My favorite summer treat is definitely fresh corn, straight off the cob. I eat more corn in summer than I ought to admit.  Usually just straight up, with a little butter and salt.  When corn starts appearing in the farmers market, I buy bushels of it to put up for the winter. I ration out those little frozen bags of golden jewels like they really are precious gems.  And when I light up the grill, I love to throw on some corn.  Usually way more than my guests and I will eat, so I can cut the leftovers off the cobs and enjoy it later.

Mexican-style grilled corn, or elote, is another one of those food ideas that I read about for years before ever actually trying it.  When I finally did take the plunge, slathering a freshly cooked cob of corn in mayonnaise and rolling it in salty cheese, I was hooked.  This is now my favorite way to eat corn on the cob.  When I started serving it at cook-outs, many friends were reluctant to try mayo on their corn, but the brave ones who did were hooked too.  Now there is an amazing Mexican deli in town that serves elote, and when I hear folks rave about it, I love to say I told you so.

When I have a smaller group of friends to serve, I grill the cobs and put them on a big platter.  Next to that I put a bowl of mayonnaise for spreading, a dish of chili powder for sprinkling, a plate of crumbled cheese for rolling and some lime wedges for squeezing.  Interactive food is always fun.  But with a larger group, that is not always practical, in part because I only have corn cob holders for six ears.  So when planning a larger gathering once, it occurred to me that maybe I could transform the idea into a salad.  It works beautifully, with all the flavor of a traditional elote.  It’s great for a crowd, but is also a great way to take fresh corn along to a party.  If you don’t have the grill going, it is perfectly fine with just-boiled kernels.

Mexican Corn Salad

Cotija cheese is a salty Mexican cheese you’ll find in with other Hispanic cheeses at most god groceries.  If you don’t find cotija, queso fresco is a good substitute.  I prefer to buy blocks and crumble it myself to get even chunks.

¼ cup mayonnaise (or more to taste)                                                                       

Juice of 2 limes

1 teaspoon mild chili powder

½ teaspoon ground cumin

8 ears of fresh corn, shucked and silks removed

1 cup crumbled cojita cheese (about 4 ounces)

Salt to taste

In a small bowl, mix together the mayonnaise, juice of one lime, the chili powder and the ground cumin.  Blend well and set aside.

Cook the corn on the cob. You can bring a large pot of water to the boil, drop in the cobs and bring the water back to the boil.  Remove the pot from the heat, cover it and let the cobs cook for five minutes. If you’ve got the grill going, you can then place the cobs on the grill to get a nice char on the kernels, but its fine if you don’t grill.  When cool enough to handle, cut the kernels from the cobs using a sharp knife.  Place the corn in a large bowl and squeeze over the juice of one lime.  Toss the kernels around to absorb the lime juice.  Add the cotija cheese and toss to combine.  Stir in the mayonnaise dressing to coat all the corn kernels.  Add salt to taste and mix well.

This salad will keep covered in the fridge for 24 hours.

Serves 6 – 8, can be doubled or tripled

I adore squash (or zucchini) blossoms.  Last year, I even planted some zucchini in an effort to have my own supply.  I was not successful. Fortunately, the farmers market here has a vendor or two that sell the blossoms, though they are often claimed early by restaurant chefs.  But that’s the beauty of getting to know the farmers – they will put a few aside for you if you ask politely!  During the whole season, I buy a little box of blossoms, dip them in a light batter and fry them up.  Almost every Saturday in summer, that’s my lunch.  I always plan to expand my horizons, but I love them fried crispy so much, I usually eat them all up before I have a chance to experiment.

But when the first blossoms arrived at the market this year, I bought a double batch.  I had seen a recipe for a squash blossom pasta sauce I wanted to try.  When I read it again, however, I realized it required a pound of blossoms.  The boxes I buy hold one ounce, and I doubt I could convince a farmer to sell me all his blossoms.  So I planned to fry them up again and as I gently worked to pull out the stamens, I suddenly wondered how they would work as a pesto.  I was a little reluctant to sacrifice my blossoms to an experiment, but my curiosity won the day.  I simple converted my standard pesto recipe, with the addition of saffron from the abandoned sauce recipe, and magic!  A vivid orange sauce, nutty with parmesan and pine nuts with this mysterious undernote.  Squash blossoms.  I have to say, this really felt like one of my moments of kitchen genius.

There are very few ingredients in this recipe, so each one needs to really shine.  Use a quality, real Italian Parmigiano cheese.  If you buy it in a block, just grind it up in the food processor before you start the rest of the recipe.  I like a quality olive oil, but not a green, extra virgin which can be too strong and overpower the blossoms.  This pesto is amazing over a thin pasta like linguine, or with some gnocchi.  Try it spread on a pizza base with topped with some thinly sliced squash and zucchini, or as a spread on bruschetta. If you don’t regularly see squash blossoms at the farmers market, ask any vendor that sells squash or zucchini if they will provide you with some next time around.

