve given pancakes a try, I’ve found them monotonous. Fruit and other mix-ins help, but only in the way that a few trees brighten a desert landscape. 

For some reason, though, I woke up on a recent Sunday determined to give pancakes one more fair shake. Moshe’s favorite childhood picture book was “Pancake Pie,” in which a farmer prepares the eponymous specialty for his beloved cat each year. I’d never heard of this tale until he read it to me when we were dating (yes, we went to the children’s section of the local library and read to each other, and I regret to say that we did not fit in the pillow-lined bathtub there), but clearly, much of the book’s appeal stemmed from pancakes. So, however the day’s attempt turned out, I knew at least half our household would be happy an attempt had been made.

Michael Ruhlman’s wonderful book “Ratio” provided a jumping-off point with its basic pancake batter: 2 parts liquid, 1 part egg, 1/2 part butter, 2 parts flour (all by weight). A half cup of almond meal lightens things up and adds some texture. Sour cream, replacing some of the milk, gives the cakes a definite tang and a moist, airy crumb. A handful of blueberries contrasts sweetness with the tart backdrop, but no more than a handful is needed, for these pancakes are no arid, starchy desert, but a lush oasis of flavor well-partnered with a river of maple syrup. Okay, that metaphor can be laid to rest, but this recipe won’t be, given that the household pancake fan declared them among the best he’s ever tasted *and* they keep well in the fridge, reheated or eaten cold, for at least three days. If they last that long.

Blueberry Sour Cream Pancakes
Adapted from Ratio by Michael Ruhlman

Yield: about 8 4-inch pancakes

Wet ingredients:
3/4 cup milk (preferably whole)
1/3 cup sour cream (preferably full-fat)
2 large eggs
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Dry ingredients:
1 cup + 2 tablespoons flour
1/2 cup almond meal or finely ground almonds
2 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup fresh or frozen blueberries

In a large bowl, combine all the wet ingredients and mix well.

In a separate bowl, combine the dry ingredients and stir together.

Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and mix to form a smooth batter. Stir in the blueberries.

Heat some oil or butter in a large pan on medium heat. Add heaping spoonfuls of batter to the hot pan, leaving some room for pancakes to spread out. Check the undersides of the pancakes after a few minutes and flip when lightly browned. When cooked, remove to a serving platter and prepare the second batch.

Orange Yogurt Scones with Ginger

What is it about scones? A good scone, crisp and golden on the outside, fluffed and tender on the inside, gives a plodding morning a lift and creates an afternoon respite with a pot of tea. In fact, typing this makes me think I should really seek an afternoon respite with a pot of tea more often.

The school where I teach has a rotating snack sign-up for faculty and staff. Each of us takes charge of the mid-morning appetites and general well-being of our colleagues for two weeks out of the year. I don’t take this responsibility lightly. Snacks are important. These little gems, baked the night before, frozen in ziplocs, and heated for a few minutes in a 350-degree oven before serving, vanished in minutes.

Scones were this month’s Daring Baker’s challenge. It’s my first time participating (belatedly!), and I was excited to try a classic and take it for a spin with some citrus and spice.  In all honesty, participating in this challenge affected the way I approach baking. Before now, reading accounts by food bloggers where recipes were tried, tinkered with, and retested multiple times before posting made me shake my head in wonder, admiration, and the firm conviction that such behavior was for other people: those truly devoted to their craft, who still thought the kitchen was fun after spending an hour in it (as all dedicated recipe testers surely do).

Yet, 10:30 pm last Sunday night found me taking notes, baking small batches, tasting, and making adjustments. Some aspects of this recipe may seem finicky, such as triple-sifting the dry ingredients and grating, then freezing, the butter. Having come out the other side, I can say: don’t skip them. I tried to laze through the process by simply double-sifting the first time through, and paid for it with flat, crumbly (though still tasty) scones. Another culprit may have been underworking the dough; while you don’t want to toughen it by kneading it into submission, do work it until it’s a cohesive mass. Compare these two specimens: on the right, a brave-yet-flat first batch attempt; on the left, a lofty second-batch version.

