SOME FRIENDS FOR YOUR TURKEY

I'm not going to enter the to-brine or not-to-brine debate. I have no opinions about spatchcocking (though it's fun to say the word out loud ten times in row). I've basted with hefeweizen, IPA, sake, Chardonnay, Lillet Blanc, chicken stock, vegetable stock, and butter. They all work beautifully. And just for the record, deep-frying one of those motherfuckers looks pretty awesome but I wouldn't attempt it with a Dash-like creature anywhere near my house.

Lucky for you, everyone else out there this week is telling you how to cook turkeys. I'm way more comfortable discussing side dishes. Here are some thoughts about the vegetables we've been cooking and really enjoying. Yes. Even the kids. Well. Sort of. Amazing what bribing for those final pieces of Halloween candy will do.

If you're new to cooking fall vegetables, here's all you need to know: it's almost impossible to mess them up. Delicate spring and summer vegetables, like green beans and asparagus, can go from crispy perfect to airplane food in a matter of minutes. Not so with squash, eggplants, turnips, Brussels sprouts, and potatoes, which benefit from all kinds of time in the oven. You can even forget about them for a half an hour and nothing bad will happen. No need for a kitchen timer. Just keep peeking, poking, and tasting every 20 minutes or so.

Remove them from the oven when desired gooeyness (eggplant) or tenderness (squash) or caramelization (Brussels sprouts) or crispiness (potatoes) is reached. Garnish with chopped fresh herbs. Maybe some crème fraîche. Serve as a side dish.

Or savor throughout the week sliced on pizza, tossed with pasta, stirred into risotto, or smeared on toasted baguette with a sprinkle of salt and a splash of olive oil. And at the end of the week, gather up all of the remaining scraps and eat them warmed and scattered over a bowl of buttery polenta. That's what we did. And now we're so sick of vegetables that we're heading back into another run of breakfast food. Blintzes, to be precise.

Here are some specifics and variations.

ROASTED EGGPLANT WITH GARLIC AND ANCHOVIES
The most important thing to know about eggplant is that it's nasty when it's undercooked.

Preheat oven to 375°F.

When your children aren't looking, make a paste out of six anchovy fillets and six cloves of garlic with a mortar and pestle.

Coat the bottom of a baking dish with a slick of olive oil.

Remove stems and cut eggplants lengthwise into eighths or so (if they're small, just cut them in half).

Score inner flesh with paring knife and place skin-side down in pan.

Use your hands to smear eggplant with the anchovy/garlic paste, tucking it deep down into the scored flesh.

Add salt (not too much, anchovies are already very salty) and pepper.

Scatter some unpeeled garlic cloves around the pan.

Add some more olive oil and maybe some sprigs of fresh thyme.

Place in preheated oven.

Keep an eye on it, be patient, it can take almost an hour and a half to cook. I know. Crazy. Trust me.

Cover with tin foil if it starts to get too brown.

It's done when it's sweet, soft, and gooey, without a trace of sponginess left.

Serve right away or reheat later.

Garnish with chopped mint and parsley.

BALSAMIC-GLAZED DELICATA SQUASH

The most exciting thing about delicata and kabocha squash is that you can eat the peel.

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Remove the stems, cut the squash in half, scrape out the seeds and pulp.

Place halves skin-side down in a baking dish and sprinkle insides with salt and pepper.

Coat with generous amounts of olive oil and thick or reduced balsamic vinegar. Do not use thin balsamic because it will soak into the squash, creating a mealy texture and an ugly color.

Toss in some fresh sage and a handful of unpeeled garlic cloves.

Bake in preheated oven until squash is tender and scoopable. Serve right away or reheat later. 

LEMONY ROASTED BRUSSELS SPROUTS, TURNIPS, AND POTATOES WITH HORSERADISH CREME FRAICHE 

Preheat your oven to 425 °F.

Use a large sheet pan or baking dish so that everything has room to get nice and crispy.

Here's what I threw onto my sheet pan: unpeeled garlic cloves, sage, rosemary, thyme, halved Brussels sprouts (funky outer leaves removed), quartered Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and quartered turnips, thinly sliced leeks, and quartered lemons. Make sure potatoes and turnips are cut to about the same size.

