Winter

The tools for my winter gardening sessions tend to lie on the kitchen floor from one week to the next: the pruning knife, my leather-handled pruning shears, the largest of the two spades, the rake. They serve as a reminder that even though the garden may look crisp and neat from the window, there is still work to be done. It is during these cold, gray-sky days that I sometimes feel as if I live on soup. Roots—fat carrots, artichokes, and woody parsnips— are part of the lineup, along with onions and the occasional potato. I take much pleasure in the way something can be both earthy and velvety at the same time. Rather like my gardening gloves.

The animal’s tail has a gentle life, the occasional swish in a buttercup-strewn meadow, and I like to think that is reflected in how we choose to cook it. Oxtail is a meal of almost soporific qualities. It will not be hurried toward tenderness any more than the animal will be hurried along a country lane. After a long, slow baking with a lot of finely sliced onions and a little aromatic liquid, the velvety fibers will fall away from the bone in brown and pink flakes. Some spinach, very lightly cooked and served without butter, will flatter the meat and melt into the creamy sauce.

A damp January morning (2006) and a walk round the vegetable patch reveals only two herbs in reasonable condition: rosemary, which loses some of its potency in winter, and parsley, most of which has collapsed in a dead faint to the ground. I value both enormously, feeling even now that they have an edge on the imported basil and spindly thyme in the markets. Both respond well to earthy winter cooking. Chilled to the bone (I find it’s the damp that gets to me more than the temperature), I come in and use the parsley where it really matters: in a pan of braised artichokes and pork sausage, whose brown depths I freshen up with Italian lemons and, at its side, some crisp and chewy greens.

There is something uplifting about refreshing food eaten on a frosty day. What follows is a light, fresh-tasting salad that makes your eyes sparkle.

Fresh pork hock is not an easy piece of meat to carve. I just do the best I can, cutting the soft meat away in pieces and laying them in a shallow bowl or deep plate. Then ladle the thin, aromatic broth around it.

As cuts of meat go, the turkey breast steak is a relatively new one and will please those who like their protein neat, mild, and fat free. This addition to the meat counter has its advantages for a quick supper. It can be sizzled in butter with a few aromatics (bay, black pepper, thyme sprigs, and a curl of orange rind tend to cheer it up). Turkey still reeks of Christmas, but the white meat less so than the legs, which always smell like a roasting Christmas lunch. Red cabbage makes a satisfactory accompaniment. Go further, with a few prunes and a bottle of Marsala, and you have something approaching a joyful Sunday lunch, though without a bone to pick.

February 2008. The garden is all frost and cabbages. Here and there the occasional fat seed head, some purple sprouts on bending stalks, and piles of sticks that I have pulled off the trees that overhang the vegetable patch. The earth is crisp underfoot. Soup days. The winter cabbages, especially Savoy and Protovoy, are blistered with webs and hollows that seem made to hold a sauce of some sort. At its simplest, this could be melted butter or hot bacon fat, but a cream sauce seems an especially attractive idea on a cold day, adding suavity to a coarse flavor and at a stroke tempering the leaves’ stridency. The juniper in the spiced cream that follows makes this a perfect accompaniment to ham or roast pork, though I have been known to eat it with brown rice as a main dish in itself.

The market: stumpy carrots, the prickle of frost, dark greens, the scent of wet soil. Here and there among the trestle tables are shallow baskets: Russian kale, tips of cavolo nero with their infant leaves, broccoli heads the size of a mushroom, and sprigs of purple and white sprouting so small you can hold ten in the palm of your hand. Each sprig of vegetable is so precious, so diminutive, as timid as a chanterelle. I pick them up with finger and thumb, which seems the way they must have been picked from their stems. These are shoots plucked from the stem after the growing heart of the plant has been removed. No smothering of cheese sauce, just a three-minute trip in the steamer and a classic hollandaise to dip them in, let down with a dash of cream and a grating of zest from a blood orange.

Although this is made from the same dough as the panettone, the final proofing time is very different: none! Stollen’s origins are attributed to Dresden, Germany, but it is made in many forms and variations throughout Europe. The name refers to baby Jesus’ blanket and it is filled with fruit to signify the gifts of the Magi. It can be folded and formed into a crescent shape or simply rolled up into a log. It is usually finished with a brushing of melted butter and heavily dusted with either confectioners’ sugar or granulated sugar. My German friends like to age their stollen for weeks before eating it, but I like it best as soon as it cools—it never lasts more than a day, let alone weeks. Almond paste is a sweet confection made with sugar and ground bitter almonds; when flavored with rose water or treated with other flavorings and food colors it is also known as marzipan. I find it amazingly delicious. It can easily be rolled into a cigar-shaped bead and used as a center core for stollen; the amount is up to you but about 4 ounces (113 g) per small loaf is probably enough.