The final product rose lavishly in the oven, had the right ratio of crusty exterior to fluffy interior, and was just sweet enough for a pick-me-up. Perfumed throughout with orange zest and juice, with warm sparks of ginger and the yogurt adding a tender crumb, these are fit for breakfast, snack, or anytime tea.

Audax Artifex was our January 2012 Daring Bakers’ host. Aud worked tirelessly to master light and fluffy scones (a/k/a biscuits) to help us create delicious and perfect batches in our own kitchens!

Orange Yogurt Scones with Ginger

Adapted from Audax’s Daring Bakers’s recipe

Note: If you don’t own a sifter, a large sieve will work. I did find that it took awhile to sift the ingredients through it, and may buy a sifter for the sole purpose of getting more scones on the table in less time.

Yields 8 - 12 approximately 2-inch scones

1 cup/5 oz all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons fresh baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
4 tablespoons frozen grated butter
2 tablespoons sugar
1 large navel orange
4-6 tablespoons plain whole-milk yogurt

1 tablespoon milk, for glazing the tops of the scones (optional)

Preheat oven to 450°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or tin foil.

Grate the butter into a bowl using the large holes of a box grater. Place the bowl in the freezer.

Triple sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and ginger into a large bowl. (If your room temperature is very hot, refrigerate the sifted ingredients until cold.)

Rub the frozen grated butter into the dry ingredients until it resembles large bread crumbs if you want flaky scones, or coarse beach sand if you want tender scones.

Grate the orange zest into the dough. Squeeze the juice of the orange into a measuring cup. Add enough yogurt to the juice to have 1/2 cup total of liquid. Give the liquids a few stirs to combine them.

Add the sugar and the combined orange juice and yogurt to the flour mixture and mix until it just forms a sticky dough. There may be a few clumps of yogurt; stir until these are gone.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured board. Lightly flour the top of the dough. Knead very gently once, then fold the dough over in thirds. Turn the dough, fold again, and repeat several times until the dough is smooth.

Pat or roll out the dough into a 6 inch by 4 inch rectangle by about ¾ inch thick. Sprinkle some flour on a sharp knife. Slice the dough into eight to twelve squares, depending on how large you’d like your scones to be.

Place the sqaures on the parchment-lined baking sheet. Brush the tops with a little milk for a golden color.

Bake for about 8-10 minutes, checking at 8 minutes, until the scones have risen and are golden on top. The scones are ready when the sides are set.

Serve warm. If planning to make ahead and serve tomorrow or at a later date, cool the scones, place in a plastic bag, freeze, and warm for a few minutes in a 350-degree oven before serving.

Chocolate Orange Almond Cake with Apricot Glaze

I expected eating in Italy to be a carb-tastic experience - pizza, pasta, gnocchi. What I wasn’t prepared for were the sweets. Pastries and nutella at breakfast, gelaterias and crepe shops literally around every corner, thick pudding-like hot chocolate, and tempting dessert menus that we never got to because dinner was so filling.

It’s fascinating to see which flavors are favored in different countries. The yogurt section in a grocery store can give a surprisingly good sense of them. So can sodas and juices. In the case of Italy’s sweets, hazelnut and chocolate seemed to reign supreme, flanked by orange, lemon, apricot to one side; walnut, almond, pistachio, and pine nuts to the other. Berries and other fruits were popular as well, along with creamy cheeses - ricotta, mascarpone.

There are so many desserts I want to make now, inspired directly by something I ate or more loosely by association: ricotta tart, perhaps with a swirl of honey and a scattering of pistachios on top; nutella anything; a “fruits of the forest” tart like the one below; tiramisu spiked with tea instead of coffee; and a rosemary-scented pine nut tart, because you can never have too many tarts.

This chocolate orange almond cake, the first of the bunch, has been on my to-make list for nearly a year, since What’s For Lunch, Honey posted a version with hazelnuts and a caramel ganache. Why it’s taken so long escapes understanding - with a food processor, the batter comes together in a couple of minutes. The one plan-ahead point is simmering the oranges. It’s an intriguing operation that lasts two hours and leaves you with orange-scented water and gently cooked fruit ready to toss into the food processor, peel and all. This step can be done the day before, and the oranges refrigerated until you’re making the batter. Burnished with an apricot glaze, the cake is moist, light, not too sweet, and redolent of chocolate and orange. It’s gluten-free and dairy-free, and dare I say it, would make a great Passover cake - one that you’d want to eat year-round.