Squash Blossom Pesto

3 Tablespoons pine nuts

2 Tablespoons very hot water

A pinch of saffron threads

2 cups loosely packed squash blossoms, about 12 blooms

1/3 cup coarsely grated Parmigiano cheese

½ cup lightly flavored olive oil

Pinch of salt

In a dry skillet over medium, lightly toast the pine nuts until they start smell nutty and are lightly golden.  Watch them carefully so they do not get dark brown or burn.  Transfer to a kitchen towel and set aside to cool.

Pour the 2 Tablespoons of hot water over the saffron in a small bowl and leave to steep.

Pull the stamens out of the center of the squash blossoms and pinch off any hard stems or green leaves at the base.  Lightly pull the blossoms apart and measure 2 loosely packed cups.  Drop the blossoms in a food processor and pulse 2 – 3 times to break them up.  Add the nuts, the cheese and the saffron with its water and pulse until everything is roughly chopped.  Turn the machine on, and drizzle the olive oil in slowly.  Stop and scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.  When all the oil is incorporated, add a pinch of salt to taste.  If your cheese is salty, be sparing with extra salt.

Transfer the pesto to an airtight container and drizzle a very thin layer of olive oil over the surface.  This version does not oxidize and turn black the way basil pesto does, so it only needs a bit of oil on top. Store the pesto in the refrigerator for up to 3.

Makes about ½ cup

Years ago, during my event planning days, I helped a client plan a lovely riverside party, with a good old-fashioned fish fry.  This client was very particular.  About everything.  But particularly about slaw.  He insisted on vinegar-based slaw, not mayonnaise dressed.  The caterer took copious notes on his slaw pronouncements and produced what I (and everyone else who ate it) thought was a lovely slaw.  The client was not pleased however.  He insisted it had mayonnaise in it.  It had a creamy texture, but no mayonnaise.  The caterer explained exactly how it was made – with a vinegar dressing – but he refused to believe there was no mayo.  The rest of the evening was, to say the least, tense.

But all the talk of slaw led to a discussion of slaw preferences among the event staff back in the kitchen.  Everyone had an opinion – mayo, no  mayo, no vinegar, carrots, purple cabbage, green cabbage, bought pre-shredded or handcut.  I was not a real slaw aficionado, so I had no idea there were this many opinions.  Everyone was swapping ideas, writing down notes on napkins and this is the one I wrote down.  The lovely lady that shared this told me, “Honey, this’ll keep crispy in the fridge for weeks.”  I’ve never left it around for weeks, but it will stay nice and crisp through a long weekend.  In fact, that’s one of the reasons I call this picnic slaw, as opposed the ubiquitous creamy barbecue slaw served in every barbecue joint in Memphis.  Because of the vinegar dressing, this slaw holds very well in a cooler or on a picnic table. The salt water soak keeps the vegetables crispy and mellows the bite of the onions and the dressing is sweet-tart with the tang of vinegar and mustard seeds.

Crisp Picnic Slaw

I buy the ingredients for this at the farmers market, and when I saw the purple peppers I knew it would add a nice touch of color, but feel free to use only green.

1 medium head green cabbage

2 bell peppers (green and purple are my choice)

1 medium onion

2 Tablespoons salt

1 ½ cups cider vinegar

1 ½ cups sugar

½ Tablespoon mustard seeds

½ Tablespoon dill seed

Remove the outer leaves of the cabbage, cut it in half and remove the core.  Cut the halves in two, then shred the cabbage on a mandolin or in the food processor using the slicing disc.  Remove the seeds and thick ribs from the peppers, cut into quarters, and slice thinly like the cabbage.  Peel and quarter the onion and finely slice like the cabbage and peppers.  Toss everything together in a very big bowl.

Dissolve the 2 Tablespoons of salt in 8 cups of water.  I find table salt dissolves best.  Pour the salted water over the vegetables in the bowl and stir to distribute everything.  Soak the vegetables for 3- 4 hours, stirring occasionally.  Leave the bowl on the counter while doing this.

Meanwhile, stir the vinegar, sugar and seeds together in a saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat.  Boil for two minutes, then set aside to cool.

Drain the vegetables, shaking out as much water as possible.  Transfer the mix to a clean tea towel, roll it up and ring out as much water as possible from the cabbage.  Rinse and dry the big bowl, then return the cabbage mix, separating it and fluffing it up with your hands.  Pour over the vinegar dressing and toss to coat all the vegetables.  It may look like a lot of dressing, but that’s fine.  Cover the slaw with plastic wrap and refrigerate. The slaw can be eaten as soon as it is cold, but will stay crispy in the fridge for several days.  Serve with a slotted spoon to drain off excess dressing.

