I was wearing one of my old Berkeley summer sessions t-shirts today–my bit of schwag from teaching there–and when Ben commented on it (“Nice shirt, Mama!”) we got into a brief conversation about my past life as a teacher. Mostly, he’s fascinated by the idea of kids living in the place where they go to school (and a little worried about it, too). But for the first time in the hundreds of times he’s heard me use the word essay, he asked what an essay is. An essay is a piece of writing that tells people what you think about something, I said. Now, my own students never quite understood it so well, but this is the essay Ben dictated to me:

Cashews

You can eat them. They taste like salt. Maybe they have salt sprinkled on top of them, like saltines do. When you eat them, they’re not there any more.

At 14 months, Eli is coming around to reading later than other members of the family, but lately he’s been asking us to read to him, too. He’ll pick up a book, crawl over with the book clutched in one hand, clamber headfirst into a lap, and hand over the book. At first, I thought it was a funny coincidence that he always handed over the book upside down, but no matter how many times I turn the book right side up, he always turns it back upside down. So now I read to him that way. This must suit his precocious brain development in some way I don’t understand. Or so I like to think.

There was no reason at all to make ricotta cheese this weekend. Most of the family doesn’t even like it. But there was a back-of-the-book recipe in Gourmet recently, and it got me reminiscing about Tony’s and my glorious trip to Italy, the summer between our marriage and my first pregnancy. We travelled with good friends, gorging on art and wine and food.

In Bologna, we ate in a small restaurant that was dominated by a dark wood, marble-topped hutch. It held bowls of beautiful antipasti: roasted peppers, olives, ricotta cheese, and more. The waiter brought us a selection while we waited for our entrees, and we ate the sweet, creamy ricotta by the spoonful. It was unlike anything I’d ever had before; as similar to American grocery store ricotta as clotted cream is to Dannon yogurt .

So I had to see if making it at home was a) as simple as advertised (“Got 5 minutes?” is the Gourmet headline) and 2) as delicious as the Bologna ricotta.

Simple, yes, though it takes more than 5 minutes. Maybe 10. As delicious? Well, the Bologna ricotta had a whole lot of atmosphere going for it that we can’t really reproduce here, but it’s pretty darn good. We ate it with grilled vegetables for dinner. I think tomorrow I’ll grill some peaches, and serve the ricotta on those with a drizzle of maple syrup. It’s not cheap to make; I used Strauss (a local dairy) organic milk and cream, so my half pound of cheese probably cost $10. To compensate for that, I did not discard the milky liquid that I strained off the curds. I figure it’s basically a rather thin buttermilk, and I’ll turn it into a few loaves of bread or biscuits or something. I’m cheap that way.

Since embarking on this recipe, I’ve found a couple more; one in Suzanne Dunaway’s No Need to Knead (a great cookbook for bread and random tasty accompaniments), one over here. I’m curious to try these different recipes and compare them to what I did (particularly Dunaway’s, since she calls for yogurt — a staple in my house– instead of cream or buttermilk). The one fussy bit of equipment you need is some cheesecloth, though probably you could make do with a well-loved dishtowel.

The recipe:
2 quarts whole milk
1 c cream
1/2 tsp salt
3 tbsp lemon juice (I just used the juice of one lemon)

Line a large sieve with a layer of cheesecloth and place it over a large bowl.

Bring the milk, cream, and salt to a boil in a heavy pot over moderate heat, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching. The milk can go from nearly-boiling to boiling over very quickly, so don’t totally ignore it. Add the lemon juice and reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring constantly, until the mixture curdles. This only takes 2 or 3 minutes, but mine didn’t seem quite curdled enough at that point, so I simmered it for 4 or 5 minutes longer.

Now, pour the hot milk mixture into the lined sieve and let it drain for an hour. Serve as is, or cover and refrigerate.

It’s still light out at Ben’s bedtime these days, so the deal is that after I read him one book, he can read in bed a little bit. I’m always curious, when I check on him on my way to bed, to see what he’s fallen asleep with. Lately, it’s been his picture encyclopedia; he’s interested in the planets, can name them in their proper order, tell you which one’s a gas planet, etc. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, gas planet? did they know that there were gas planets in the 70s? because that’s certainly not something I picked up in elementary school.

Tonight, I could barely see Ben in his bed for all the books he had stacked up next to him. Books we haven’t read in ages, like Margaret Wise Brown’s My World; Who Am I? and What Am I?, his riddle flap books; Kipper; Bob the Builder: Scoop; all his Dan Zanes cd cases (which are nice little picture books themselves); and Puff-Puff, Chugga-Chugga. I wanted to scoop them out from under his arm, but I hesitated. Maybe he’s absorbing some information while he sleeps. Maybe he’ll surprise me in the morning with some new riddles.