Chocolate Orange Almond Cake with Apricot Glaze

Adapted from Nigella Lawson’s Feast via What’s For Lunch, Honey

2 small oranges, total weight – 13.4 oz/375g
6 eggs 
1 heaping teaspoon baking powder 
½ teaspoon baking soda
2 cups almond meal
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar 
1/2 cup cocoa powder 
½ teaspoon ground cardamom  

Apricot jam, for glaze

Rinse the oranges. Leaving them whole, place them in a pot and fill with just enough water to almost cover the oranges. Bring to a boil, then turn down to a simmer and cook for about 2 hours, until soft and tender. 

Drain and cool the oranges, then cut in half and remove the seeds. Put the whole oranges, peel and all, in a food processor and process to a pulp. Set aside to cool, or place in the refrigerator overnight. 

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9” springform baking pan with a sheet of parchment paper - most easily done by cutting a square of paper slightly larger than the pan, placing it over the bottom, then attaching the top of the pan over it. Grease the bottom and sides of the pan.

In the food processor, add all of the remaining cake ingredients – eggs, baking powder, baking soda, almonds, sugar, cardamom, cocoa powder and the orange pulp – and process until smooth. There will still be bits of puréed orange in the batter. 

Pour the cake mixture into the prepared pan and bake for about 45 to 55 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. If you notice the top of the cake beginning to darken too quickly, cover it with some aluminum foil to prevent it from burning.

Allow the cake to cool completely in the pan. Remove the sides of the pan. Use a knife to spread a thin layer of apricot jam evenly over the surface of the cake. I chose to just glaze the top, but the sides can be glazed too if you wish.

Reflections on Italy: Salmon with Sage and Breadcrumbs

After a day and a half to catch our breath and catch up on sleep, we boarded a high-speed train from Rome to Florence. The change was startling; we quickly left stone buildings and busy streets behind for sunlit countryside.

If Rome is gritty and glorious, Florence is charming and quaint. Narrow streets with narrower sidewalks wind through the city center, strung with lights and jeweled with gleaming shop windows. The winter air, brisker and nippier than Rome’s, doesn’t keep Florentines and tourists from strolling through the festive lanes and piazzas. Florence was great for people watching. Somehow, what caught my eye wherever I looked were the scarves. In a palette of neutrals, wound artfully to keep throats warm, they topped black winter coats with a grace note of style.

We stayed in a room in an apartment rented out by the owner, who lived there as well. I wasn’t sure what to expect - would it be like crashing at a friend’s house? We were greeted by an enormous room in rich rusts and cobalt blues, a spotless bathroom of our own, and a pleasant and discreet host. The whole apartment was saturated with color: each door was painted with deep blues and purples, and when I threw open the bedroom shutters, the building across the street filled the view with yellow and green.

With a long afternoon visit to the Uffizzi Gallery ahead of us, we wandered in search of a filling lunch. Friends had warned us not to expect too much in the way of fish in Rome, but we’d had a delicious if startling meal the night before: the sea bass we’d ordered arrived whole, looking up at us from the plate. Its moistness and hints of salt made me suspect it had been baked in a salt crust (something I’ve wanted to try for ages but have avoided thanks to the whole fish factor). Now, we found a bustling family-style restaurant recommended by our guidebook, with long communal tables. Dishes were simply presented, with minimum fanfare and maximum flavor: a meltingly rich pear and cheese flan, gnocchi in an herb cream sauce, and salmon roasted with a scattering of breadcrumbs and salt. We left well-fortified for the Uffizzi’s sumptuous sculpture halls and painting galleries.

This recipe is easily doubled, tripled, quadrupled… It takes very little time to put together. The topping offers an intriguing crunchy texture and the earthy pungent sage, highlights of salt, and rich salmon create a satisfying mix of flavors. I recommend using panko, Japanese breadcrumbs specially baked (with an electric current passing through the dough!) and cut to stay crisp.