This makes a good amount of slaw, and will serve 8 nice big side portions, but many more smaller helpings.

If you are like me, you open magazines and cookbooks and admire the beautiful photography. The casually laid tables bursting with delicious dishes, the beautiful vessels holding each delicacy, simplicity and refinement, but with the decadence of good food. And you think – I can do that. I can casually invite a few friends round, act like it’s no big deal, then present an amazing tableau of culinary largesse, and the perfect champagne in fabulous Danish glasses, or an impressive cocktail with rare herbal infusions. I can just throw together a selection of charcuterie and artisanal cheeses, add a few exotic fruits or homemade pickles, artfully fold it all on an old piece of reclaimed plywood and boy, won’t my friends be impressed.

But the reality is driving to delis all over town to find interesting cured meats and cheeses, realizing the most exotic fruit you can find is purple grapes, and running out of time to pickle your own vegetables. And the wood board you ask for at Chrsitmas – just for this purpose – is really only big enough for a sliver of salami and a finger of cheese. The champagne was too expensive, and the herbal infusions just another time suck. Thankfully, for good measure, you made “simple” bruschetta from a two page instructional guide in a fancy magazine. But the toppings just got all over the floor and your $40 a bottle extra virgin, cold-pressed, first-of-the-season, mail order olive oil has just dribbled on and ruined your best friends new silk top.

That is why I love this dish. It’s another recipe that has my favorite characteristic: easy to make while appearing complex. No, it is not slapping some cold cuts on a lumber off cut, it does take a little work, but the results are impressive. Simple, but elegant. This is the kind of dish that makes it look like you really know what you are doing in the kitchen. Like you actually are the kind of person who could just throw together a magazine-spread worthy gathering at a moment’s notice. And really, as long as people believe it, then it must be true…

Baked Ricotta and Goat Cheese with Candied Tomatoes

Don’t skip draining the ricotta or your baked dish will be watery.

For the baked cheese:

15 ounces whole milk ricotta cheese

4 ounce log goat cheese

1 egg

2 Tablespoons fresh marjoram leaves, or a leafy herb of your choice

Generous grindings of black pepper

Generous sprinkling of kosher salt

For the candied tomatoes:

1 Tablespoon olive oil

12 ounces cherry tomatoes

¼ cup vermouth

¼ cup light brown sugar

3 sprigs marjoram or leafy herb of your choice

Sea salt

For the baked cheese:

Place the ricotta in a colander lined with cheese cloth and leave to drain for about 30 minutes, pressing down to help extract liquid.

Preheat the oven 375 degrees. Brush the inside of a 2 cup baking dish with olive oil.

In the small bowl of a stand mixer, beat the ricotta, goat cheese and egg until smooth. Beat in the herbs (chopped if the leaves are large), a generous amount of pepper and salt. Taste your goat cheese first, saltier cheeses require less additional salt.

Spoon the cheese mixture into the prepared baking dish and bake for 40 minutes, or until puffed in the center and browning.

Let the cheese cool slightly, then invert it out onto a plate.

For the tomatoes:

While the cheese is baking, heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat, then drop in the tomatoes. Cook, stirring frequently, until the skins on the tomatoes start to split. Pull the pan off the flame, add the vermouth and return to the heat. Add the brown sugar and herbs and stir until the sugar is melted. Add a generous pinch of salt. Lower the heat and cook gently until the liquid is reduced to a syrupy coating for the tomatoes. The tomatoes will collapse and some may disintegrate. That’s fine.

When ready to serve, spoon the candied tomatoes over the warm baked cheese and serve with sliced baguette or crostini.

The baked cheese can be prepared a few hours in advance and then baked before serving. It is best served warm, but not necessarily right out of the oven. The tomatoes can be prepared ahead too and gently reheated before serving.

Serves 8 – 10

I was a latecomer to the joy of peas.  And I think that may be because, like many people, my first introduction to peas was the canned variety.  Mushy, salty, gray-green and generally unappetizing.  And so time consuming to pick out of a casserole or pot pie, segregating them on one side of the plate, trying to keep them from rolling back into the good stuff.  Frozen peas came later, but it took me awhile to get over the earlier canned pea trauma and give them a try. They were an improvement, but remember when frozen peas came in a box that you unwrapped to reveal a giant pea-studded ice cube?  And I know people who will only eat peas that come from a certain silver can, and I have a relative who is pathologically afraid of peas, so my start with peas was a bumpy one.

But once I discovered the taste of a crisp pea though, I was hooked.  And it was in England that I discovered the greatest joy of all, fresh from the pod peas.  I first had them a restaurant, simply braised in butter and I assumed it must be some fancy variety we didn’t have in the States.  Then I saw them on sale at a street market and stopped to gaze upon them.  The vendor popped open a pod and gave me the peas to taste right there.  An absolute revelation, as far from canned peas as Memphis to Mongolia.  I bought a huge batch, and more the next day, and the next week. 

