I don’t have that many clothes or shoes or knick knacks, but I do have a lot of cookbooks and kitchen stuff.  A lot of that stuff I use at least once a week, if not more often.  The thought of parting with it all for 8 weeks makes my stomach do little flip flops, and not in the good way like being excited or in love or just very hungry…

I kept a few kitchen things out for the “fast box”, a box we sent by air mail late last week that will probably arrive in about 2 weeks rather than 8 — a 2 qt. dutch oven, a spatula, a wooden spoon, salt and pepper grinders, and a set of measuring spoons.  A few other things I kept out to go in my suitcase, things I would have a really hard time doing without for even a couple weeks — my favorite 8 inch chef’s knife, a small paring knife, a pair of tongs, a tiny plastic cutting board, my onion goggles (sort of questioning whether these were actually a necessity), and a wine opener.

We sent the “fast box” off on Wednesday, and our 8-week “slow” boxes were picked up this past Friday.  This means that I have exactly two knives, one pair of tongs, a tiny cutting board, and a pair of oh-so-important onion googles :) — no pots, no pans, no spices — not exactly the tools for a feast.  But, as any cliche connoisseur will tell you, where there is a will, there is a way.

I am firm believer that you don’t have to eat crap even if the world and everyone around you tells you that you are too busy to cook.  Takeout and frozen pizza be damned, I want real food.  Not only do I feel better and eat more healthfully, but I also think that by deciding to make and eat something real, even if very quick and simple, it makes me a little more sane.  During a time of uprooting major change, it’s odd how a simple tupperware container full of homemade roasted vegetables topped with a plain roasted chicken thigh can make everything seem ok (tupperware because all of my dishes are gone…)

Well, tonight is the last night in our German apartment.  We move into a hotel tomorrow for our last three days in Hannover, and then we fly out early Thursday morning (cat and all). Wish me luck on these last few days of my Great German Adventure!

Desperado Roasted Vegetables and Chicken Thighs
*tastes best when eaten out of tupperware since you have packed up and shipped all of your real dishes across the Atlantic…

1 beet, peeled and cut into 1 inch chunks
1 small (fist sized) celery root, peeled and cut into 1 inch chunks
1 large carrot, scrubbed and cut into chunks
2 parsnips, scrubbed and cut into chunks
1 white potato, scrubbed and cut into chunks
1 red potato, scrubbed and cut into chunks
5 small onions (about 2-inch diameter), peeled and quartered
6-8 brussels sprouts, trimmed
8-10 cloves of garlic, un-peeled
2 skin-on chicken legs
olive oil
salt
pepper
~ 1-2 T. prepared pesto

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Rinse chicken and pat dry.  Rub with olive oil, then sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Mix all vegetables in a bowl (or if you’re moving like me and have packed all of your bowls, a big piece of tupperware will do), and drizzle with about 2 T. of olive oil.  Sprinkle generously with salt and pepper and stir until evenly coated.  Spread vegetables onto a rimmed baking sheet covered with parchment paper.  Place chicken thighs on top, and place in the oven.  Roast for about 1 hr, stirring every 20 minutes, until chicken skin is brown and crisp, and vegetables have reached the desired tenderness.  If the chicken skin isn’t crisping up, broil for about 3-4 minutes at the end of the cooking time.

Remove garlic cloves, and squeeze out of skins into a small bowl.  Mash garlic, add pesto, and mix until combined.  Transfer vegetables from baking sheet to some sort of bowl, add garlic pesto mixture, and stir until evenly coated.  Serve vegetables topped with a chicken thigh.  Enjoy!

Skillet Roasted Celeraic with Potatoes, Celery, Olives, and Sage

4 slices bacon, sliced into 1/2 inch pieces *see note below
1.5 lbs of celery root and yukon gold potatoes (I used 1 celery root plus 2 potatoes)
2 stalks celery, thinly sliced into moons
5-6 kalamata olives (or other cured black olives), chopped
1 T. fresh sage, chopped
1-2 oz shredded manchego cheese (about 1/2 c) (any hard salty cheese will work)
1-2 oz shredded mozzarella or provolone
Salt and Pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Heat a heavy well-seasoned cast-iron (or other non-stick skillet) over medium high heat. Add the bacon and saute until mostly crisp. Using a slotted spoon, remove bacon from rendered fat and drain on a paper towel. Reserve rendered bacon fat in a small bowl or container.

Allow skillet to cool until it can be handled. Meanwhile, using a sharp knife, peel the celery root and thinly slice into rounds (1/16 inch thick). Scrub the potatoes and thinly slice into rounds the same thickness as the celery root.

