As my friend Fil put it yesterday, 2011 had such great heights. And all of the valleys that accompany the peaks. These were my favorite moments of the year, in chronological order:

The year started beautifully in Miami, on hammocks.

February brought a circle of friends to begin the New Year of the Rabbit with Chinese tea eggs, boiled soft, then steeped in tea to reveal, upon cracking, marbleized interiors.

Just after my March birthday, K and I flew from chilly New York to Barcelona,

the city of Gaudi architecture, and this strange and wonderful cathedral, eternally being built.

My year was to look like this roof on the Santa Caterina Market,

but I didn’t know that yet.

We were then to Cannes, with its crêpes and cider, and my first time with Margalet cheese from the Ceneri cheese shop,

and to the famed La Colombe D’Or.

In the late spring, I joined the designer coworking space Studiomates and dressed all in purple for our Rainbow Parade.Image by Erin Sparling.

May was also my first crawfish boil, part of a road trip that included an amazing family in Madison, Mississippi, who boiled 335 pounds of crawfish.

I was overwhelmed with the abundance of food and the hospitality. To eat a crawfish correctly, you pinch the head and then, well, they chalked instructions for those of us shyer in handling crustaceans.

The weekend helped me remember my steel magnolia roots as I headed back to Atlanta to visit my mother.

June was my sister Kassandra’s wedding,

and this image taken by my sister Kat sums up my role as co-Maid of Honor, chasing down rogue antebellum sunshades in front of a historic plantation. I wrote a Fast Company piece about our use of tech during the wedding week.

But then, all the bridesmaids took our role seriously.

Image by Courtney Rosen.

Late June, K and I traveled to Amsterdam and spent time with wonderful friends Matt and Maia, piloting their boat through afternoon thunderstorms to discover bitterballen,

seeking out herring in season (Hollandse Nieuwe) at special stands, and spending time in our friend Gary’s magnificent kitchen.

We took a day trip to Cologne, with its cathedral and love locks.

From there: London in early July, with so many friends we forgot to take pictures. I remembered to bring the camera for a weekend in a 13th Century country house my dear friend Will engaged for a long weekend.

Shockingly, we spent the time eating the region’s renowned clotted cream,

preparing elaborate meals we took to eating outside,

and touring walled gardens.

I told an Ignite NYC audience why quitting a Ph.D. is the best possible option for some:

In early August, friends from graduate school Andrew and Annie announced they would be married in a week, and I filled the gas tank to drive to Chapel Hill, North Carolina and record the celebration. You see how they do things their own way, with great success. The bride wore blue.

And continuing my drive back up the coast, my friend Keryn let me pretend I lived in Maine for a week or so, opening her house and barn, as she always does. There were ferries and sunflowers and islands to see before returning to New York to teach my graduate class at ITP.

The fall brought considerable moments of quiet, struggles for professional growth as my consulting expanded, and the launch of my food magazine, Saucy.

In November, my sister Kat and I arrived in a former convent in Oaxaca, timing our trip to catch the end of the Day of the Dead celebrations, marvel at the Placido Domingo, puzzle over hand-drawn maps while bartenders poured local mezcal. We relaxed into chilaquiles and chocolate oaxacaquena con leche, then Baja fish tacos in Puerto Escondito. I will not forget the street vendor who drew a Sunday night crowd, pressing squash blossoms into tortillas she rolled out and grilled with Oaxacan string cheese. We traveled to visit my friend David in Mexico City and the Templo Mayor, the center of the Aztec universe. And Kat shared a Portland recipe, filling morels from the mushroom vendor at a local market.

Returning refreshed to NY, I shared my story about delivering bread in the early mornings of last winter, opening the TEDxEast November salon.

K and I began December in the tropical rainforest of Saba, a small Caribbean island with the shortest airport runway in the world. It was a perfect, and perfectly beautiful vacation.

Here’s to a spectacular 2012!

Related posts:

1. Year Two: There Was A Star Danced
2. year three: there was a star danced
3. a miami year

Two of my favorite people live in Amsterdam, and a few weekends ago, Maia and Matt were draining the rainwater from their boat together.

The sun broke through the clouds like a champion on that Saturday morning, and we were off into the waterways as they traded driving duties.

I discovered how cars cease to exist from the purview of the canals,

and then the two introduced me to bitterballen, the traditional crunchy bar snack of Béchamel and diced meat crumbed and fried that arrive with mustard.

For dinner, we shelled purple hulls for the green peas to stir into scallion sauce on soba noodles under roasted chicken thighs marinated in soy sauce and watched the night lights luminate the canal bridge tunnels.

Kevin arrived a few days later, and we took the train to Cologne, stepping off the platform, through the station, and out into the sun, blinking at the beautiful cathedral.

The controversial stained glass inside by Gerhard Richter is startling in real life, as you stand and look up beside octogenarians who have pushed their glasses on top of their heads. You realize you are seeing the same thing they are.

After a proper night of pork plates and Kölsch served in the correct glassware, I went wandering through the rain the following morning, pausing at the women practicing aerial swordfighting on a wall (likely this is an exercise craze that will import to Brooklyn nicely),

and strolled the nearby bridge to read the sets of initials on love locks, fastened onto the gate by couples who then throw away the key together in the Rhine below.