At home, I discovered that frozen peas are now a darn good substitute and perhaps the most versatile food to have on hand.  A handful of good frozen peas tossed into a risotto, soup, pasta, casserole – whatever – adds color and crunch and flavor instantly.  I now occasionally find peas pods at the market, but peas begin to turn to starch very quickly after being picked, so they suffer from sitting on shelves.  That is one reason frozen peas, now generally flash frozen quickly after they are harvested, are a good choice. 

For the past two springs, I have grown my own vines of English garden peas.  I have yet to master the art, but I’m getting thee.  I haven’t grown a vine that produced a big enough haul to make a whole batch of soup, or to proudly serve a big bowl of buttered, steamed peas to my family and friends, but I eat some raw and some quickly cooked all for me, which is a pretty good thing.

On a trip to Portugal, my friends and I celebrated or last night at a very swanky restaurant.  I ordered the cold pea soup and it was absolutely brilliant. The best part of the meal, actually.  It had such an intense flavor, like biting into a fresh pea, I just knew that every part of the pea was used to create that depth.  So with pea season upon us, I have worked hard to recreate that soup.  I use the pods and some tendrils from my own peas, but have supplemented with tendrils from the farmers market and good frozen peas. I lightly steam or blanch the peas from my pods and use them to garnish the soup.  At that restaurant, a soup dish with a dollop of crème fraiche and a tangle of pea tendrils was presented at the table, then the waiter poured the chilled soup around the garnish.  Feel free to use that flourish.

Chilled Pea Soup with Tendrils and Pods

If you don’t have your own pea plant, many farmers market vendors sell the pea tendrils, which are also good sautéed with a little olive oil and garlic.  Ask the farmers for pea pods as well.

For the stock:

2 ounces pea pods

2 ounces pea tendrils (more if you have them)

8 cups water

For the soup:

1 Tablespoon olive oil

1 large shallot

12 ounces fresh shelled English peas (or thawed frozen)

½ cup heavy cream

Salt to taste

Crème fraiche to garnish

Pea tendrils to garnish

For the stock:

Wash the pea pods and the pea tendrils and shake to dry.  Place them in a large saucepan and cover with the water.  Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally.  Reduce the heat to low, cover the pot and leave the stock to simmer for 1 hour.  Strain out the pea pods and tendrils and leave the stock to cool.  You can make the stock one day ahead if you are using frozen peas.  If you are using freshly podded peas, finish the soup on the same day.  You should have about 5 cups of stock.

For the soup:

Pour the olive oil into a large saucepan.  Finely chop the shallot and add it to the pan.  Sauté the shallots over medium heat until they are soft and translucent.  Do not let them brown.  Add the peas and stir quickly, then pour over 5 cups of pea stock. If you have another handful of pea tendrils, add them as well. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat and cover the pot.  Simmer the soup for 20 minutes, or until the peas are completely tender.  If you have added pea tendrils, fish them out now.  A few stray leaves left in the pot are fine.

Puree the soup using a hand blender, or very carefully in batches in the blender.  For a velvety and refined soup, pass the soup through a sieve, scraping and pushing to extract as much liquid as possible, leaving behind the forlorn pea skins. Leave the soup to cool, then refrigerate until chilled.  When ready to served, whisk in the heavy cream and salt to taste. Return to the fridge to chill if needed.

Whisk the soup well, and serve with a dollop of crème fraiche, garnished with a lovely curling pea tendril.

Serves 6 small bowls, 4 larger ones

Peas from my own vine

Spring is finally here, and one of the first green vegetables to appear is asparagus.  Those tender little stems signal the end of the frosty winter and the hope of more good produce to come.  Treating the first spears simply seems like the right thing to do, after months of braises and stews and root vegetables, what could be more refreshing than simply cooked green goodness.

Sauce Maltaise is a version of the classic hollandaise, made with orange juice rather than strictly lemon.  Traditionally, its blood oranges, and I find that my upscale market usually has the last of the blood oranges and the first of the asparagus at the same time.  If you can’t find blood oranges, a regular juicy orange will do fine.  The sauce takes on a lovely pinkish tint perfect for spring celebrations, and is a great compliment to the bright green asparagus.

Hollandaise has always been a bit of a trick, and despite multiple readings of Julia Child, several classes and many failed attempts, I find the traditional method a bit beyond me.  Too hit or miss really.  Sometimes I get it, and feel triumphant, but more often I don’t and vow never to make hollandaise again.  But this blender method is pretty idiot proof and produces a thick, creamy sauce in minutes.  Just make sure your butter is hot and not at all browned.  And use the best ingredients for this, splurge on some high-fat European-style butter and farm-fresh eggs if you can.  Those bright yellow yolks give such amazing flavor and beautiful color.

