Gosh. How is it that this will be the last post of December? The last post of the year? And what better way to celebrate than to raise a glass to the amazing gals at The Kitchn for hosting me as a guest writer today. I’ve been a big fan of the site for some time, but even cooler is the fact that some of my favorite bloggers like her and her and him were featured as guest writers this holiday and I’m honored to be in their company. So head on over to check out the post there. And I thought I’d re-post it for you here. Cheers to a full, dynamic, and inspiring 2010 with many new recipes, friends, stories, and travels. And in other A Sweet Spoonful news, the site redesign is almost done and should be up soon, soon, soon. I’m so excited to share it with you. Happy, happy New Year! See you in 2010.
Well folks, it’s over. The hustle is no longer hustling and the stockings are waiting to be packed up for the next go ‘around. An ungodly amount of See’s Candy has been consumed, and we’re slowly making our way through leftovers and the last dregs of eggnog. Now if you’re anything like me (read: efficient first child), you’ve broken down boxes, recycled wrapping paper, and put your new gifts away. Heck, maybe you’ve even got your thank you notes ready to roll.
Yes, it’s true: I’ve put Christmas behind me and I’m looking ahead to the next big thing. So I’ve started to think about the New Year with mixed emotions of excitement and hesitation. During the weeks following New Years Day, people are resolution-happy, vowing to finally lose those pesky five pounds and get organized. It becomes very hard to park at the gym, and families race to the mall to return gifts that weren’t quite right. The bustle starts up again. However, with it comes a few good things, too. It’s a symbolic fresh start, a do-over, a ‘if this year didn’t go quite as planned, you’ve got another shot.’ While I’m not one for resolutions, I am one for taking stock, being thankful for what I have, and thinking about where I’d like to see myself in the coming year ahead.
When I was in college, I worked at a sweet little paper store in Boulder, CO and the owner would always ride her bike up Left Hand Canyon and just sit with herself on New Years Day. At the time, I found it equally puzzling and intriguing. A part of me thought it was a good idea to force yourself into some quiet time and another part of me felt the antsiness ensue. While you won’t find me climbing any steep grades this year, I am making a list of things I’m thankful for that happened this year, and goals or wishes I have for the year ahead. So far it looks a little something like this: get to really know my new San Francisco neighborhood by foot; get in touch with Sara and Alice, my two childhood friends; learn to poach a perfect egg; plan a big trip that involves lots of eating, flip-flops and very little luggage; try and figure out what I want to be when I grow up; not stress about the fact that I’m 30 and have no idea about the aforementioned; start rock climbing at the gym in the Marina; learn more about vintage cocktails. What’s on your list this year? Resolutions or wishes?
While you ponder that, I want to leave you with a simple New Years Day recipe for black-eyed peas. There are a number of foods that are traditionally thought to bring luck and good fortune and are, thus, eaten at the start of a new year. Black-eyed peas are really more of a Southern tradition; friends I have that hail from the South wouldn’t dream of having a New Years Day without them—with a little okra and pink rice on the side, of course.
Someone once told me that black-eyed peas symbolize good fortune because they grow and swell when you cook them. Who couldn’t use a little good fortune and luck this year? So here’s hoping the start of your New Year is more humble than harried, and that luck and good fortune find their way over to your place.
This recipe is originally from famed Southern cook, Eula Mae Dore’s cookbook, Eula Mae’s Cajun Kitchen. Saveur republished it on their website. One quick note: although the recipe dictates a cooking time of two hours, my peas cooked in a little over an hour and were delicious.
Combine the peas, onion, garlic, water, salt, black pepper, Tabasco, and sausage in a large, heavy pot or Dutch oven. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer until the peas are tender and creamy, 45 minutes for fresh peas and about 2 hours for dried peas.
Stir in the parsley and green onions and cook for about 2 minutes longer. Serve either over hot cooked rice or mixed together with it.