Back in Amsterdam, we sought out herring (also broodje haring, which is the name for a herring sandwich and always on good brown bread), for the annual celebration of Hollandse Nieuwe. The Dutch favor picking it up by the tail and serve it with raw onions and pickles.

My favorite Dutch food is Boterkoek, a type of shortbread, and Kuyt Patisserie makes a perfect version. If you’ve ever made a cake-cookie, this is a shortbread cake-cookie with a chewy center and crispy edges. (I’m working on a recipe for the next Saucy mag issue.)

While front rooms from the 1700s look out over the canals, as Matt and Maia’s stunning apartment does (they were kind enough to let us stay as they traveled for work), rooms on the other side of buildings look out on private gardens,

and Kevin and I talked about the difference of views as we walked to local “brown cafes” that were appropriately “cozy” – the highest accolade in this city culture.

We were also upsold potatoes at restaurants with our friend Matt, and we marvelled at our friend Gary’s colorful rooms when we were invited over for a beautiful long dinner (and I’m cooking in his enormous kitchen next time we visit).

…

After a week or so in Amsterdam, we hopped a train to Brussels and took the chunnel to London, and I spent so much time riding around on the top of double-decker buses while exploring and then posing as an East Londoner (modeling my behavior after my good friend James, who lives in Stoke Newington and was a perfect host), that I rarely took pictures other than with my phone.

I will admit to a new and abiding fondness for eggs, sausage, chips, and beans at breakfast and that I continued to order black pudding everywhere we went. (More on my favorite food in London in the next Saucy.)

A few days into our London stay, I took a local train to the country to visit my friend Will, who had secured a manor house from the thirteenth century in Somerset for the weekend.

Will has a habit of gathering friends to country houses all over the world, so I wasn’t too surprised to be soon drinking Rosé and walking the grounds as Rachel helped him collect wood for the inspiring fireplaces.

After exploring the manor (I chose one of the secret rooms), we tucked into a lovely dinner planned and prepared by Sherrilynn and Matt in the substantial restored kitchen.

Two roosters battled for dominance outside my window in the morning while everyone slept in, and I crept out to the garden gate,

finding a machine in the garden,

before returning to the manor lawn to find Sherrilynn under a tree, as joyful as I always am to see the leaves filter morning light.

We all pitched in to make a “slap-up” breakfast (another new adjective!) of eggs with crème fraiche, beans, streakey bacon, leek sausage, and crumpet with clotted cream and strawberry jam to ease into the day.

After baths (more of those than showers in the manor), we split into expedition parties and set our sights on the Walled Gardens of nearby Cannington, where the nuns and monks are rumored to have met in underground tunnels in centuries past,

and the gardens now are curated by those who delight in strange succulent varieties.

Driving further into town, we were underwhelmed by Scrumpy at a nearby cidery, but we nonetheless took full advantage of their local dairy specialty, as you can tell from Will staring longingly at not the scone,

but the generous ramekin of clotted cream that the area is known for.

Back at the manor, we greeted the sheep,

and I followed Sherrilynn down the little path toward town (you can see Darrell on the returning end of his run),

to go past the pubs to the medieval church and its gargoyles,

finding the way back past the blackberry brambles and honeysuckle vines.

Rachel was smiling as Matt and Sherrilynn started dinner,

to the accompaniment of a delightful musical group that had produced an entire album of songs about cider.

Will worked his pie crust into the pan to bake it blind,

and I left the kitchen to join Will and Darrell in the garden,

setting up the table in the setting sun.

Sauteed mushrooms over chevre on bread with a port sauce paired very well with the company and the conversation (with Darrell sneaking raspberries into your wine at opportune intervals),

punctuated by corks flying into the air and laughter.

Later, the talented Sherrilynn and Matt would pull their banjos out and fill the old house with music and song, and I would relax deeper into a couch beside a fire that roared, feeling lucky indeed to have such good friends with such good friends that remain dear no matter where we live as the summers come and go…

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This story begins with biscuits and blackberry jam, and then eggs and bacon and sausage and hash brown casserole,

all at the Loveless Cafe, which I cannot recommend unless you are with a friend so wonderful it almost doesn’t matter where you go on a food road trip.

In the drizzling rain, I drove from seeing old friends Michaela, Stewart, and Michael who live in Nashville to Jackson, Mississippi, where I picked my friend Laura up from the train station, and we drove off the mapped roads onto a gravel one,

that led us to dogs, and an annual family reunion that we secured an invite to, showing up just in time for fiery conch salad from the Bahamas (the most wonderful people from the Bahamas bring it to the event every year), and a little later, a pig that had been roasting for 48 hours.

For this occasion, many of the extended family sleep in little tent rows dotting the back yard of the five-acre propery,

lined with magnolias and near a grove of two hundred acres of uncut forest.

The next morning began my first Crawfish Boil, and a stunning sequence of food throughout the day started with biscuits and savory country ham that is colloquially spread with jam.

Out back, everyone was looking into three kiddie pools,

where 335 pounds of crawfish were doing the wave as they danced and were watered into the afternoon.