As I said, I like to treat the asparagus simply so I give the instructions for a quick boil, but feel free to steam the spears, or even grill them – whatever you prefer.  And the sauce maltaise can be used in any way you use hollandaise – in eggs benedict or on other vegetables.

Asparagus with Sauce Maltaise

1 pound bunch of asparagus

½ cup (1 stick) butter

3 egg yolks

1 teaspoon blood orange zest

2 Tablespoons blood orange juice

1 Tablespoon lemon juice

½ teaspoon salt

Fill a large bowl with ice water and set aside.

In a pan wide enough to hold the asparagus, bring several inches of water to a boil (enough to fully cover the asparagus.  Break off the thicker, woody stems of the asparagus spears.  When you hold the bottom of the spears and bend, they will naturally snap off at the right place.  Boil the asparagus for 4 -5 minutes until tender, but with a little bite left. Using tongs or a slotted spoon, immediately lift the asparagus into the waiting ice water, submerging completely.  When the asparagus has cooled, remove it from the water, shake off and place in a single layer on a tea towel to dry.  At this point, you may cover and chill the asparagus for several hours.

Make the sauce maltaise immediately before serving the asparagus.  Cut the butter into chunks and place in a small saucepan, one with a pouring spout if you’ve got it.  Melt the butter over medium heat, swirling it around occasionally until it is fully melted but not browned at all.  While it’s melting, place the egg yolks, orange zest, orange and lemon juice and salt in the carafe of a blender.  Whir it around to mix it all together.  When the butter has melted, turn on the blender and slowly drizzle the warm butter into the sauce in a steady stream.  When the butter has all been incorporated, turn off the blender.  You should have an emulsion as thicker than heavy cream.

Serve the sauce maltaise with the asparagus immediately. If absolutely necessary, place the blender carafe in a sink filled with warm water up to the level of the sauce for 30 minutes to keep warm.

Serves 4 – 6, makes ¾ cup sauce

Here’s a helpful springtime tip: If you eat a lot of asparagus, and are always popping off the woody stems, save them in a plastic bag in the freezer until you have a good bag full.  Use them to make a stock for an asparagus soup, which is a particularly good use for the last-of-the-season spears.

Nothing motivates one to get in the kitchen more than a funeral.  We all seem to harbor that primordial need to comfort with food.  And there are fixed ideas – recipes that we keep in mind, or maybe on a card at the front of the recipe box for easy access.  A hearty, comforting dish that we know how to make and how to make well that we can whip up the instant the call comes.  Turkey Tetrazzini? Chicken Divan?  I am sure it varies region to region.  The popular green bean casserole that I understand is a standard part of the traditional Thanksgiving table in many parts of the country is almost universally known in this part of the world as “funeral beans.”  But I don’t think I have every seen a table at a Southern visitation without Tomato Aspic.  The visitation is the reception, frequently the day before, or immediately after the funeral.  It’s a chance for everyone to talk to the bereaved, share memories of the deceased and really get their feed on.  And, equally importantly, for the ladies in the equation to show off their skills in the kitchen.  Friends and family of the recently departed are in the kitchen, bustling around in their funeral best,  maybe an apron thrown on top, looking for serving pieces and saran wrap, deciding what goes on the table and what goes in the fridge for later,

Tomato aspic is made in a mold. And this can vary from person to person.  My mother has a whole collection of aspic molds, from plain round to fancy.  Party aspic is generally formed in a ring mold, so the center can be mounded up with shrimp, chicken salad, mayonnaise (homemade of course), artichoke hearts… You name it, someone has put in the center of an aspic.  This party tomato aspic is always served on a silver tray, usually resting on a bed of lettuce leaves, with parsley around the edge of the tray.  And it is the rare chance to use the silver aspic server that was a wedding gift, or inherited from a grandmother; a silver handle with a flat, round or slightly pointed surface, sometimes plain, sometimes intricately etched.

Though aspic always appears at funerals, it is not the only time it makes an appearance.  For tomato aspic is the mainstay of the ladies luncheon. For this application, it is sometimes made in little individual molds (two sizes of these also appear in my mother’s collection), served on lettuce with a dollop of homemade mayonnaise on top.  Though more often, a slice of aspic is the centerpiece of a three salad plate, the other two salads vary from chicken salad, tuna salad, fruit salad – you get the picture.

I will be honest here, I am not a huge fan of tomato aspic.  I am a polite Southern girl though, and always eat it when it is put in front of me. And I do feel that for full Southern lady credentials, you have to be able to make an aspic. The recipe below is the version I prefer, tailored to my own tastes, with a nice celery tang and plenty of tomato flavor and a minimum of the truly odd ingredients you sometimes see in old recipes.  Members of my family are aspic eaters and they have always given this a thumbs up. 