After struan, wild rice and onion bread was the most popular bread at Brother Juniper’s Bakery, and a version of this recipe appears in my first book, Brother Juniper’s Bread Book. The recipe calls for wild rice, but it can also be made with brown rice or a combination of wild and brown rice, or any other cooked grain. At Brother Juniper’s, during the holiday season we even added parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, garlic powder, and black pepper, which made for a wonderful bread for stuffing turkey. Note that it only takes about 1/4 cup of uncooked wild rice to make 1 cup (6 oz, by weight) of cooked wild rice; still, if you’re going to cook wild rice especially for this recipe, you might as well make a bigger batch and freeze 1-cup packets for future use—or have it with dinner! This new version uses the overnight fermentation method. The yeast is added directly to the bowl, not rehydrated with the warm water and buttermilk. You can use either dried or fresh onions, and you can form the loaves into any size or shape. Dried onions are about one-tenth the weight of fresh onions and will absorb water from the dough, while fresh onions will leach moisture back into the dough. If you use dried onions, don’t rehydrate them before adding them to the dough, but do be aware that you may have to add an extra 2 to 4 tablespoons (1 to 2 oz) of water while mixing.

My contribution to my family’s Thanksgiving meal has always been cornbread. In making it so many times, I discovered that it’s a great vehicle for fruit, cooked grains, or vegetables. This variation has a thick batter, so these are more like biscuits than bread. Pale orange and scarlet-flecked, these biscuits make a beautiful addition to a holiday table.

This is the basic procedure for making any fruit chutney. Non-citrus fruits such as peaches, plums, apricots, and mangoes will need to be peeled. Use any citrus fruit combination for this recipe, although you may need to adjust the sweetness for more tart varieties like grapefruit. I chose kumquats and Meyer lemons because I like their contrasting shapes and colors, and both are naturally quite sweet.

You can make sorbet by simply freezing fruit and pushing it through a juicer. That’s it. While plain fruit in season is quite sweet on its own, you can top the sorbet with maple syrup or any other sweetener of your choice. Toppings could include chopped nuts, cacao nibs, or whipped cream. If the fruit freezes for more than an hour, it be will be too hard, and you will need to thaw it a bit before it can pass smoothly through the juicer.

Quince smells wonderful, like a pear with notes of citrus. But resist tasting the raw fruit—it is highly tannic until cooked through. Quince require a long cooking time to soften to the point of being edible, and a sharp knife is needed for slicing through their hard flesh, but their delicate flavor is worth the wait and the work. Quince grows in much of the United States—I’ve even picked some in Central Park—and they are sold at many markets throughout the winter. Serve this dessert on its own or with vanilla ice cream and the easy crunch topping from the Pear Kanten with Pecan Crunch (page 101).

This rustic dish makes a wonderful cold-weather meal when paired with a green salad. Instead of the usual white top made of potatoes, this shepherd’s pie gets a toasted orange hue from winter squash, a common ingredient in Greek and Italian cuisine. You can substitute pumpkin, red kuri squash, or kabocha squash for the butternut. Gremolata, a fresh Italian condiment of parsley, lemon zest, and garlic, adds a bright citrus note.

Rutabagas are a robust winter standby that lend themselves well to Asian dishes, where they can act as a sweeter stand-in for the turnips often used in Chinese, Japanese, and Korean cooking. I use chicken stock in this recipe because its richness brings all of the subtle flavors of the dish alive. The star anise lends this soup a fragrant, smoky sweetness.

I look forward to seeing the stunning array of brightly colored winter squash that appears at the market every autumn. Of all the varieties, red kuri squash (shown below) is my favorite for savory dishes. It has a rich, full flavor that makes this simple soup exceptional. The soup lasts for several days in the refrigerator. To reheat, add a little stock or water, because it will thicken over time.

Pretty pink grapefruits add zing and color to salads. Supreming citrus fruits (see the pictures on page 97) gives you seed- and rind-free sections that are ready to eat with no fuss, and the process releases a considerable amount of juice, which you’ll use as the base of the dressing. Once you have peeled the celery root, soak it in water with a little bit of lemon juice to keep it from turning brown.

Exotic, jewel-like, and demanding considerable labor to penetrate their maze of pulp, pomegranates are a ravishing winter treat. A constant on the Lucid Food cocktail menu during cold weather, this drink pairs well with food but also stands on its own. You can make the sangria the day before, but wait until the day you serve it to add the orange slices, as the pith can cause the drink to turn bitter. Use a cheap red wine; I prefer a rioja or a tempranillo.

Blizzard food at its best. This buttery crusted pie, filled with rib-sticking pork, will fortify you for any winter's night.