Once the skillet is cool, brush the bottom and sides with some of the rendered bacon fat. Layer 1/4 of the celery root and potato slices into the pan, brush with some of the rendered bacon fat, and top with 1/3 of the fresh celery, 1/3 of the crumbled bacon, 1/3 of the olives, and 1/4 of the sage, manchego, and mozzarella. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Repeat for two more layers. Make one more layer of celery root and potato slices, brush with bacon fat, and top with remaining sage and cheeses. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Tightly cover the skillet either with its lid or with foil. Bake for 20 minutes. Uncover and bake for 25-30 more minutes, until potatoes and celery root are tender and the edges are golden brown. Either slice into wedges directly in the pan, taking care not to scrape the pan, or transfer to a cutting board with two spatulas and cut there.

Enjoy!

*Note: Try to find all-natural and ethically sourced meat (i.e. at the Farmer’s Market, raise your own, etc) if you choose to consume it.

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Every now and again I’ll wake up and decide that today I need a mental health day. The feeling strikes at the oddest times — not when I’m particularly stressed out or busy at work, but rather when things are on the quiet side and contemplation seems like a plausible idea rather than a far off notion.

Anyhow, a couple of weeks ago, this feeling struck for not one, but TWO days in a row… I could barely fathom writing C++ code for 8 hours straight in my dimly lit window-less office, even if it does have to do with rock and roll :) … No, all I wanted was to sit quietly at home doing my slightly more active version of meditation — cooking vegetables.

It’s not just the act of cooking for me, it’s also *what* I’m cooking — cooking vegetables puts me in a more relaxed state than, say, baking, cooking meat, or grilling. There’s something about handling vegetables, especially those that I buy locally at the farmer’s market where I am completely sure and comfortable about their origin that simply puts me at ease…

Anyhow, on this particular mental health day, I decided to cook up a feast for my solitary lunch — a cara-cara orange, skillet roasted celeraic, sauteed dandelion greens, a salad with homegrown lettuce, and yes, a lunchtime glass of red wine. I sat, nibbled, contemplated, listened to my surroundings, and let my thoughts wander where they might…

I developed the habit of long, solitary, contemplative lunches about five years ago while working on a project about field recording in Europe. I would find a little restaurant to sit at on a square or plaza, order some food, setup my equipment, and just listen and record. I would later sift through all of the recordings and create sonic sketches out of my recordings… these days I do less recording, and my long solitary lunches are more an act of relaxation and delving into the present moment rather than a creative effort; both are valid pursuits in my eyes.

But I digress.

The skillet roasted celeraic that was part of my lunchtime feast turned out wonderfully — crispy and golden on both the top and bottom, dotted with savory sage and salty olives, and topped with melty parmesan cheese — low fuss and super delicious. Making skillet roasted vegetables is quite similar to making a gratin, the main difference being that there is no liquid involved. If instead you wanted to make this into a gratin, simply pour cream or broth over the layered sliced celeraic and potatoes, then bake as directed. Perhaps on your next mental health day (or before!) you can give this a try.

Potato Gratin with Caramelized Fennel and Leek

1 fennel bulb, trimmed, cored, and any bruised outer leaves removed
1 medium-large leek
2 T butter, divided plus extra for pan
1 garlic clove
3 fist sized yukon gold potatoes, peeled
1 T. fresh thyme, chopped
Salt and Pepper
1/2 – 1 c grated hard, salty cheese (about 2 – 4 oz) (such as parmesan, manchego, or gruyere)
approximately 3/4 cup cream (or substitute milk or stock)

Slice both the fennel and leek into thin rounds. Heat 1T butter in a medium-large saute pan over medium heat until melted, then add the fennel and leek and stir to coat. Reduce heat to low and cook until fennel and leeks are caramelized, about 40 minutes, stirring every now and then to prevent burning.

Meanwhile, thinly slice the potatoes (about 1/8th – 1/16th of an inch thick).

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter the bottom and sides of a 1.5 qt baking dish*, then slice the garlic clove in half and rub all over the pan.

When fennel and leeks are caramelized, assemble the gratin: layer 1/3 of the potatoes in the baking dish, overlapping slightly; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Spoon half of the fennel and leek mixture over potatoes and spread evenly. Dot with 1 t butter, and sprinkle with 1 t thyme. Repeat for one more layer. Top with remaining potatoes, and dot with remaining butter and thyme. Sprinkle grated cheese over gratin, then pour in enough cream, milk, or stock so that the liquid is at the same level as the top of the potatoes.

Bake for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until top is golden and gratin is fork tender. Enjoy!

*I used an oval pan that is about 10 inches long, 8 inches wide, and 2 inches deep.