I saw this recipe in Gourmet, where it’s trumpeted as a good option for the yeast-averse. That doesn’t describe me in the least, but the prospect of something so quick and bready for dinner is always appealing. I had the breadsticks assembled in less time than it took the oven to preheat, and it was about 45 minutes from getting the recipe out to putting the finished product on the table. And they’re tasty. They’re really biscuits in the shape of breadsticks, though, and while they’re very tasty, I guess I’m not southern enough to want biscuits for dinner very often. Happily, it occurred to me to sprinkle half of them with sugar & cinnamon; those were delicious reheated for breakfast this morning.

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 stick (6 tablespoons) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 large eggs, each in a separate bowl, lightly beaten
1 cup sour cream (I used plain yogurt)
2 tbsp toasted sesame seeds
2 tbsp sugar & cinnamon (optional)

Put oven racks in upper and lower thirds of oven and preheat oven to 450°F.

Whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, and baking soda in a large bowl. Whisk together butter, 1 egg, and sour cream in another bowl, then add to flour mixture and stir with a fork until a dough just begins to form (dough will be very moist).

Turn dough out onto a well-floured surface and knead gently 6 times. Pat out dough on a floured surface with floured hands, reflouring surface if necessary, and form into a 12-inch-long log.

Cut dough into 16 equal pieces. Roll each piece into an 8-inch-long rope using well-floured hands, then fold rope loosely in half and twist it once, holding both ends of twist.

Arrange twists 2 inches apart on 2 ungreased large baking sheets, pressing ends against baking sheet to prevent unraveling.

Brush tops of twists with remaining egg and sprinkle generously with sesame seeds or sugar & cinnamon. Bake until golden, 12 to 15 minutes. Transfer twists to metal racks and cool completely.

If you’re anywhere near San Francisco between now and the end of the year, get yourself over to the deYoung Museum to see the exhibit of quilts made by the women of Gee’s Bend, Alabama. These quilts just knocked me out. I’ve always thought quilts are beautiful and interesting. I like the combination of utility and art; I like thinking about the community of women making the quilt, sitting around stitching (and also, in this case, singing) together; I like the combination of individuality (each quilt is unique) and the fact that when a woman sits down to quilt, she can use, refer to, or improvise from quilt patterns that stretch back generations. I don’t know how to quilt, but it strikes me that it’s a lot like cooking. Or writing. One of the quilters in the exhibit’s accompanying film says, “That quilt would cook in my mind.” I love that.

This is delicious, easy to make ahead, and beautiful. Even if the kids think they don’t like beets, they might like the strikingly pink noodles!
1 tbsp butter
2 tbsp olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
3 cups (packed) peeled and coarsely grated uncooked beets (about 3 large beets)
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper (more or less to taste)
2 tbsp fresh lemon juice
12 oz tagliatelle, fettucine, or other long pasta
8 oz sour cream (yogurt or goat cheese work, too)
6 tbsp chopped fresh Italian parsley, divided
1/2 cup toasted walnuts, coarsely chopped

Melt butter with oil in large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add garlic; saute until pale golden, about 1 minute. Add the shredded beets and cayenne; reduce heat to medium-low and saute until beets are just tender, about 12 minutes. Stir in lemon juice. (At this point, you can set the beets aside till you’re ready to boil pasta for dinner)

Cook your pasta in large pot of boiling, salted water, stirring occasionally, until tender.

Drain pasta and return to cooking pot. Stir in sour cream and 4 tbsp of parsley, then the beet mixture. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Transfer pasta to bowls, garnishing with remaining parsley and chopped walnuts.

I found this recipe in a recent Saveur, a magazine I’d about given up on. The writing was seeming pretentious, the recipes nothing I was interested in making… But these cookies are simple and delicious.

12 tbsp butter, softened

1/3 c sugar

zest of one orange

1 c flour

3/4 c ground, unblanched almonds

2/3 c toasted white bread crumbs

Beat butter and sugar until pale and well combined. Add orange zest and beat again briefly. Add flour, almonds, and bread crumbs and beat again until a soft dough forms (I did this all — from grinding the almonds and bread crumbs to mixing the dough– in the food processor).

Transfer dough to a piece of plastic, shape into a 3″-wide log, wrap with plastic and refrigerate overnight.

Preheat oven to 300. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment. Unwrap chilled dough and slice into 1/4″-thick circles. Arrange circles on baking sheets, about 1″ apart, and bake until golden, about 20 minutes. Transfer to wire racks and let cool.
Serve with whipped cream and berries or nutella.