Be really generous with the salt, pepper, and olive oil; use your hands to make sure everything is well coated.

Keep checking and tossing the vegetables about so that they cook evenly.

Bake until the leeks caramelize and the vegetables are just cooked through and golden brown.

It's even okay to let things burn a bit. 

Serve with Horseradish Crème Fraîche (freshly grated horseradish and chopped parsley mixed into crème fraîche). 

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

I usually eat coffee for breakfast. But it's impossible for me to resist a hot Dutch baby pancake, whether it's dripping in brown butter, showered with powdered sugar and lemon, scattered with pockets of caramelized jam, or filled with lemon zest and blackberries.

We made Dutch baby pancakes every single day last week. By day seven, I started to unravel.

I woke up, pulled on my favorite black skinny jeans, and couldn't button them up. At all.

Then, I found myself kneeling down in front of the oven yelling at the Dutch baby du jour (caramel praline) to "Rise, you motherfucker. Rise." And when it deflated and collapsed in on itself, I grabbed my iPhone and Googled "ovulation and Dutch babies." I didn't find a single example of ovulatory hormones impacting a Dutch baby pancake's ability to rise. But I did learn a lot about fertility in the Netherlands.

I took the sad Dutch baby out of the oven, sat down on the floor, and started daydreaming about slow-cooked pork with fennel and honey. And vegetables. Lots of leafy green vegetables.

My son ran into the kitchen, saw the Dutch baby, and yelled out, "What the heck is wrong with it? It's flat! Mama? What. Did. You. Do."

"Dash. I don't know. They are so unpredictable. I think I should have added the praline at the end."

He crawled into my lap and started palpating my neck and chin, counting every ridge, pore, discoloration, tracing the wrinkles around my eyes. "One two three four five six seven wow mama eight nine ten too many to count."

I swatted his hands away.

"But look at that amazing line between your eyebrows. I want lines on my face. When will I get them?"

"Dash, they will come when you're older. I promise."

"Like 20?"

"No. My age. 42. These special ones come from worry."

I brought his forehead to mine and we began a Sunday morning chat about what a stressful week it had been. From the hurricane to the the upcoming election to the civil war in Syria to the crazy neighbor who won't put her ferocious dog on a leash. And most of all how much we wanted to gather up our friends in New York City and feed them Dutch baby pancakes.

"Mama, get your notebook. Let's write down what we learned this week."

"Dash, you're a good little recipe tester."

"I'm not little."

Feel free to skip the details and jump straight to the recipe. But for those of you interested in geeking out on the recipe-testing details, here's what we made, learned, and ate last week:

1. On Monday, we improvised. Some flour, some eggs, pinch of salt, whole milk, and vanilla extract all went into the food processor and then into a very hot cast iron pan filled with melted butter. It was a bit cakey and cracked. And the bottom was too firm. We still ate the whole thing.

2. Tuesday. We used less flour and added 1/4 cup crème fraîche. I got the pan hotter and threw in a bit more butter. I brought the oven temp down to 425°F. Success. It was lighter. And the crème fraîche gave it a wonderful sour flavor.

3. Wednesday. Same batter. Same temperature. We added a teaspoon of lemon zest. We found blackberries in the freezer and bashed the hell out of them with the meat cleaver until we had frozen berry powder. This pancake tasted like August.

4.We scattered Thursday's with chocolate chips. The day after Halloween. For breakfast. Bad mama.

5. On Friday, I dragged spoonfuls of raspberry and apricot jam through the batter. The pancake was filled with hot pockets of fruit.

6. On Saturday, I went on an unnecessary savory Dutch baby detour. As my daughter pointed out, "It's a pancake, mama. Why would you ruin it with cheese? That just sucks." But I'm a stubborn mama and it was just two days after Halloween and I thought that my kids could use a day off from all the sugar.

If there's any interference, a Dutch baby pancake cannot slide up the sides of the pan and float into that marvelous mogul-like terrain. Big chunks of bacon and coarsely grated gruyère cheese turned my experiment into what my son called a "stupid frittata." But I accessorized it with avocado slices and crème fraîche and Sriracha and pretended it was never supposed to be a Dutch baby in the first place.