Our friend Yann’s dad Alan wielded the Cajun Crawfish Paddle with skill, letting the initial boil brew simmer and reduce,

as the guys shucked ears of corn ready for the enormous pots.

There was time for playful crawfish racing,

to admire Laura’s new battle scar from an old bike injury surgery,

and in a flush of excitement, everyone followed the first batch of crawfish onto the table earlier than usual,

where they were covered with newspaper and allowed to steam and rest briefly.

Yann’s brother Ky taught me the correct technique for eating them: loosen the tail, pull it off, push the meat up, dip it in Tony’s (saltier) or Old Bay (less salty) and then – “Don’t cheat,” he admonished – crush and suck the head juices.

It is incredible experience, as everyone is drawn to the table, eating their fill and laughing and wandering away, only to return for a later batch.

Pictures were taken on all kinds of cameras,

and bubbles filled the long driveway,

stories were told around the fire,

and our friend Yann was one of the last at the table, as the Captain of Team Peel (completely peeling the remainder of the crawfish to bag and use later as opposed to my team of tail poppers, also known as Team Progress).

Thanks, Yann, for letting me be an honorary member of your amazing extended family. And thanks to Laura for getting me into yet another adventure.

The music started as the crawfish were sealed into containers and continued into the night, with spoons and drums,

and an accomplished singer-songwriter serenading everyone crowded into the kitchen in a moment too perfect to record.

I realize it was my first, but damn, are Yann’s parents Sandi and Alan ever the lovely hosts, and my, but is a boil a perfect way to bring family together to stand beside each other at a table…

More photos from the crawfish boil will appear in the summer issue of Saucy Mag, my new food magazine. Find the spring issue here.

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2. the great portland snowpocalypse
3. Lemniscate

I have spent the spring impatiently waiting for warm weather in New York, hopping a flight in late March to wander sunny Barcelona streets,

and its long stretches of parks, and the elaborately encrusted Sagrada Familia,

with its Gaudí figures and ornamentation,

including a Magic Square on the outside of the unfinished basílica.

The inspiring inside is filled with light from the stained glass playing off itself and the organic columns, and ushers in a curious sort of local and tourist reverence.

In nearby neighborhoods, there are plazas also filled with light and the sounds of guitarists practicing before standing just outside restaurant patios,

and in April, chocolate shops filled with Easter houses (characters sold separately).

Visiting for a few days, I started a wonderful habit of Cava and Jamón ibérico from the nearby La Boqueria on our roof deck, reading into the late afternoon before meeting friends for very fresh fish and crispy Pan can Tomate.

From Barcelona, we went to Cannes, where I discovered Margalet, a cheese much like Camembert, at the fabulous Ceneri – the sort of cheese shop you feel you cannot make a mistake in, the selection is curated so thoughtfully.

A perfectly ripened cheese makes for such quiet happiness.

While in Cannes, we were part of a small but determined expedition to the famed Colombe D’Or, the restaurant with early art from those later collected by museums. The trip there and back was just as entertaining (hairpin turns!) as the witty conversation at the table, and we were the last to leave the dining room and walk back through the picturesque town.

And a few weeks ago, back stateside, we celebrated a family birthday on the charming boyfriend’s side in New Orleans, that city where the trees grow beads in season,

and where it is possible to source a glittery birthday cake on short notice.

Near our hotel in the Warehouse District, I walked to Cochon for an Abita and a glance at the menu, watching as the heat melted the butter for the rolls,

and unable to resist, I ordered their Cochon de Lait that arrived on top of braised cabbage and with a cracklin’, a good omen for a snappy city I try to wander through on my travels as often as possible…

More pictures and stories from these trips in the next issue out this summer of a food magazine I’ve started called Saucy. You can buy the first issue (it used to be called Culinaesthete) on Magcloud in print or digital formats. Your support of the magazine so far (hello, new Australian friends!) means the world to me.

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2. 2011: the best of a lesser year
3. Everything was Alliuminated

I know what you’re thinking.

["She misspelled the title of this post. Should I tell her?"]

I meant to put ‘gournet’ in the title–and not because this post concerns the fish of the family Triglidae (though there are fish. Shiny ones.)

A few weeks ago, my friend Dan and I galloped off to Chinatown to see his noodle dealer. I can’t show you the noodle dealer, of course, but perhaps you can ferret out the location with the background clues.

We bought five packets of beautiful, fresh noodles.

Then, a new vegetable enthusiast friend (who sets up shop on the street) gleefully packed mounds of long Chinese greens and baby bok choy for us in lucky red bags, throwing in extra handfuls for good measure–so many that the bags weighed us down as we made our way toward the fish.

I like shiny things. So unsurprisingly, the fish that caught my eye were pink and shimmery.

Scaled and gutted, the pink fish still sparkled in my kitchen a few hours later;

while Dan stirred his wonderful black bean sauce into the noodles, and we sautéed the greens, I whipped egg whites and salt to create a crust that baked around the fish.

By then, our guests had started to arrive: Dan’s sister, who lives in the neighborhood, and then my friends LJ, Sarah, Tricia, David (who lives in Mexico City), Mario, Revaz, and Dean.