Salmon with Sage and Breadcrumbs

1 lb salmon fillets
olive oil
1/8 teaspoon kosher salt
6 sage leaves, crumbled or chopped, or 3/4 teaspoon dried sage
About 1 tablespoon breadcrumbs, preferably panko

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Lay the salmon fillets in a glass baking dish - I used an 11” x 7” dish, but an 8” x 8” or 9” x 9” would likely work as well. Drizzle olive oil over the salmon and spread to coat. Sprinkle the salt and sage evenly over the salmon. Sprinkle the breadcrumbs on top.

Roast the salmon in the oven for about 12-15 minutes, or until salmon flakes with a fork but is still dark in the center.

Italian Meringues

Last week, we returned from eight days of craning our necks to look at more beauty around every corner. Eight days of walking on cobblestones until our soles ached, of surprising our tongues with familiar-yet-different tastes and textures, of puzzling out musical syllables and trying to offer a faint echo in return. Eight days in Rome and Florence.

Nothing went quite as planned when we arrived in Rome. In our well-thumbed guidebook, I read about Rick Steves’ encounter with a Roman cabbie: “Roma chaos,” muttered the driver, as he navigated the crowded streets. “Bella chaos,” Rick replied. If Rome’s own citizens find the city chaotic, who was I to wonder when my luggage (a carry-on which I’d had to gate check back in San Francisco due to a crowded flight) didn’t show up, and our hotel, conveniently located near the central train station, was not in fact located at 85A, as it said on its website and business cards, but down the street at 89 or so, and was not called B & B Giovi, despite TripAdvisor and email correspondence to the contrary, but rather Hotel Maryelen?

The first night in a new country can feel surreal, otherwordly. We pulled ourself up from naps to wander the streets that night, finding our way to the Trevi Fountain, baroque, splendid, and clotted with throngs of tourists and teenagers. We poked our heads into a nearby gelato shop – I wish I could remember the name – where the manager shouted out a bouncy “buona sera” and urged taste after taste on us: amaretto, chocolate, watermelon, tiramisu. It was like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory: each dollop, on a little plastic spoon, tasted like the pure essence of its food or drink. Once we made our selections, the manager lovingly paddled each flavor from its bin and packed it into small cups, dispensing puffs of unsweetened whipped cream from a machine on the counter. Watermelon and stracciatella, its sweet cream streaked with bits of hard dark chocolate, is a combination I will never regret.

Our hotel of many names offered a buffet breakfast, mostly a spread of sweets and pastries with a jar of Nutella handy. The cheerful staff bustled behind a counter whipping up espresso drinks to order. Any sort of coffee would have been welcomed with open arms that first morning, but the cappuccinos they brought to our table – each in its own round-bellied glass pitcher, topped with froth, cocoa powder, and bits of meringue - were the best good-morning imaginable. They propelled us out the door after breakfast and to the National Museum of Rome, where we saw more ancient sculptures in one place than I thought possible. (And that was just the tip of the iceberg…)

Meringue kept popping up while we in Italy, like a charming friend. Huge swirls of it, piled loosely on trays, graced bakery windows. We visited Gelateria de San Crispino a block north of the Pantheon – recommended by friends and guidebook alike for its natural, intense flavors – which has a whole section of flavors with meringue chunks. (Chocolate chip meringue chunk made an excellent match for pear sorbet.) The meringues we tasted had a foamy, crunchy texture throughout: pleasingly aerated, but satisfying to the bite.

I’d vaguely recalled reading about “Italian Meringues,” which are stabilized by boiling a sugar syrup on the stove before whipping it into the egg whites. In the hopes of replicating our meringue experiences, I tried a Food Network recipe today, adding a little vanilla for flavor. The comments seemed promising, though they did emphasize to make the meringue exactly as directed. The recipe turned out to be a little ungepotschke, as my husband and possibly my Yiddish-speaking grandmother would say, with its boiling and swirling and whipping and thermometer-checking, but I didn’t realize until the sugar syrup was bubbling merrily away on the stove that my food thermometer doesn’t go high enough. The recipe calls for the syrup to reach the soft-ball stage – 235–240 degrees. My thermometer goes to 220, and blithely figuring I’d just let the syrup boil a little longer once it reached that point, I was startled to see the needle suddenly pointing all the way back to zero, and the syrup itself forming lumps of rock candy when I whipped it into the egg whites.

