All that and this is the stuff of a thrifty cook. No tossing these lovely peels to the compost. Making use of them to add oodles of flavor to your holiday cakes. Who knows, it could even lead to drying our peels to add them to tea come winter. Constant Comment did it to very good advantage way back when…and now they’re rich kids–chuckle.

This year I candied one of each critter: lemon, orange, grapefruit, citron, and lime. Lemon and orange were quite good as was the grapefruit. Citron was hard to find but it rewarded with an extra thick pith. Lime with its thin peel was not as plump and enticing, although still brought an intrigue all its own.

You can see how large the citron is and how little fruit it has, making it a shoe-in for candying with its thick rind. This is the etrog variety as opposed to the more readily available fingered citron, also known as Buddha’s hand. The advantage of the fingered citron is that its all rind and thus gives up a goodly amount of candied peel.

Just ask friend, Michael Mock, who experimented with that this year. He ended up with a couple of cups of diced peel, plenty for not only fruitcakes but also Christmas Stollen and my latest use of candied peel: in a beet salad with fresh oranges, olive oil, red wine vinegar, and a healthy spike of country mustard.

Back to the matter at hand, though. The gist on candied peel is really just the same as on everything else that’s commercially prepared today. Making it is easy, but it is yet another chore. That said, as people who do their own chores know, there’s nothing like home made for both satisfaction and end product.

How easy? How about 1, 2, 3.

1. Take the peel off the fruit (or in the case of etrog citron, cut the fruit out of the peel) and dice it–or at least get a bite-size cut. No need to fret over removing the pith as you want that for meaty dices and the bitterness goes mostly gonzo during the blanching. (Besides, like Old Fashion drinkers know, a little bitter makes the sweet rock & roll.)

2. Blanch in boiling water a couple times. Draining and rinsing each time to remove the bitterness. (Some recipes call for three and four times of blanching. I did it twice, letting the peels bubble about for a minute or two each time before rinsing.)

3. Simmer with sugar and water (one part sugar to two parts water) until things get syrupy. Use enough water to barely cover your fruits nets about the right amount of syrup.

If you’ll notice in the last image here, some of my jars have less syrup than others–point being there’s no hard and fast rule, just you experimenting.

Just you, the measure free hippie cook, in charge. (How was it that we ever turned into technicians anyhow? Following orders from headquarters in the privacy of our own kitchens? Aren’t our lives ruled and regulated enough already? More chuckle…)

Our cover girl, Celeste, is never far from the kitchen action of course. She is even in the holiday spirit enough to let the latest member of the family–Blue Bird–to share the frame with her.

In fact, when I steamed up a few handfuls of wild rice this morning, I only vaguely thought dressing. But it smelled so nutty I got in the mood and toasted up some quinoa, pilaf-style, for steaming. Then after yoga I got serious. Minced garden sage, stirred in a few eggs, diced some celery & shrooms & apples, all sauteed in the requisite stick or two of butter Thanksgiving seems to demand.

It was an enchanting experience, this business of letting what was on hand and fresh run the show. Not that it’s a new idea, but somehow at Thanksgiving all that easy does it goes out the window and there’s more time spent pre-planning than actually eating.

Of course, I incorporated techniques from years of cooking: stirring in enough eggs like you do in meat loaf or bean loaf to hold things together, not skimping on the butter, tasting to make sure the salt was right, mincing enough sage to say Thanksgiving, staying mindful of appearance. So beautiful it was with the chunks of apple. So beautiful I made three skillets full: big ones for each of the meals I’ll attend and a small one for the house here so that even though I’m going out, those cherished leftovers will still be around.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone–As Pink Floyd sang so many years ago: Wish you were here…

Let’s keep it simple to start. Simple not only for the sake of explanation but also because making food taste good really can be done very simply. The pantry items I used for my New Year’s potluck dish were nothing more than the sacred quartet: oil, vinegar, salt, pepper (as in red chile peper because who says the only pepper in town is black). The key was that they were handy and inviting in their fun bottles and pots. Oil and vinegar sitting out within arm’s reach in blue glass. A pot of coarse salt (the yellow dish from Itay) that I can dip into. Ditto with red chile pepper (in the footed dish of green Depression glass). You can see there’s also a black pepper mill and some garlic there along with kitchen tools ready and waiting.