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It’s official: Spring is in full swing here in Los Altos Hills, California — the days are getting noticeably longer, the pea plants in my garden are exploding with fresh peas, and the winter greens (collards & kale) have bolted to seed… my seedlings on the windowsill are growing like mad and will be transplanted in just two or three short weeks. There’s still snow in the nearby Sierras, but here in the Bay Area it’s nothing but blue skies.

In these first days of spring you’d think I would be singing the praises of spring vegetables I haven’t seen in almost a year — asparagus, fava beans, shelling peas, and pea shoots, to name a few. Believe me, I am (and will be on Modern Beet very soon — I have a whole backlog of spring recipes just waiting to be posted). Yet in the early days of spring I sometimes long for one last ‘winter vegetable hurrah’ — something earthy, rich, and filling, usually with tubers or root vegetables, a healthy dose of cheese, and some fresh hearty herbs that do well in cooler temperatures, such as rosemary or thyme. That longing, plus the desire to clean out my vegetable drawer, inspired this gratin.

Gratins are a great canvas for experimentation and improvisation — you don’t have leeks? substitute onions. you don’t have fennel? oh well. just use all leeks, onions, or even celery; you can even leave it out entirely and do a plain potato gratin. love garlic? feel free to add some (either roasted or chopped fresh). don’t have potatoes? try parsnips, rutabaga, sweet potatoes, or turnips. The method is the same for whatever ingredients you use — slice the main ingredient into thin rounds, layer into a baking dish (perhaps adding embellishments between layers), dot with butter and herbs, add liquid, top with cheese, bake, enjoy.

A healthy portion of gratin, a green salad, some fruit, and a glass of white wine makes for a light, delicious, and elegant dinner. And on a side note, I’m hoping to find some cardoon (a relative of the artichoke) at the farmer’s market in the upcoming weeks — one of the most delicious gratins I’ve ever made had this as the main ingredient… yum!

Ever-So-Slightly-Sweet Mashed Turnips

6-8 baby turnips (or 2-3 regular turnips)
1 medium yukon gold potato
1/4 t. ground ginger
3/4 T. brown sugar
1 T. butter
1-2 T. heavy cream (or substitute milk)
Salt and Pepper to taste

Fill a medium-large pot with water and bring to a boil over medium-high heat.

If using regular (rather than baby) turnips, peel turnips (baby turnips do not need peeling). Peel potato. Cut turnips and potato into 1 inch chunks. Add to boiling water, partially cover, and cook for about 20 minutes, or until chunks are easily pierced with a knife.

Drain turnips and potatoes. Either pass turnips and potatoes through the coarse screen of a food mill, or mash by hand with a potato masher, meat mallet, or the back of a fork. Mix in ginger, brown sugar, butter, and cream. Season to taste with sea salt and black pepper.

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Turnips, along with brussels sprouts, parsnips, rutabagas, and radishes elicit the ‘ewww’ / ‘ick’ / ‘ughh’ / ‘do we have to have that?’ reaction from many people. Their tastes are strong and assertive, and there’s no ignoring the fact that you’re eating one of nature’s earthiest vegetables. Brussels sprouts I’ve come to love, along with some radishes (watermelon radishes in particular), but turnips still remain the figurative black sheep of the vegetable kingdom. So, I can’t really explain why I bought a whole bag of baby turnips at the farmer’s market about a month back. Some people impulse-buy clothes; I impulse-buy vegetables. Perhaps it was because they were tiny and less threatening than full-sized turnips; perhaps it was because I think I’m too old to be picky with my vegetables and subconsciously believe I need to get past my turnip aversion, or perhaps I was simply not in my right mind that cold December morning at the farmer’s market…

The bag of baby turnips sat on my counter for over a month, unused. If nothing else, the turnip must be saluted for its staying power. Tucked away in a cool storage place, they’ll happily keep for many months. Mine were so happy sitting on the counter that they actually sprouted new green leaves, which I took as an indication they were very alive (in the vegetable sense) and full of life. Ah, tubers. With Steven out of town this week, I took the opportunity to make some more adventurous vegetable and vegetarian dishes — turnips, dandelion greens, and boiled peanuts to name a few.

I decided that this was the week that I would cook the turnips that had for so long been staring at me from the kitchen counter. Saturday passed, then Sunday, then Monday, then Tuesday… yet they remained on the counter. Finally on Wednesday I succumbed to their powers and made them into a impromptu mash with my newest and favorite kitchen gadget, a food mill (also very useful for making Persimmon Applesauce).