All I can say is, if you’re attempting this recipe, make sure your thermometer goes to 240. I put my meringues in the oven anyway because I couldn’t bear to waste all those ingredients and the time spent potschky-ing around, and while I ended up with meringue pancakes, they did taste of sugar and vanilla and proved strangely addictive. In fact, I ate three of them while writing this post. I’m including the recipe here because it’s a little like the beginning of our time in Rome: things may not go the way you expect – may even seem worse – but can turn out to be quite delightful.

Italian Meringues

Adapted from The Food Network

1 cup sugar
1/3 cup water
5 egg whites, at room temperature
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 200 degrees. Line baking sheets with parchment paper or tin foil. 

In a small pot, combine sugar and water and cook over low heat. Swirl the pot over the burner to dissolve the sugar, but do not stir. Turn up the heat and boil to the soft-ball stage - 235 - 240 degrees. From time to time, wash down the inside wall of the pot with a wet pastry brush, in order to prevent sugar crystals from forming around the sides, which can cause a reaction. (This may have been an issue for me as well…).

Whip the eggs whites on low speed until foamy. Add the cream of tartar, increase the speed to medium, and beat until soft peaks form.

With the mixer running, pour the hot sugar syrup over the egg whites. Beat until the egg whites are stiff and glossy. Dollop spoonfuls of meringue onto prepared baking pans. Bake for 2 hours, until crisp. Turn off oven and allow meringues to dry out.

Eye of the Flame

The aspect of Hanukkah that’s been catching my attention the most this year is light amidst darkness. Recently, the chorus I sang in gave its winter performances, a mix of sacred songs and lyrical poetic settings that included “Winter, Snow” by Carol Barnett. A particular phrase stood out to me: “cold flame of renewal.”

I see the fire of the Hanukkah candles as a flame of renewal as well – remembrance of history, dedication to continuing tradition and community. These are warm flames, though, steadfast in the icy surroundings of winter.

In “Eye of the Flame,” I used watercolor crayons to illustrate warm light radiating out over darkness. Watercolor crayons are wonderful for portable painting: pack up the box, a brush, a bottle of water, and a cup, and with a nice heavy piece of paper, you can create a drawing, then paint with a water-dipped brush and blend to your heart’s content.

A note about latkes: A couple of posts ago, I mentioned posting a recipe for my grandmother’s legendary latkes. And…to make a long story short, between chorus concerts, directing my school’s concert, hosting my mother, traveling to LA for a few days to visit family, and preparing to leave for Italy Sunday morning, latke-making is going to have to be postponed until next year. If you’d like the recipe for some post-Hanukkah frying delight, leave a comment, and I’ll email it to you after I return.

Speaking of which…posts will be on hold while I’m in Italy, but January will be devoted to recipes and artwork inspired by our time there. We’re spending six days in Rome and two in Florence, and can’t wait to experience the rich array of art and cuisine these cities have to offer. Enjoy the last days of 2011!

Maple-Mustard Roasted Brussels Sprouts

I know, I know. Brussel sprouts, in the midst of December’s sweet-fest, may seem a little too virtuous. Fear not: these coyly wrinkled, crisp-edged, creamy-centered nuggets are anything but.

At the grocery store last week, hunting in the produce section for a new and enticing mode of bringing more nutrients to our dinner plates, I noticed net bags of bright green, tightly furled buds. Plucked from their formidable stalks – charming now, accessible, even cute - the sprouts practically beckoned to be halved and tossed in a sweet yet pungent sauce.

Brussels sprouts are something I’d never considered bringing into my kitchen. Even after tasting some tantalizing renditions, the unfortunate association that’s always popped up first is my earliest memory of the vegetable: sodden, over-boiled, sulfurous sprouts lying limply in a square on the melamine trays my preschool used, taking up space better used by mac and cheese. Maybe the fact that I rarely stayed for lunch at preschool has given more weight to the memory – if I had to stay, darn it, the lunch better be good!

No more: boiled veggies have moved aside to make way for these roasted gems, which are another story altogether, related in name only. A sojourn in the oven makes brussels sprouts magical, and the sauce combines sweet, salty, sour, and pungent flavors in a fragrant glaze that plays beautifully with the sprouts’ bitter freshness.