Dan, who is a gluten-free chef, made sizzling parsnip cakes with Chinese sausage as everyone shed coats and boots, and we began to celebrate The Year of the Rabbit together.

Looking at our birth years on the Chinese calendar, we read the Engrish predictions for our year ahead as I portioned out pieces of the whole fish.

In years past, my favorite part of Chinese New Year parties has been making fortune cookies with my friend Mica, but this year I decided to finally make tea eggs.

Boiled hard, the eggshells are cracked and the eggs simmered with 5-spice powder and tea bags, then cure for up to a few days, chilled.

Just after the eggs were Dan’s lovely individual chocolate cakes (recipe), Tricia’s pistachio macarons from Michael Allen, and raucous revelry, but before that, the kitchen went silent for a few minutes, as we unpeeled the marbled eggs and considered the possibilities in the months ahead…

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2. cooking for communitp
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The way to Christmas this year routed through marzipan, with this beautiful apple cake and filling of lovely Charlottesville heirloom apples from local Albemarle Baking Company on the drive from Brooklyn to Atlanta.

And then there was dancing.

With my sisters Kat and Kass, I surprised one of my mom’s dance classes as we threw Kooshes in the air with them, skipped and circled.

After that, we turned to the serious prep for Kassandra and Sean’s engagement party at my parents’ house. Kat diced the eggs for egg salad focaccia sandwiches,

while I folded peppers into the pimento cheese, also for dainty Southern sandwiches that went quickly later that night.

Reid we roused from his reflective newspaper perusal,

pressing him into service dicing cauliflower for airy fritters with egg whites.

I boiled gorgeous local Georgia shrimp,

and we continued cooking our way down the evening’s menu,

as Kassandra and Sean returned to the house with sample cakes to evaluate,

and the rented glassware sparkled in waiting.

That night, close friends and family arrived, with Grampa approving Reid’s tie (these images by Kat, who is a splendid photographer),

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

and the engaged couple entertained questions,

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

and accepted congratulations from Aunt Pam and Uncle Stewart,

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

who then caught up with Mom and Dad while I tended bar, making our signature blood orange-cava cocktail.

Photo by Katrina Taylor.

The next day was full of shopping and sipping and scheming for the annual family video that happened later that night, in our usual dance-around-the-garage-at-midnight-Christmas-Eve-and-scare-the-neighbors way.

I have to say that Kat and Reid comported themselves with dignity in their costume choices (Kass was our esteemed choreographer, of course); watch for the parental feature and a signing cameo:

And Christmas was full of laughing, as Kevin and Grampa deciphered opening a tool set together (they’ll tell that story differently),

and we watched as the snow began to fall, making it the first white Christmas at their house that I can remember…

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2. here comes the tay
3. Gypsies don’t check baggage

This fall, I was fortunate to be able to have a class of smart graduate students at NYU’s ITP think through community interactions during our fourteen weeks together. (You can see our syllabus for “communitp” and go through our blog archive and Twitter account for more details.)

At the conclusion of class, I invited them over for dinner (to be precise, they asked, and I was delighted to cook for all of us).

Thinking about appropriate holiday food, I asked for dietary restrictions and allergies, so as to honor those, and was reminded that one of the students is vegan.

What often surprises me is how cooks feel they need to craft entirely separate menus for those with specific food preferences.

I found myself thinking about foods that are green and warming—and I formed a menu around inclusion, starting with the simple roasted tomatillo salsa (roast skinned, chopped tomatillos for 20 minutes at 425 degrees F) that I served with chips and traditional guacamole when they arrived.

I had roasted sliced fractal cauliflower (we discussed the science behind communities in class),

in between stirring crushed red pepper and minced garlic into chopped parsley for a chimichurri sauce.

Nothing builds happy communities at the table like garlic, I’ve found in intensive research.

And I roasted coins of purple carrots and halved brussels sprouts while the roasted green spelt (freekeh) bubbled and softened on top of the stove.

Everything was vegan (good oil is all you need to roast veg and stir into drained grains), except the seared pork shoulder that I had let burnish slowly for six hours during the day before pulling it apart and setting it aside.

When we could all be persuaded to pause just long enough to claim seats around the table, those of us who eat meat stirred little bits into the freekeh with roasted veg and chimichurri. In 2011, consider making meat optional and a condiment—you’ll find it liberating. For those of you worried about protein, whole grains like freekeh and quinoa are excellent choices.

We were too busy toasting and talking about the upcoming ITP Winter Show (which was great) for me to take pictures,

but we agreed it was a lovely way to finish the semester over dessert: my homemade brandied prune plums spooned over bourbon gelato, vanilla ice cream, and ginger sorbet.

Thank you again to the seven who made it to dinner, and to all fourteen of you who inspired me to think and work on community in new ways. I miss our class meetings already…

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3. the woman in the yellow hat

I made my usual early start (5 a.m.) to cook down the list, pausing for a moment before I made the smashed potatoes in early afternoon.

Knowing I am mostly finished by that point, I always feel comforted. The clabbered milk (add a squeeze of lemon to whole milk and let it sit for five minutes to create buttermilk) I poured from a Mason jar went in before the butter to finish the dish.