Tony’s aunt and uncle have been staying with us, having stopped for a couple nights on their way up from Newport Beach (fancy) here (fancy, fancy). So I felt compelled to make them a little something special for dessert their first night. Normally, I would have researched a bit (ok, a lot) pulling four or five cookbooks off the shelf, comparing recipes, reading up on the techniques I’m unfamiliar with. But we’d only just gotten home from our (fabulous, wonderful) beach vacation, I was jetlagged and stressed out, and so I just went with the first recipe I found in The Baker’s Dozen Cookbook.

Honestly, I like the idea of this cookbook — written by a group of baker friends like Marion Cunningham, Flo Braker and Lindsey Shere — as much as the book itself. I like thinking of these men and women gathering occasionally to hold egg white workshops and ganache seminars. And I’m glad I don’t have to attend, just benefit from what they’ve discovered. And, when I’m in a rush to make a fancy dessert, in fact ignore that they’ve discovered room temperature egg whites make a fuller meringue. I’m not going for perfection here, just impressive. There’s a difference, and I succeeded. It looked beautiful, tasted great, and we had leftovers — what more do you want in a dessert, really?

I’ll give you the recipe as written, and note where I deviated…

Raspberry Lemon Meringue Tart

First make the pastry:
6 tbsp unsalted butter, cool but not cold, cut into small cubes (mine was straight from the fridge, so I nuked it for 20 seconds)
2 1/2 tbsp sugar

1 large egg, at room temperature (or not)

1/4 tsp vanilla extract

pinch of salt

1 c all purpose flour

In a medium bowl, use a hand mixer to cream the butter and sugar until light in color and texture, about 2 minutes. Break the egg into a small cup, beat it thoroughly with a fork, measure out 2 1/2 tbsp and discard the rest (I did do this, though the measurement was totally imprecise). Beat it into the butter with the vanilla and salt until just blended. Scrape down the bowl and add the flour all at once, beating in on low speed until the ingrediants are just moistened. Do not overmix.

Turn the dough out on to an unfloured work surface. Finish combining ingrediants by smearing small amounts away from you with a rubber scraper (this is a French technique called fraisage. I used a technique called less messy, by doing the smearing in the mixing bowl.)

Gather the dough up into a flat disk, about 1/2″ thick, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate until firm, at least one hour. (You can prepare the dough a day ahead).

Now make the filling:

5 large egg yolks

1/3 c lemon juice (from 1 big lemon)

grated zest of 1 lemon

1/2 c sugar

4 tbsp butter, chilled, cut into small cubes

1 c raspberries or blueberries

To make the filling, whisk together the yolks, lemon juice, zest, and sugar in the top of a double boiler or a small metal mixing bowl. Add the butter and place over simmering water to cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thick enough to coat the spoon lightly, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl, cover with plastic wrap pressed directly on the surface (poke a couple holes in the plastic to let the steam escape) and refrigerate until chilled, about an hour. This, too, can be prepared in advance.

Now back to the crust.

Lightly flour a work surface and roll the dough out into an 11″ circle, about 1/8″ thick. Lift the dough and center it in a 9″ fluted tart pan with removable bottom. Ease the dough into the corners and press it gently into the pan. Trim the dough flush with the top of the pan. Prick the bottom well with a fork. Freeze until firm, about 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 375.

Bake the tart shell about 15 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 350 and continue baking until the pastry is golden brown, about 10 more minutes. If the dough bubbles up at any time, pierce the bubble with the tip of a fork. Transfer the tart to a cooling rack and cool completely (or not).

Spread the lemon curd evenly in the tart shell. Sprinkle the berries on top and press them gently into the filling. Bake until the filling seems set when you gently shake the pan, 20 minutes or so.

While the filled tart is baking, make the meringue topping:

1/4c water

1 tbsp corn starch

1/2 c granulated or superfine sugar

1/2 tsp cream of tartar (didn’t use it, and didn’t notice a difference)

1/2 c egg whites (4-5) at room temperature

In a small saucepan, whisk together the water and corn starch and heat, whisking, until it forms a thick, opaque paste. Set aside.

In a small bowl, mix the sugar and cream of tartar (if using). In a medium bowl, whip the egg whites until foamy with a hand mixer on low speed. Increase the speed to medium-high and start adding the sugar one tablespoon at a time until soft peaks form. Add the cooled cornstarch mixture and whip to form stiff, shiny peaks.

Heap the meringue onto the baked tart and return to the oven until meringue is lightly browned, 5-10 minutes.

Cool and serve.