As far as how it all worked, I had half a baked spaghetti squash waiting in the fridge and a packet of green beans thawing in the kitchen sink (both items, I’m pleased to say, where from my summer garden).

Then there was the end of a pot of homemade veg soup that got a whiz in the blender and then enough whole wheat flour to turn it into goop akin to mashed potatoes. This made veggie patties that I fried up on my cast iron griddle–an item that hangs conveniently on the wall above my stove. Yes, it’s true that if I’d had a couple eggs to stir in they would have been lighter. And also that some wheat sprouts or chopped walnuts would have added interest. But there you have it, my pantry was on the bare side, so I had make do.

If you can picture yourself putting this dish together…here you are at the counter with a nice platter for your arrangement. (In this case an oven proof quiche dish for reheating later on.)

You get the green beans out and give them a nice chop (if you didn’t already French cut them when you froze them last fall as I did). Then grab your olive oil and use your fingers. That way you can tell when your beans are nicely coated. Same routine for the spaghetti squash, your fingers being quite useful for pulling the strands apart as well. Once your lovely green and yellow circles are in place, you can nab the vinegar for a healthy sprinkling. Then some coarse salt and red chile flakes–the secret on the latter being not to over do.

All that’s left to finish this dish is a bowl of dip in the middle and the patties arranged around the edge. For me that day, no yogurt or humus in sight, so it was my home canned plum sauce from the summer that served as the dippity-do-dah. A few more red chile flakes over that for pretty-pretty and the deed was done. Ready for people at the buffet to shovel up some green beans and spaghetti squash, nab a patty and spoon on a little plum sauce.

It was quick to make, too. From start to finish I guess about a half hour including doing the veggie patties. Also yes, it depended on me working right along through the year and putting things like plum sauce up during harvest. Or at least buying things at the store with an eye toward mixing and matching. In addition to the sacred quartet, there’s keeping winter squash on hand. Not only spaghetti but other kinds, and when you bake them always do extra for on down the pike as they’ll keep a good week in the fridge. Same with the green beans or some other kind of green vegetable besides those boring old salad greens. Kale. Broc. Those are my choices this time of year if you don’t have a supply of others put up from your summer garden.

The other part of this equation is frugality. You can see I didn’t make many veggie patties. That’s because there wasn’t much soup left. The key, though, is that I did not throw it out. Why? Because I grew most of the vegetables in the pot and couldn’t bear to see them wasted. More, I thought, was the brew was blenderized, it was perfectly good goop to use for most anything. In this case the patties; another day it might have been the liquid in some homemade focaccia.

That’s the method to the madness around this measure free hippie kitchen. Hope it helps the cause in your kitchen too as the New Year kicks in. Here’s to healthy, wealthy, wise, and rocking & rolling….

If you’ve followed me much, you know that I like getting on a roll. Here’s what my lunch the next day looked like.

Spaghetti squash fluffed up on a plate, dressed with olive oil and fresh lemon juice (once you’ve captured it’s zest). Some gremolata spooned over and Parmesan grated around the edge. So delicious and easy. Healthy. Seasonal. The works. And if you don’t speak gremolata, let me introduce you to minced parsley flavored with garlic and lemon zest.

Cut the stems off your bunch of Italian parsley (nice with its flat leaves but use the curly stuff if that’s all you have) just above the tie thing. Then get your sharp chef’s knife and mince away until you have no visible stems or leaves left–until the parsley brew is fine indeed. Then mince equally fine, a clove or two of garlic. (If you have a deep mortar and pestle you can pound the garlic instead of mincing, but whatever–all roads lead to Rome.) Then take a microplane and zest a lemon or two.

Mix the works into a nice blend, and you just made gremolata–something that goes as easily on fish as it does on spaghetti squash.

As far as crust goes, it’s my usual whole wheat pastry-organic butter version at a ratio of one part flour to a half part butter. For this crust I used a cup of flour to a stick of butter plus a couple good pinches of salt. Here’s more on the technique if you need it.