My friend Tricia took some wonderful shots of the side dishes after she arrived with Kenyatta–

Image by Tricia Wang

and I’m relying on her images as our guest list grew from six the day before to fourteen an hour before (someone sat on a camping chair and some of us ate on palm leaf plates!), so I was slightly distracted.

There were roasted butternut squash and local apples with pepitas for crunch and sage:

Image by Tricia Wang

Also roasted brussel sprouts and pears with ginger and lemon zest–I’m very interested in combining fruits and veg with a dominant spice or herb in side dishes lately:

Image by Tricia Wang

If memory serves, a carrot-top pesto went on roasted cauliflower, I improvised a chard-quinoa dish, the usual cranberry-orange sauce was chilled, and everyone raved over the Thomas Keller leek bread pudding.

The turkey I did remember to document, as I want to remember this seventeen-pound beaut from Di Paolo at the Grand Army Farmers’ Market. This is a salt brine, oil rub, and little else that took about three hours in the oven:

For the dramatic dessert presentations, Kevin’s mother unmolded her tiramisu,

that we shared responsibility for whipping heavy cream for that she spread on top and sprinkled with chocolate chips before slicing.

And Francis, who is my good friend Solana’s cousin and a fabulous cook (it runs in their family),

cut into her two derby pies. I had a very hard time deciding whether I liked the traditional or the chocolate, and insisted on keeping the tiny remainder of one pie. We completed the bourbon theme with small-batch versions of bourbon vanilla gelato and of the spirit itself.

I looked around the crowded table at friends (I like this shot of Bre and Kio) and extended family,

laughing and learning about living in New York and I took notes from Linda on standing your ground as a feminist.

But the biggest lesson I learned this year (and I think it was Solana who articulated it best) is this: it takes generations eating together to make it truly feel like Thanksgiving.

For all recipes, see my Thanksgiving primer post.

Related posts:

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2. the leftovers that keep on giving
3. first food adventures in flushing

Your goal? Splendid leftovers, like this sandwich I made last year:

Here’s how I do T Day in ten steps:

1. Wake up early and make desserts first. Convince someone to bring dessert (hint: most people don’t actually like pumpkin pie of any sort) or buy pie crusts and start there.

Do not take up hours on dessert because we are cooking a whole meal, not just a few recipes.

I like to make apple turnovers—this can be done with bought phyllo dough after the meal and before dessert—and drizzle them with dulce de leche (from a jar) and ice cream.

My recommended recipe: Use store-bought phyllo dough and let it defrost on the counter during the meal. Crank the oven to 400 degrees F. Grate 2 apples (try Honeycrisp or Granny Smith), stir in the zest and juice of half a lemon (zest it first) and a tablespoon of sugar. Let it be while you line two baking sheets with parchment paper, cut the dough into squares (about five inches). Spoon a big tablespoon into each, fold it over, crimp the edges with a fork, sprinkle with cinnamon-sugar if you like. Bake for 20 min. Drizzle with dulce de leche and serve with ice cream of your preferred dairy or non-dairy.

2. Gravy next. This is annoying to make at the very end when the bird is cooling and everyone is crowding the kitchen. Make it ahead of time. And don’t actually make gravy. Make Marsala sauce (this is a good recipe to have on hand anyway).

Take the neck and giblets out of the bird (which should be defrosted and ready to put in the oven soon). Add 1 tbsp olive oil to a saute pan and add the neck and giblets; cook, stirring, five minutes. Remove. Add 1 strip of bacon and let it render until nicely browned. Remove the bacon (eat it, obviously) and melt 3 tbsp unsalted butter in the pan with rendered bacon fat, add half a chopped onion, cooking over medium until translucent (about four minutes). Add 2 tbsp of flour and stir for two minutes, until it disappears into the onion. (If you feel fancy, use two shallots instead for better flavor.) Add 1 cup of good stock (chicken or veal) if you have it—if not, sub in water, and 1/2 cup dry Marsala wine and boil for 5 min until reduced to your preferred consistency. Season with salt and pepper. (Note: Please join me in ridding the world of those nasty gravy packets sold at grocers. And only use dry Marsala wine.)

3. Now, chop the veg. Use knives earlier in the day when people aren’t milling about, trying to help. When the veg is chopped, your reward is opening the bubbly (Mimosas, darlings). So, this is a holiday for vegheads and we will roast the sog out of our old friends, root vegetables. Adjust the oven shelves so you can use both simultaneously.

With the oven at 425 degrees F, brussel sprouts should be halved (if larger than a ping-pong ball, quarter them) and placed on a baking sheet. Core and chop 1 pear into 1/2 inch pieces for every two handfuls of brussels. Using your hands, toss the brussel sprouts and pears with a few tablespoons of oil, and spread into a single layer. Roast for 20 minutes, shaking once. You want them to be soft and also have some color. Note: the trendy thing this year is to stir Sriracha sauce and honey into brussels—I like harissa instead. For T Day, mince a few teaspoons of ginger to stir in. Let cool. (Ginger also aids digestion and your family will love you even more.)