7. On Sunday, we swirled caramel sauce and praline through the batter. It started to rise and then stopped and caved in on itself. It was tasty but too dense. So we tried again. For the second one, we added the praline towards the end of the cooking time. It puffed. It climbed. It had pockets of caramel and a crispy praline top. Ooey gooey comfort.

DUTCH BABY PANCAKE

printable recipe
serves 3, if you're lucky.

Here's the template. As I've reported, it's not perfect. But it usually works!

Some people say you'll get greater height with room temperature ingredients or leaving the batter out for a few hours or overnight. Others say to try bread flour. Let me know your tricks. My most successful Dutch babies were made from batter that I had just made.

Warning: don't add anything heavy until almost the end of the cooking time (praline, cheese, bacon, chocolate chips).

However, you can swirl jam or caramel sauce or pulverized berries through the raw batter right before cooking.

ingredients:
4 eggs
1 cup whole milk
1/4 cup crème fraîche (or sour cream)
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
pinch salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons salted butter
powdered sugar
lemon
maple syrup

directions:
Throw your 8 or 9 inch cast iron pan (or ovenproof dish) into the oven. Preheat oven to 425°F. You want your pan to be very hot.

In a food processor or a blender, blend the heck out of the eggs, milk, crème fraîche, flour, salt, and vanilla (30 seconds or so). If you mix it by hand, add the flour in a few batches and mix really well.

Add butter to the hot pan in the oven. Careful. The butter will brown very fast.When just melted, remove pan from the oven, quickly pour in the batter, and put the pan back in the oven. Resist the urge to open the oven. After a few minutes (fingers crossed) the pancake will start to climb up the sides of the pan and puff up in the middle. It's done when the edges are starting to turn brown and the batter is just set in the middle. About two minutes before it's done, you can sprinkle it with powdered sugar, praline, or chocolate chips and they will melt into the surface.

Serve with powdered sugar and lemon. Or warm maple syrup. Or both.

NEGOTIATING

Dash. I'm trying to write. Please stop climbing up my back.

Mama, the whole day was mean to me. And now you're being mean to me too. I just want to run away.

From home?

Yes. Mama. I want to leave this house for a little while.

What if we pack a bag and you run away to my bedroom and close the door. No one will bother you in there. I'll even wrap up a slice of the apple galette you helped me make yesterday.

That doesn't count as running away.

Dashi, there's no right way to run away.

Here's the deal. I won't run away if you let me sit in your lap while you write.

Okay. Deal.

He drapes his hands on top of mine and we write a few typo-heavy sentences about my love of anchovies.

Mama, I wish anchovies had never been invented.

We color correct a photo of fig brown sugar ice cream. We read a Mary Oliver poem about swimming inward and flowing outward and praying. We listen to his favorite New Direction song about how you don't know you're beautiful that's what makes you beautiful. We check out Facebook and get lost in music videos and puppy photos and family portraits and all the different ways to make fun of Mitt Romney.

Mama, are you getting money for doing all of this stuff that you're doing.

What stuff?

You know. For the writing. And for the standing on the table and taking photos of the tarts with your glass of wine right before dinner.

A little bit.

Like a dollar?

A little bit more.

Like two dollars?

Something like that.

Well, good. That's why I wanted to make the galette look so beautiful for you yesterday.

Hey, let's see what kinds of photos we got of the galette. You can help me edit them.

No thanks, mama. I'm done here. You can do your work now. Where's the iPad? I want to play Temple Run.

This is a free-form galette. You can use any kind of apples. Any amount of sugar. I peeled the apples but you don't have to. You can get all fancy and use a mandoline or just use a knife to slice the apples as thinly as possible and hope for the best. If the galette isn't brown enough, throw it under the broiler. If it isn't shiny enough, glaze it with some warm apricot jam. And if it still looks like crap, cover it in powdered sugar or ice cream or streaks of créme fraîche. You have options. And anyone who tells you there's only one way to make a galette should come talk to Dash and me. We'll kick their butt.