Tomato Aspic

5 ¾ cups (46 ounces) tomato juice

3 packets unflavored gelatin

½ medium onion, chopped

½ cup chopped celery leaves

2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

1 Tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon celery salt

1 teaspoon salt

Lightly brush a 5-cup ring mold or equivalent individual molds with flavorless vegetable oil.  This is a vital step – cooking spray doesn’t work well.

Place 2 cups of the tomato juice in a small bowl and stir in the gelatin to dissolve.  Set aside.

Pour the remaining tomato juice into a large saucepan, add the remaining ingredients and stir to combine.  Bring to a boil, then simmer reduce the heat, cover the pan and simmer for ten minutes.

Strain the juice into a bowl with a pouring spout. Press on the solids to release any juice then discard.  Whisk in the reserved gelatin mixture until thoroughly combined.  Carefully pour into the prepared ring mold, filling as full as possible.

Very carefully transfer the mold to the refrigerator.  When the aspic has cooled, cover the mold with plastic wrap, then chill until firm, at least 8 hours or overnight.

Unmold the aspic onto an elegant tray, and surround with parsley.

What’s in a name? I have been pondering how to share this recipe for some time now.  It’s a classic I’ve enjoyed my whole life that I’ve always known as carrot pudding.  But I worried that might be a bit misleading. You see, I want people to be intrigued, and to try this recipe, because it is so worth it.  Carrot casserole sounds so boring. I considered calling it a soufflé, but that is a bit grand for this humble dish. So I stuck with pudding.  This is not creamy, cold pudding like the chocolate dessert of childhood.  It’s from a class of Southern traditional dishes, a simple, baked, comforting, homey dish.  I have a repertoire of these puddings.  Corn pudding and chicken pudding and tomato pudding, all savory and all delicious.

But this dish walks the fine line between savory and sweet.  It is usually served as a side dish for a rich meat like pork chops or loin, but I have often had it served as a light luncheon dish for bridal or baby showers.  It is a feature in many of the local community cookbooks around here, and was a regular feature of a certain local caterer for many years.  I have jumped off from those recipes, jazzing things up with a fresh grating of orange zest to add brightness and fresh ginger for zing.  Most recipes I’ve read simply call for “mashed carrots,” and many cooks just boil the carrots and mash them.  But I like to roast them in a little butter to really bring out the carrot flavor and natural sweetness, and I finish in the food processor to speed things up.

Carrot Pudding

2 pounds carrots, peeled (2 yield 2 cups, mashed)

2 Tablespoons plus ½ cup (1 stick) butter, melted

Grated zest of one medium orange

1 Tablespoon grated fresh ginger

1 cup sugar

2 Tablespoons all-purpose flour

3 eggs

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 cup milk

½ teaspoon cinnamon

¼ teaspoon nutmeg

¼ teaspoon cloves

Pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Butter a 2-quart baking dish.

Cut the carrot into equally sized chunks, and toss with the 2 Tablespoons melted butter on a large rimmed baking tray.  You just want the carrots slightly lubricated, not greasy or swimming in butter.  Roast the carrots for 30 – 40 minutes, until they are soft, but do not let them brown.

Dump the carrots into the bowl of a food processor and process until you have a rough puree.  You may need to start with half the carrots, then add the rest. You want to end up with 2 heaping cups of puree. Leave the puree to cool.

Grate the orange zest and ginger into the carrot puree and blend.  Add the remaining ½ cup melted butter and the rest of the ingredients, and process until smooth and creamy.  Scrape the mixture into the prepared baking dish.

Bake the carrot pudding until firm in the middle and slightly browned around the edges, about 30 – 40 minutes. Serve immediately.  Leftovers can be reheated in the microwave.

Serves 6 – 8

Greens on New Year’s Day are an important tradition here in the South. It’s a wish for prosperity in the new year, you see, greens representing the foldin’ money you hope to have in your pocket. Collards are a traditional green and here you can add a little wish for some jangly change in your pocket too with the golden coin-like dumplings. Serve them with some black-eyed peas, and you are in for a year full of good luck.

I know many people who turn their nose up at collards, and I agree that a flavorless collard is not worth the time, so you need to make a nice smoky, porky stock to cook them in, so the greens are well flavored, and the potlikker is mighty tasty too. So here’s a little primer on cooking collard greens. Fresh whole collards are readily available here in the winter. I buy mine at the special Winter Farmers Market, though the good produce stores have them too. A bunch is usually a little bit over a pound. Prepping collards takes a little love, but then doesn’t all good food? I fold my collard leaves in half, cut out the stem from the middle and discard it, the roll up stacks of leaves and cut them into strips, about an inch wide. I drop all these in a big colander and submerge the colander in a sink of cold water. Swirl the greens around, pick up the colander and let the water drain out, then drain the sink and repeat the process three or four times. Shake most of the water off the collards, then they are ready for the pot. Ok, I’ll concede here. Nowadays you can find washed and chopped collards in the bagged salad department at the grocery. I don’t live in your house, so I am not going to know. Though I’d give these a rinse too. If you really can’t find either of these options, look for frozen collards and thaw them according to the package.