While the brussels and pears cook, peel a 3 lb butternut squash and chop. Then, leave the skin on a few apples (again, Honeycrisp are nice) and chop them. Toss the apples and butternut squash with oil and roast for 20-30 minutes, shaking every ten minutes. Meanwhile, toast a handful of pepitas (pumpkin seeds) in a dry pan over medium heat until they pop, then throw them in the food processor with a few tablespoons of olive oil and spin until it becomes a dressing (a few strong pulses should be enough). Pour dressing over squash and fruit when out of oven. Let cool.

Take the greens off the top of the carrots, wash and spin in the food processor with one clove of minced garlic, a pinch of crushed red pepper, and some oil. Peel the carrots and halve lengthwise (quarter if large) and do the same with parsnips, if using, or cut a fennel bulb horizontally into half-inch slices. Roast carrots and parsnips/fennel for 20-30 minutes, shaking every 10. Cool and stir the carrot-top chimichurri in.

Congrats: you are mostly done. Turn the oven down to 350 degrees F.

4. It’s time to put the bird in—perhaps you brined the turkey with salt for a few days? Set the timer. And, if cooking for fewer than ten people, consider turkey alternatives; roast chicken is really a very nice thing and two small chickens are more fun and easier to roast. Just a thought. You need about a pound to pound and a half (weight before cooking) per person partaking.

5. Bread pudding/stuffing: chop three leeks for the bread pudding of your choice. And cube a loaf of bread (1-inch pieces) for that. Thomas Keller’s savory bread pudding is incredibly delicious and a bit fussy–don’t hold it in the oven, as it will dry out. Chop the leeks and then let someone assemble the pudding (they can scissor in the chives). Note: children are awesome at layering prepped ingredients. Or use the family recipe of choice. (I think oyster stuffing is sketchy, personally. Make a quick champagne vinaigrette and have the oysters before the meal instead.) Do what you will, but do not sub in random coconut/almond/soy dairy imposters in stuffing—make it into panzanella instead.

6. One more chop: any potatoes larger than golf balls. Look for fingerlings or small purple potatoes (these are often sold in packages now) and buy at least three pounds. Put potatoes (do not peel!) at the bottom of a large stockpot, cover with water (water should go an inch above the potatoes), bring to boil. Simmer for twenty minutes, until you can slide a knife through, but it doesn’t fall apart. Drain. Let cool. Then, put the potatoes in a big bowl and smush them with a masher or large spoon. Add big pats of butter, some buttermilk (add 1 tbsp fresh lemon juice to 1 cup whole milk and let it sit five minutes to clabber it into buttermilk), stir, and season heavily. Put in the fridge and heat back up later. Add Parm and scallions if you feel so moved. I usually do.

7. Open bottles now. I like to open bubbly first, then a minerally white if the table allows (usually doesn’t) and a lighter Pinot Noir for the rest of the meal.

8. Make cranberry sauce. Take 1 pint of cranberries and simmer them with 1/2 cup of orange juice, 1/2 cup water, and 1/2 cup sugar for five minutes. Add orange zest while cooking. Cranberries should pop. Let cool. Taste. (You can also use champage/cava/prosecco as a cooking liquid here.) If you have time and/or helpers, sugar a few berries and some sage leaves to top the sauce.

9. If you are feeling anxious about the vegetarians and vegans in attendance (who are already taken care of by most of the dishes above), make quinoa (takes about five minutes) and stir in pomegranate seeds and walnuts, pecans, or almonds with a little oil. It’s a glistening dish of protein and complete amino acids. Look for black or red quinoa for color.

10. Make kale salad to start the meal. If you can find baby kale, use the whole stem too—if not, just use the leaves. You can rip them into a bowl. Find a helper and have them massage (seriously, massage) a little kosher salt into the leaves and add some vinegar and oil; season. Let it sit while you arrange the dishes or plate.

Finally, encourage carving in the kitchen. Wrest the electric knife away if possible, and cut each breast in half, slice with the skin, then arrange the legs and wings on the rest of the platter. If the bird looks dry, pour a little melted butter over it.

Have a lovely, lovely Thanksgiving. And don’t forget about that sandwich.

Related posts:

1. a bowl of jambalaya risotto
2. my secret soup to stave off a cold
3. winter white

Last Wednesday, I fried an egg on top of a beautiful piece of leftover spinach pizza from Fornino in my neighborhood for breakfast.

And on Thursday, I flew to San Francisco, hopped in my rental car, and zoomed to Santa Cruz, just in time to help Renata chop root vegetables (she sprays them with water and sometimes wine, a brilliant trick) before and during roasting at high heat,

and when everyone arrived to learn more about cooking for Thanksgiving, she made her delicious green eggs (wilted spinach with poached eggs on top, spiced) that are an excellent breakfast any time of year:

Margaret’s daughter Madeline took careful notes,

and Renata laughed to show us how she freezes her herbs to keep them through the winter (her wonderful energy and enthusiasm for cooking well is infectious).

Steaming vegetables to go with lovely rice and lentils that Renata poured coconut milk into, imparting a subtle, full flavor,

all of us in her cooking class sat to eat together.