I added a potato to fluff things up and add a little extra volume, some ground ginger and brown sugar to offset the heavily earthy taste of the turnips, and a bit of butter and cream, because really, what isn’t made better by adding a little butter and heavy cream? The end product was SURPRISINGLY delicious! No kidding, I actually had seconds and then thirds (seconds and thirds are ok in my book when it’s vegetable related). In fact, they were so tasty that I added turnips to my farmer’s market shopping list for tomorrow. I’ve been converted! Turnips, when prepared with the right spices and a thoughtful hand, can be a delicious and scrumptious treat. And to boot, they’re rarely more than a dollar or two per pound, making them an economical choice as well. If you’ve sworn off turnips, as I had, I encourage you to give them a second chance — I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

Potatoes are one of those foods that I always seem to have around on my kitchen counter–purple, red, white, yellow, russet, sweet, yukon–I’ve got them all. I think the reason behind my ever present plethora of potatoes is that I always know I’ll have something wholesome to eat if per chance the rest of my refrigerator or vegetable basket dwindled to nothing. Even just sitting on the counter, a potato will last for months. I’d even venture to say that whatever potatoes you have on your counter will probably keep for longer than the time you have left of your apartment lease…

Until a few months ago, I had never made the connection between below-ground potatoes and above-ground plants, i.e. that potatoes actually flower! The potato as most of us know it (the tuber portion of the plant), indeed grows underground, hidden from sight and insulated from the cold of winter. But, during the spring and summer, a potato plant blends seamlessly with the rest of the vegetable garden, growing green gangly vines and producing delicate flowers. You might never know if, but the lowly potato, the plain jane of the tuber and root vegetable community, produces beautiful and delicate flowers come spring. The flowers come in a variety of colors, and I’d be curious to find out if they are correlated with the color of the tuber.

I’d say it’s accurate to think of the tuber portion of a potato plant as its personal savings account. During the late summer and early fall, the plant quits flowering and begins putting all of its energy into producing its underground tuber, a safe house to store energy over the winter. Insulated within the rich soil, the tuber over-winters without batting a figurative ‘eye’. Come springtime, the potato plant comes out of its hibernation and starts sprouting buds by tapping the tuber energy reserve.

(Image of potato blossom from Mariquita Farms in Watsonville, CA)

So, potatoes.
Potatoes lend themselves very well to the simplest of preparations–mashed with a little butter and milk, roasted with herbs, shredded and fried for breakfast, baked, and even baked twice mixed with cheese and sour cream. Potatoes are extremely versatile, and are easy to work with with even the tiniest inkling of culinary imagination.

These potato pancakes, also called latkes, don’t take too much imagination at all, and somehow they feel like a true, down-home comfort food. The other night when Steven and I sat down to our dinner of Potato Latkes with applesauce and a simple green salad, the conversation turned quickly to his Jewish Grandmother. ‘Mmmmm…. these are almost as good as my grandmother’s latkes’, Steven said to me. I’ll take that as a compliment because, really, is anything ever as good as grandmother’s?

According to Steven, latkes and applesauce are a traditional accompaniment to slow-cooked brisket. For my own meal, I paired the latkes with applesauce, a simple green salad, and a glass of not-too-sweet riesling for a light autumn supper.

Simple Potato Latkes
make 8 latkes, serves 2 with leftovers
The original recipe is from Epicurious, but I’ve halved the recipe and increased the cooking time

1/2 medium onion, peeled
2-3 medium russet potatoes (about 1 3/4 pounds), peeled.
1 large egg
1 T flour
Salt and Pepper
2 Tablespoons vegetable oil
2 Tablespoons unsalted butter
Applesauce to accompany

Preheat oven to 200°F. Place a nonstick baking sheets (or a regular sheet lined with parchment paper) in oven.

Grate the onion and potatoes using the large holes of a box grater. Add to colander and set aside to drain.
In large mixing bowl, lightly beat eggs, then whisk in flour.

Press potatoes and onion to extract as much liquid as possible, then add to egg/flour mixture. Season with about 1/2 t. salt and 1/2 t. freshly ground black pepper, or to taste. Using wooden spoon or hands, mix well, but do not overwork.

In heavy-bottomed, 12-inch skillet over medium high heat (non-stick works well here), heat 1 tablespoon oil and 1 tablespoon butter until hot but not smoking. Drop 4 scant 1/4-cup portions of potato mixture into pan and flatten with spatula to form four 3-inch pancakes. Latkes are supposed to be a little ‘loose’, so don’t flatten too much.

Fry without disturbing until bottoms are golden-brown, 7 to 8 minutes, then turn over and fry until golden-brown and crisp, an additional 5 to 7 minutes, being careful not to let bottoms burn. Transfer to paper towels to drain; season immediately with a little more salt and pepper. Keep warm on baking sheets in oven while making remaining pancakes.

Using paper towels, carefully wipe out pan. Add 1 tablespoon oil and 1 tablespoon butter and fry 4 more pancakes.

Serve pancakes hot with applesauce.