Smoked ham hocks are a natural with greens, producing the right smoky pork flavor. You’ll find ham hocks in the smoked meat section of the grocery (usually near the sausage, with the salt pork etc.). Or ask the butcher. I am fortunate to have some really good local farmers that provide naturally smoked ham hocks, which are ideal. Read the labels, some “smoked” hocks really just have smoke flavoring added and these are not very good, as they produce a sort of metallic taste. If you can’t find real smoked ham hocks, use real smoked bacon or hocks that have not been smoked. I love field peas and beans cooked in smoked pork stock, so when I get my hands on some good smoked hocks or bones from smoked ham, I make a big batch of stock (just cooking the meat and water) in a slow cooker and freeze for use whenever I want that great Southern flavor.

So if any of this seems like a lot of work on New Year’s Day, never fear. You can make the pork stock a day ahead (or months, as I said above). Cool and refrigerate the stock with the hocks still in it, then reheat, remove the hocks and proceed. You can prep the collards a day ahead too. Trim, cut and wash them, shake out the water and put them in a plastic bag with the top loosely tied in the crisper drawer.

Corn bread is the traditional accompaniment to greens, but I also like to make a nice golden dumpling to simmer in the luscious potlikker. The dumplings just soak up that flavor.

Green and Gold Collards

For the Collards:

2 nice big hunks of smoked pork hock (about a pound)

8 cups water

1 onion, diced

1 teaspoon red pepper flakes

Lots of fresh ground black pepper

1 bunch of collard greens (a little over a pound), cleaned and cut (see above)

2 Tablespoons cider vinegar

1 Tablespoon sugar

For the Dumplings:

¾ cup all-purpose flour

½ cup yellow cornmeal, preferably stone ground

1 ½ teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

½ cup buttermilk

2 Tablespoons shortening or lard, melted

Pepper Vinegar, for serving

For the Collards:

Drizzle a tiny bit of oil in the bottom of a 7- quart Dutch oven and heat over high. Add the ham hocks and brown the sides as best you can. Hocks are a funny shape, so this is not a perfect science. When you’ve got some nice brown, pour in the water and scrape up and any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the diced onion, red pepper flakes and a really nice grinding of black pepper. Bring to a boil, lower the heat, cover the pan and cook for about two hours, until the meat is falling off the bones of the ham hocks. Remove the hocks to a plate.

Turn the heat up under the hock stock, and when it begins to boil, add the greens by big handfuls, stirring each addition until the greens turn bright green before adding the next handful. When all the greens are added, bring the pot to the boil. When the stock is bubbling and the collards are shakin’ in the pot, reduce the heat, cover the pan and cook for 30 minutes.

Mix the vinegar and sugar together, and after the greens have cooked for 30 minutes, stir it into the greens and cover the pot. Continue cooking for about another 15 minutes, but if your collards are not going nice and soft and dark green yet, add 10 more minutes or so until they do. Make the dumplings at the end of that cooking time.

For the Dumplings:

Sift the flour, cornmeal, baking powder and salt into a large bowl. Stir in the buttermilk and melted shortening and stir just until everything is combined and moistened.

Take the top off the collard pot and bring the stock back up to a boil. Drop heaping tablespoons of the dumpling batter into the pot, cover and cook another 15- 20 minutes, until the dumplings are cooked through.

While the dumplings are cooking, pull the meat off the ham hock bones and shred it with a fork, removing any skin. Stir into the collards right before serving. Add a little salt if you want, though that hock does a lot.

When ready to serve, scoop the collards and dumplings into big, deep bowls and spoon over the potlikker. Pass a bottle of pepper vinegar or some hot sauce.

Serves 6

Try this Pink-Eyed Pea Pepper Pot recipe with black-eyed peas if you want a non-pork accompainment to these collards.

Ever since I was a student in England, all those years ago, I have made an annual pilgrimage to London.  On one such trip, when I was young and still interested in trying to keep up with the latest, some friends and I went to a very trendy Italian restaurant, in a lower ground floor space with funky lighting and soigne staff. Our decidedly un-trendy band managed to settle ourselves on the knee-high white leather banquettes and red leather cubes, placed around a low acrylic table.  This is not easy in high heels and a skirt, I can tell you.  We clung to our uber-hip cocktails and chose dinner from a surprisingly simple menu for such a place.  I ordered tortelloni with pumpkin and amaretti, because it was new to me, and I do love pumpkin.  The soft pasta stuffed with amazingly flavorful filling, just dancing in a little pool of sage-infused brown butter was spectacular.  I managed to eat every bite from the plate precariously balanced on my knee, and as I am wont to do, asked the server all the details of the dish.  She even showed me some of the amaretti biscuits used in the filling, which they also serve with coffee.  I knew I had to try and recreate this dish, so I took notes – totally destroying any chance my friends and I had of keeping up a hipster pretense.  Well, that and me loudly sliding off the leather cube into a decidedly unlady-like heap.

