The Dinner Files

It sounds sort of weird, but I really hope a big fat man in a red felt suit gave you everything you wished for this weekend. I am a happy girl, surrounded by family and friends. I could complain, because I’m quite good at complaining, but I won’t. I don’t dare. I’m too lucky with this lot I’ve been cast with to dare whisper the hint of complaint.

I am, however, a bit full. My solution? This fennel orange olive salad. Lively, bright, wintery, Sicilian, crunchy, sweet, salty, cleansing. It’s everything I want to put in my mouth after the last few days of overindulgence.

Ask and you shall receive. I’ve finally posted my famous recipe for cranberry cordial, a homemade cranberry liqueur I’ve referenced and teased you with for years now. My secret is out. Everyone I’ve ever given it to can now see how lazy I am – making a big deal about this easy-as-pie concoction.

Serve it chilled in wee cordial glasses like the ones I tracked down at a thrift store somewhere on the 101 between here and Los Angeles on a road trip with my dashing husband back when he was simply dashing, or use to make the best kirs or kir royales you’ve ever had. I’ve used big batches of the stuff to doctor up the second (maybe third) crappiest sparkling wine at the market into delicious cocktails that made for very festive gatherings indeed. I wish you many such events in the coming weeks, or, rather, as many as you can stand.

Have you noticed that I don’t post a ton of sweets here? I’m not a real dessert-y sort of gal. A bite or two of whatever usually does it for me, much to my son’s chagrin. The poor thing has taken to lapping up a spoonful of honey for dessert more than once while pulling a face at the offer of a juicy ripe satsuma or a bitter square of dark chocolate studded with almonds and sea salt.

These pecan cookies, however, whether studded with crunchy bitter cacao nibs or delicate shavings of dark chocolate, are right up my alley, they are buttery and crisp and not all that sweet but perfect with a cup of coffee or a spot of tea, and they aren’t out of place with a dram of whiskey either. They are inspired by cookies from the fabulous Alice Medrich. I once made them with finely chopped chocolate when I couldn’t find cacao nibs. They were, to some palates, even more delicious.

Find other cookies I genuinely adore at this list of potential christmas cookies.

I was recently asked to attend a cookbook club. Members all cook a recipe from a book, get together to eat the results, and discuss the book and whatnot. I can attest that it is a delightful way to wile away a Saturday afternoon. The book for this gathering was Elizabeth David’s French Country Cooking. I made the honey hazelnut cake, which was good but not exciting. One of those old fashioned cakes that is as good for breakfast as it is for dessert or tea. As I flipped my way through that book it just made me want to read more Elizabeth David again and so her various books came down from the shelf and I soon noticed a few other items I’d like to cook, including her ragù.

The recipe called for “teacups” of things (that’s 6 ounces or 3/4 cup to you and me), and wanted me to put chicken livers in the sauce, which I didn’t really feel like doing. The best part, though, is that she insists that you add the ragù to “hot pasta in a heated dish so that the pasta is thoroughly impregnated with the sauce.”

Reading Elizabeth David just points out what a hack I am. I don’t ever write about impregnating things.

This ragù recipe, however, ain’t too shabby.

p.s. All you cranberry cordial-wanted fanatics, the recipe will be up soon. Very soon.

I had a hard week. Stressful. Anxiety producing. At one point just a wee bit scary. Nothing went quite how I’d wish it would. I felt overwhelmed and, at points, disheartened. Everything is much better now – no need to worry – and part of what cured my ills was a big pot of cream of wild rice soup.

I left the thickening work to the heavy cream by leaving both the flour and the potatoes out of it, I used pancetta where traditionalists would use ham, I tossed in some fresh thyme, and I added fancy-pants leeks instead of homey onions, but it was a fair reproduction of the soup I grew up with. My mom never made it – why would she when Lund’s had such a fine frozen version for sale? – but there was always a quart or two in the extra freezer in the basement, usually slotted into the shelves on the door this time of year, what with the freezer being full of ducks and pheasants.

My family gobbled it up just as happily as I used to. And they agreed that the generous grinds of black pepper at the end are key.