Maple-Mustard Roasted Brussels Sprouts
Adapted from What Would Cathy Eat

4 generous servings

I adjusted the recipe amounts, and added soy sauce and mirin to give the flavor profile a deeper, saltier edge. If you don’t have mirin on hand, cooking sherry, white wine or white wine vinegar with a pinch of sugar will do the trick. Or just leave it out for a still-delicious, hearty wintertime dish.

1.5 pounds brussels sprouts
1 teaspoon mirin
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons Dijon or stone-ground mustard
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1 teaspoon soy sauce

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Rinse the brussels sprouts and remove the outermost leaf or two for each sprout. Slice each sprout in half and place in a large bowl. Add all other ingredients. Toss together well.

Spread the brussels sprouts on a foil-lined baking sheet. Roast for 40 minutes.

Cardamom-Chocolate Fudge with Dried Cherries and Walnuts

Mid-December is upon us: festivity sparkles from every corner, folks are baking up a storm, and Christmas decorations have been twinkling inside and out of homes since after Thanksgiving. I’ve always liked the lights, enjoyed the carols, and appreciated the aromas. Christmas-as-national-holiday has been okay with me.

This year, I must admit I’m feeling particularly steeped in Christmas. Between preparing for the Christmas pageant at the Catholic school where I teach and rehearsing sacred repertoire with my chorus, between seeing the boughs and baubles in my private students’ homes and ogling the jewel-like array of cookies and candies brought in by coworkers, I’ve had a growing urge to…really live it up for Hanukkah. It’s a minor holiday, usually characterized by nighttime family celebrations at home, a holiday that kids get very excited about – but once I left for college, it became something of an effort to focus on Hanukkah during the evenings of a busy December week.

Hanukkah will be a multi-location celebration this year: three nights in LA with my family, two nights back home, one night on a plane, and two nights in Rome. I’m looking forward to taking some time each night to reflect on the history of the holiday and the connection to community, to gaze at the flickering candles (and picture them on the plane), to sing songs with my family and prepare my grandmother’s legendary crisp-edged latkes (recipe coming soon!).

Whether you’re preparing for a celebration, looking for a confection that’s easy and giftable, or just have a sweet tooth, fudge is a great option. I’ve been reining in a yen to do an all-out holiday baking marathon, since December is a busy, busy month, but we’ll see who comes out on top, me or the yen.

As for this particular fudge, where do I begin? Do I start with the dense, creamy, intensely satisfying texture? The smooth chocolate, the almost tooth-aching sweetness that keeps you coming back for more, balanced by the tart chewy cherries and and rich crunch of walnuts? The surprise of cardamom, warming the familiar flavors and elevating them to an elegant and faintly exotic dessert?

Perhaps I should start with the recipe’s incredible flexibility: stir together condensed milk and the chocolate of your choice, and add whatever garnishes please your fancy. I chose the cardamom-cherries-walnuts combination as a vaguely Persian-inspired twist on fudge to bring to a reading of the Shahnameh, a Persian epic tale, at the home of friends, and am already thinking about white chocolate with a pile of lime zest to balance the sweetness, or dark chocolate and chunks of crystallized ginger, or a Mexican hot chocolate-style fudge with cinnamon and a pinch of chili powder. Oh, and did I mention it takes five minutes and no candy thermometer? The fudge is your canvas, and your imagination’s the limit.

Cardamom-Chocolate Fudge with Dried Cherries and Walnuts

Yield: 1 9-inch square pan, or 1 9-inch pie dish and 1 mini loaf pan of fudge

One 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk

12 ounces semisweet chocolate chips

About 1/2 tsp cardamom, to taste (I used about 5/8 teaspoon, which yielded a moderately pronounced cardamom flavor. The flavor will deepen as the fudge sets.)

1/2 cup dried tart cherries

1/2 cup walnut pieces or chopped walnuts

In a large microwave-safe bowl, melt the chocolate chips at 30-second intervals, stirring after every 30 seconds.

Stir the condensed milk into the melted chocolate. The mixture will thicken as you stir. Add the cardamom and mix well.

Fold in the cherries and walnuts. Pour the fudge into your pans of choice and allow to cool at room temperature or in the fridge. When the fudge is thick enough to be sliced, it’s ready to serve.