On Monday our little family of three is headed to the airport at 6 am to board our first with-baby cross-country trip. We'll be visiting Sam's family in New Jersey for a few days, then renting a car and driving over to meet up with my family at my mom's lake house in the Adirondacks. Sam's younger sister and her kids have yet to meet Oliver; my grandpa has yet to meet him, and Oliver has yet to take a dunk in a lake, see a firefly, or spend quality time with energetic dogs -- of which there will be three. A lot of firsts. This week my family has been madly texting, volunteering to make certain meals or sweets on assigned days while we're at the cabin and it got me thinking about really simple, effortless summer desserts -- in particular, ones that you can make while staying in a house with an unfamiliar kitchen and unfamiliar equipment and still do a pretty bang-up job. I think fruit crisp is just that thing.
In a few short weeks, we're headed to New York, Vermont and New Jersey to visit family and see my sister Zoe get married. In starting to think through the trip and do a little planning, I found Oliver the cutest tiny-person dress shoes I've ever seen (and he's quite smitten with them), sussed out childcare options for the night of the wedding, and found what feels like the most expensive (and last) rental car in the state of New Jersey. I try very hard not to be one of Those People that begins lamenting the loss of a season before it's remotely appropriate to do so, but this year, as we'll be gone much of September, I've felt a bit of a 'hurry, make all the summery things!' feeling set in. So we've been managing increasingly busy days punctuated with zucchini noodle salads, gazpacho, corn on the cob and homemade popsicles (preferably eaten shirtless outside followed by a good, solid sprinkler run for one small person in particular. Not naming any names).
Somehow, in what seems to have been a blink of an eye, we have a six month old baby. In some ways I can't remember a time we didn't have an Oliver, and in other ways it's all a blur broken up by a few holidays (a Thanksgiving thanks to grocery store takeout, and our very first Christmas in Seattle), a few family visits, a one-day road trip to Portland, a birthday dinner out, a birthday cake, weekend drives to nowhere in particular, swimming at the pool with Oliver, weekly get-togethers with our parent's group, doctor's visits, hundreds of walks around the neighborhood, hundreds of cups of coffee, dozens (or more?) of scoops of ice cream. Most of the worrying about keeping a baby alive has made way for other concerns, and Oliver's need for constant stimulation or soothing walks and car rides has been traded for stretches of time playing with a new toy or checking out his surroundings. In truth, it's thanks to that tiny bit of baby independence that this humble, summery cake came to be in the first place. So we've all got an Oliver to thank for that. Or, really, we have a Yossi Arefi to thank, as it's from her beautiful new cookbook that I've bookmarked heavily and am eager to continue exploring.
A triple berry summer crisp made with oats, quinoa flakes and hazelnuts. Summer in a skillet.
I had a weak moment on our honeymoon in Italy when I decided that I should be making gelato for a living. My enthusiasm for Italian gelato wasn't surprising to anyone. I'd done extensive research, made lists, had Sam map out cities in terms of where the best gelaterias were. I took notes and photos and hemmed and hawed over flavor choices: Sicilian Pistachio! Chestnut Honey! Sweet Cheese, Almond and Fig! In truth, on that particular trip, I cared far more about treats, sunshine, and cobblestone walks than I cared about famous landmarks or tourist attractions, often leaving the camera back at the hotel in favor of my small black notebook which housed detailed jottings on dessert discoveries in each city we visited. Our friends Matteo and Jessica happened to be in Naples on the one night we were there, and we all went out for pizza together followed by a long stroll around the city. At some point the conversation turned to gelato (as it's bound to) and Matteo brought up the famous school in Bologna where many renowned gelato artisans study. My wheels were spinning. Maybe we should visit Bologna. I should see this school! I should talk to these students! I could make Sicilian Pistachio; Chestnut Honey; and Sweet Cheese, Almond and Fig each and every day of our lives. Or at the very least, travel to Bologna to learn how and then come back to Seattle to take our Northwest city by storm. Well here we are six months later, back to reality, and the impetus to pack up my bags and head for Bologna has subsided for the time being ... but not the unwavering gusto to sample. That part will always be with me. It's been awhile since I mixed up a batch of ice cream at home, but the other day a beautiful new cookbook landed on my doorstep and I flipped right to a recipe for dark chocolate sorbet with toasty, salty almonds. I didn't need much convincing.