And on Friday morning, I caught up with Margaret, after we watched a sea otter turn,

over Eggs Benedict with avocado looking out over the boats in Capitola,

and walked to the lighthouse and back, reflecting on the events of the three months since I left Santa Cruz, and all the exciting secret projects we are plotting.

On Saturday, I drove from Santa Cruz to Venice Beach, arriving in time for an afternoon shopping stroll with Laura, LJ, and Julie,

and we discovered overgrown pebbles and that night, sautéed pea shoots with lemon at Cube, my new favorite LA restaurant. (Laura always knows the best places to go.)

Sunday morning, more green eggs—this time, poached on top of grits with beet greens and chorizo, all from the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market vendors themselves and cooked at Bean & Thyme.

And we found Lily’s Fertile Eggs (Laura was promised that she wouldn’t be able to return to regular eggs. We’ll see…),

then, it was time for a beach day, a warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit in the middle of November.

On Sunday night, John, Dave, Ben, and LJ arrived for a dinner party at Laura’s apartment,

with a persimmon-tomato salad (these are persimmons and persimmon tomatoes, Laura’s clever idea) with burrata,

and Momofuku’s Ginger-Scallion noodles with quick pickles (forgive the dramatic lighting here, my camera flash decided to go Instagram on me) and sugar snap peas, red pepper, skirt steak, and bok choy.

Laura threw together a lovely apple crisp that finished the meal perfectly, the way she does.

On Monday, I spent the day working from Laura’s apartment with a brief break for a walk to Intelligentsia for one of their amazing chocolate-pecan cookie sandwiches with buttercream filling from CakeMonkey:

and to marvel at the small, welded warriors on the Venice boardwalk.

I was sad to leave, as always, but happy to know that I will return in February if not before to see these friends, so important in my life. In the meantime, I take inspiration from my new little warrior friends to surmount the challenges in the months ahead…

Related posts:

1. green, eggs, and steak
2. spinning in the sun
3. green on and off the island

When I discovered on Wednesday that my friends Jonas and Dave were both in town, it seemed such a good occasion for having friends over for brunch on Saturday (above: Chrysanthe, Dave, Alex, Jonas, Winnie). Tricia, Audrey, Kenyatta, Kevin, Chris, Tarikh also filled the kitchen, and we celebrated the turn toward winter with warming foods:

Clockwise from left: roasted brussel sprouts (roast at 425 degrees for twenty minutes tossed with 1 tbsp olive oil, stir in a little harissa), baby kale salad (cut off very ends of kale stems, massage leaves with salt, add sherry vinegar), croissant pudding, roasted fingerling potatoes from Evolutionary Organics (halve and roast at 425 degrees for thirty minutes) with homemade aioli, and crab-fennel-cauliflower salad.

I also made chicken pot pie and a white bean-tomato-kale soup, and Chrysanthe brought a lovely pear-apple crisp.

And with this sort of food on our side and wonderful friends like these, perhaps we shall weather these colder temperatures after all…

Related posts:

1. a bowl of saturday mussels
2. cassoulet, brunch, and the underground food collective in brooklyn
3. my secret soup to stave off a cold

So, I know this recipe is a little weird—I have hesitated writing about it for years.

It is a standard in my kitchen, though, the ingredients are usually easy to find, and, going into the weekend, perhaps musings on what a tuna roll might be as a noodle dish will amuse you the way it delights me.

Tuna Roll Noodles For 2 (make extra)

Ingredients: box soba noodles, 2 baby bok choy, ripe avocado, jar excellent tuna, sheet of nori, 1 tbsp oil

Boil half a box of soba noodles in water (~4 min). Drain and rinse the noodles (yes, rinse the noodles).

Meanwhile, take two baby bok choy (or pak choy, my newest favorite) or long-stemmed green of your choice and chop coarsely [take the whole choys, rinse, cut into pieces (about an inch long, leaves and stems)] and toss into medium-hot pan with a tablespoon of oil. Stir occasionally as the noodles cook in the other pan.

Open a 5-6 oz. jar of beautiful tuna in olive oil (buy the good stuff). Mince/smush one clove of garlic.

Add the rinsed noodles to the greens, stir, add the tuna and its oil, flaking it in the pan (it will disappear into the noodles). Add the garlic. Stir.

Ladle into bowls (this also works with a miso broth pooling around the noodles, as a variation) and sprinkle avocado pieces (score the halved avocado with a knife in a crosshatch pattern, then press out of skin) over the top.

I add snipped slivers of nori at the end—try waving the nori sheet, just for a moment, over the burner flame. Or use your favorite kitchen tool and mine, a blow torch, to toast the sheet.

Without going into the details, this dish will return your love. It’s made of foods that make you happy and keep you well.

Related posts:

1. noodles for breakfast
2. return of the tuna melt
3. lobster roll quandary and lemon meringue

I am going to give you one of my secret recipes. This is a quick, humble soup ideal for transitioning seasons. It comes together in ten minutes and will serve you well.

Also, as you may not know, I despise soup recipes that call for chicken stock or broth. You can do better. Water is your friend.

kthread’s Secret Sorrel Soup (to stave off a cold)

Makes two servings. Look for sorrel at your local farmers’ markets.