The best thing about this chocolate offering is that those of us who don’t like dancing up close and personal with refined or artificial sugars, get to pass on all that and still have our chocolate.

So here’s my Valentine to you…

And last, you get out the roasted red peppers and olives for Cross My Heart and Hope to Love Polenta Waffles.

Part 1, Cashew-Cilantro Pesto

Part 2, Bob’s Polenta Waffles

Part 3, Building Cross My Heart and Hope to Love Polenta Waffles

Spice plus sweet. An equation the Thais understand, and one the rest of us are cluing into as well. Neighbor Patrick Earnest is in the savvy camp. “Who’d a thunk? Red pepper flakes on cookies???” He dashed off in an email “Wow…Delish!”

On Whole Wheat Flour in Goodies—

Whole wheat flour, flax meal, and wheat germ in cookies? Hey, there’s nothing like a little nutrition with your sweets. It will help you—as the Rolling Stones belted out in Ruby Tuesday—“catch your dreams before they slip away.”

Wheat, of course, is only one of the grains we can draw on. If you can’t deal with gluten try whizzing up any number of grains like barley, rye, buckwheat, millet, quinoa, or even the much maligned brown rice in your grinder—whether it be a first rate grain grinder or simply the little one you grind your coffee beans in. All’s fair game for creative cooks.

Plus you’ll discover how amazingly flavorful freshly ground grains are. Simply no contest between those and the stuff that sits around in bags and bins for months. Really and truly.

Afterthought on Sour Power—

I served these cookies with Bosc pears and lime wedges which got me to thinking that the next time I’ll try some fresh lime juice in the dough—like instead of the buttermilk, use half lime juice and half sweet milk. Or even experiment with a vegan approach, letting oil stand in for butter, and using half lime juice and half water—or all lime juice.

For those who really think crepes are beyond them, read on or better yet cruise over to the Hillsdale Farmers Market this Sunday at noon. I’ll be in action, and you can have a taste. If you can’t make the market and want a rolled ups class, I’m doing one in June at Whole Foods Market in The Pearl as part of their “You Don’t Have to be Gourmet to Eat Well” series. (Date TBA on the Where’s Jean page.)

In the meantime here you go, straight from Beyond Measure:

On Learning Curves

If rolled-ups sound daunting to you, all you have to remember is to make them the next time grandpa’s around. Then just whisper to him that no matter how they turn out, he’s supposed to ooh and ahhh. That’s what they do in Hopiland. Cooks learning to make piki bread, something much more difficult than rolled-ups, always present their first efforts to grandpa. That’s the patriarch’s cue to tell the fledgling cook how delicious her creation is and eat the offering with great delight, even if it’s thick and the ladies are teasing her about how it looks a map.

On the Griddle

There’s nothing like a cast iron griddle. Not only does it carry heat that cooks evenly and browns beautifully, all there is to cleaning is a quick wipe with a cloth. Between my griddle and cast iron wok, each of which have staked out rather permanent claims on the stove top, there is little washing of pots and pans going on in my kitchen.

When Susan Coleman asked about my New Year’s food tradition I had no answer. No tamales like a proper Mexican madre. No black eyed peas like a good Southerner. Then I opened a Christmas card from my Norwegian relatives and spotted the word fiskekakker (fish cakes).

“Why not start a tradition with my grandmother’s fiskekakker,” I thought.

So I did. You can see what pink sweeties fiskekakker are. No egg or bread crumbs as filler–just a pudding of ground salmon and milk seasoned with salt and nutmeg, otherwise known as:

Paul and Susan came toting a salad that was made to match the salmon: baby spinach, feta, walnuts, and apple. Laura and Bill cruised over with a bottle of Pinot Noir. And Kristin came bearing these ruffled pink roses. Aren’t they charmers? So beautiful I’ve brought them into the office here to sit among my food books as I write this post and work on a syllabus for a food history course I’ll be teaching this summer.

But, I digress. Dinner was great. Simple and seasonal. Fresh and local. Affordable and healthy. All that and everyone looked so very lovely in the candlelight.  ~~Godt Nytt År, that’s Norske for Happy New Year~~