So back at home I went to work.   I discovered that butternut squash really produces the right texture and subtlety of this dish, plus I can find it more consistently than the right type of roasting pumpkin, and it’s easier to work with.  I started by making this dish as tortellini, using wonton skins, or ravioli with fresh pasta sheets, served always with sage brown butter.  And I must tell you, the dinner guests I served it to were mightily impressed, both with the flavor and with the effort of making all those little pasta packages.  But it is a little fiddly, and does take the kind of last minute effort I try to avoid when I have a house full of guests.  And then it occurred to me to try the filling as a lasagna, and I really think I improved on the original.  It’s easier, can be made ahead and you actually get to enjoy more of the lovely filling.

Do not shy away from using the amaretti cookies.  I promise, your lasagna will taste nothing like cookies, but have a great texture and a subtle hint of almond and amaretto and spice that will amaze – and leave your guests wondering what your secret is.  I find the cookies at upscale markets, in the Italian section of well-stocked groceries, or my local Italian pasta maker.  You are likely to have some left over from the package.  Serve them with coffee, a sweet dessert wine, crumbled over ice cream or in the topping of a fruit crumble.

Butternut and Sage Lasagna

This is truly my fall favorite. No-cook or oven ready lasagna sheets are readily available at the grocery.  My local Italian pasta shop sells fresh sheets, which are great for this. 

1 butternut squash, about 3 1/2 pounds

1 large bunch fresh sage

1/2 of a 7 ounce tub mascarpone

5 ounces amaretti cookies

salt and pepper

8 Tablespoons (1 stick) butter plus 2 Tablespoons

2 Tablespoons flour

2 cups milk

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

9 ounce package oven-ready lasagne sheets

8 ounces fontina cheese, grated

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.  Place the whole squash on a piece of foil or sheet pan, to catch any drips, in the oven.  Roast for about 2 hours until soft when you squeeze it (wearing oven mitts obviously). 

Before the squash is ready (no more than an hour before use), heat the stick of butter in a small saucepan until foamy and beginning to brown.  It will smell nutty.  Watch carefully so it doesn’t burn.  Remove from the heat and stir in one sprig (about 4 leaves) of the sage.  Leave to infuse for about 10 minutes.  Strain through a cheesecloth into a small bowl.  If the butter starts to solidify before use, microwave at half power for a few seconds.

Right before the squash is ready, chop the remaining sage leaves (reserve 3 whole leaves for garnish) and set aside. Place the amaretti in a zip top bag and crush roughly.  You can do this with your hands, they will pop apart. You should end up with 1 cup of crumbs.

When the squash is ready, remove from the oven and split open carefully.  Holding the squash with a tea towel, scoop out the seeds and fiber strings and discard.  Scoop the flesh into a bowl.  It will come away from the skin easily.  Break up with a fork.  Add the chopped sage and the mascarpone and mash with the fork until smooth and soft (you can use more mascarpone if needed). You want a soft, almost spreadable consistentcy.  Season with salt and pepper.  Stir in the amaretti crumbs.  Set aside.

For the béchamel sauce: In a medium saucepan, melt the 2 Tablespoons of butter.  Whisk in the flour and continue whisking until smooth and incorporated, about 2 minutes.  Do not let it brown.  Whisk in the milk and continue cooking until thickened and smooth and the floury taste no longer lingers.  Whisk in all but about two tablespoons of the sage browned butter, reserving the rest.  Whisk in the nutmeg and a generous seasoning of salt.  Set aside.

To assemble the lasagna, pour just enough (about 1 Tablespoon) of the browned butter in the bottom of a 3 quart baking dish (mine is about 8 x 11).  Swirl to coat the dish. You want to prevent the noodles from sticking or drying out, but too much will make the bottom greasy. Cover the bottom with a layer of noodles.  Spread half of the squash mixture evenly over the noodles.  Add another layer of noodles.  Sprinkle over three-quarters of the grated fontina.  Add a layer of noodles.  Spread over the remaining squash mixture.  Top with one more layer of noodles.  Spread over the béchamel sauce and sprinkle over the remaining fontina.  Decorate with a line of sage leaves.  Drizzle any remaining brown butter  over the top.   The lasagna can sit for several hours in the fridge before baking.

Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes or until hot through and bubbling.  Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.

If you’d like, use the squash filling to make ravioli using packaged wonton wrappers.  Boil until the ravioli float, drain and serve with the browned butter (you’ll want to double that recipe).

Serves 8