1. Mince two large cloves of garlic. Smush them into paste and let sit on cutting board while you finish prep (this brings out their goodness—no, I’m not making that up).

2. Wash half a head of escarole (or baby kale), dry, chop coarsely (don’t use the tough bottom ribs). Then, pull out half a cup of cooked beans*, a good handful of washed sorrel, a little shredded cooked chicken (if available and you eat chicken), and a small piece of Parmesan rind.

3. Put heat on medium and add 1 tbsp olive oil to the pan, add garlic paste and let sizzle thirty seconds. Add chopped escarole and let wilt 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Tear in sorrel in two-inch pieces, throw in shredded chicken, beans, and Parm rind. Season. Add 3 cups water and turn heat to high. Cover.

4. Let soup bubble for 5 minutes (uncover as necessary so it doesn’t boil over) and turn off heat. Ladle into two bowls, grate a bit of fresh Parmesan on top, and serve with bread to soak up the beautiful broth you’ve made.

Keeps wonderfully for up to a week. My vegan friends might substitute nutritional yeast for the Parmesan.

*Cannellini, black-eyed peas, and yellow-eyed peas work well. I like to cook dry beans and keep them chilled for recipes like this. I also like to roast a chicken some Sunday nights.

Your favorite foods to transition seasons?

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1. swooping soup
2. Hoppin’ Jonatha
3. a bowl of jambalaya risotto

On Saturday morning, I walked the familiar stands of the Charlottesville Farmers’ Market;

the squash, peppers, and eggplants of Waterpenny Farms were shining, as were their beautiful tomatoes,

near heirloom Virginia apples, as that season is in full swing.

Walking beyond the market, I found Surryano ham (a version of Serrano ham made in Surry, Virginia, where the pigs are fed local peanuts) at Feast market—perfect for an afternoon winery tour with old friends.

Tricia arrived with balloons,

and Helen corralled everyone (many had driven in from out of town) onto the bus for her birthday celebration.

Our first destination was Cardinal Point Winery, where Sev and I mused over what the ideal wine tasting would be like,

and while the crowded Veritas tasting room (our second destination) leaves much to be desired, the lovely grounds have the makings of a perfect afternoon.

Sev poured for Ben and Jeremy (seems we all coordinated our outfits for the occasion),

and the Veritas Cabernet Franc Reserve 2008 was the bottle of the day (Cab Franc grows well in Central Virginia).

Before too long, I took my glass out to the lawn, watching everyone compare vintages and grapes,

and a child chase an errant chicken,

that pecked behind Ben as he was delivering his usual wry commentary after joining me on the grass.

And we relaxed into our final destination: Flying Fox Winery,

where we toasted to lovely Helen, whose sparkling laugh and infectious energy are always a reason to celebrate time with her.

Early the next morning, I breathed deeply as I drove back to Brooklyn through the mountains, as the sun slowly rose over the Shenandoah…

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On Sunday morning, a few Sundays ago, Keryn and Mike were the perfects hosts, indulging us with Mike’s wonderful pancakes and letting us sleep very late (that’s Kate’s butter, of course).

Note: This is the third in a series of three posts about Maine. You might start with the first or second post.

Keryn likes her pancakes with blueberries throughout and on top (and with these native wild blueberries, I heartily agree with her preference),

and Fil and I smiled at all the fun of the day before.

Late that afternoon, Keryn arranged the perfect spread of charcuterie and cheese, and a little while later, we were off to the ever-crowded Primo for their oyster night.

On Monday, I went foraging with my friend Evan on an island, gathering berries,

happening upon chanterelles,

and some of the rose hips that grow all over the area.

Monday night, Keryn (who even manages to rock rain boots) drove us to Ladleah and Shane’s,

where Ladleah’s gardening skills were in abundant evidence.

Ladleah had made a lovely blueberry buckle for the next morning’s sailing outing,

in a spare moment after making her famous salsa,

and then she showed us her gardens (Ladleah gardens for others as well, so these are her personal gardens that she works on in her free time).

I haven’t seen tomatillos on the vine before,

and Ladleah introduced us to an heirloom cucumber she adores.

We glimpsed the dramatic hanging purple beans,

and the first apples on the tree in the future orchard.

Before we left for dinner, we all smelled the mint on her porch, a scent I now associate with Maine, and its crisp air, and the beautiful people I am lucky to know there.

On our way back to Brooklyn on Tuesday, Fil and I drove through the Berkshires to visit Ethan and Rachel and meet Drew (Ethan drew us a map for the way back and recommended his favorite series of highways).

In their unique and incredible house, we marveled at the view that goes on and on, appropriate for a couple that is wise and witty in equal measure (and one I am excited to return to visit for longer).

Just as Ethan had said, we passed sculptures too intriguing not to stop for,

and we made a note that more exploration is necessary of this place,

and perhaps also of the miniature golf at the Red Rooster Drive-In next time the drive includes these roads…

Related posts:

1. kthread cooks: pancakes
2. sunday supper at salt water farm
3. festive puffed pancakes for shrove tuesday