BROWN BUTTER APPLE GALETTE

printable recipe

This is a free-form galette with approximate amounts. Only important detail is to make sure the apples are thinly sliced.

ingredients:

1 sheet of puff pastry or 1 recipe for tart dough

1/2 stick salted butter

juice/zest from 1/2 lemon
1/2 stick vanilla bean

4-6 apples (I used Golden Delicious)

2-4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons apricot jam

directions:

Take dough out of freezer and let sit until soft enough to roll out. Roll out dough in any shape you like, place it on a sheet pan, and refrigerate until apples are ready.

Melt the butter. Let it bubble and quiet down and just start to lightly brown. Take off the heat. Cool for a few minutes. Add lemon juice/zest. Halve and scrape in vanilla bean. Mix well. 

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Cut a litle cap off of the north pole of each apple. Do the same with the south pole (makes it easier to peel). Peel. Cut in half from north pole down through the south pole. With a paring knife, cut out the triangular core from each half. Slice each half (knife running running parallel to north/south pole line) into super thin slices. As you finish each half, slide the slices into the brown butter/lemon mixture and coat all over.

Taste the apples to see if they're tart. This will determine how much sugar you want to use. Spread the apple slices out over the dough. Any which way. Or in an intricate pattern. Leave a bit of the dough edges uncovered. Sprinkle apples with sugar. If you're serving the galette by itself, use more sugar. If you're serving it with sweet ice cream, use less sugar. 

Bake until crust is crispy along the edges but still somewhat pliable in the middle and the apples are softened and nicely browned (about 45 minutes). Broil the top if it's not brown enough. A nice touch is to paint the top of the cooled tart (apples only) with warm apricot jam (just leave behind apricot chunks). The tart is great by itself or served with créme fraîche or ice cream. And it's super tasty for breakfast.

HANGING ON

I hold a mug of coffee to my chest, warming my hands and sternum, and try to ignore the ache that's sloshing around inside my torso. It's so quiet in my kitchen that I can hear my heart racing in my ears.  I start to talk to myself like a crazy person wondering what is wrong with me and why can't I ease through these parenting transitions without crying I mean come on Phyllis it's just kindergarten not the motherfucking army.

Late-summer dry-farmed Early Girl tomatoes are deprived of water.

"Mamaaaaaaa. Oh mamaaaaaaaa. Ahhhhhh." I jump at the sound of my son's voice and run down the hall, splashing coffee the whole way, wondering what could possibly be worth wailing about with such intensity at seven in the morning. I find him in my bed, tears streaking down pink cheeks, body occupying the warm indented spot I left five minutes before. I lean in to massage his earlobes and kiss the salty water away. Kerpow!!!! He has me in a neck lock.

 They flail around, eventually sending their roots deep down in a desperate search for moisture. 

"Mama, all I want to do is stay in bed with you all day."

These thirsty runty hybrids are steeped in color, flavor, and magic.

That's what I want to do too. To stop time. To sink into the bed forever. But I must be a good mama and help him rally for his first full week of kindergarten.

Roll out your dough, press it into a tart pan.

"Dashi, we have to get up and do wild things. We need to make tarts. We need to make new friends. We need to learn how to read."

Whip the heck out of some labne kefir yoghurt cheese, an egg, some salt, maybe some lemon zest. Spread the creamy mixture over the bottom of the tart shell. 

He full-on leg locks me.

Remove the tomato stems and an inch of each core. Keep them whole. 

"Dash. We have to get out of bed and eat chocolate croissants!"

Press the tomatoes down into the bed of cheese.

Bingo. His whole body softens and I am free.

Hide an anchovy in each cavity.

My little torpedo is in the kitchen within three seconds, squeezing the warm chocolate out of the pastry, chugging milk, hitting his sister across the table with a cardboard sword.

Fill them to the rim with olive oil and gooey balsamic.

I text my husband and tell him to drive carefully. I make school lunches. I tie some new big-boy sneakers. And I admit to my daughter that no amount of caffeine will help me master the Celtic-pretzel hair knot and she's just going to have to settle for a side ponytail.

Bake until the tomatoes shrivel and deflate and the cheese is golden brown.

My lip-glossed and color-coordinated daughter looks me up and down and launches into her daily critique. "Mama, those are your cooking clogs. You're not wearing them out of the house, are you? And look. There's a spot on your pants. That's what you get for wearing the same pants two days in a row. And you really need to brush your hair."

Eat the tart while it's still warm. 

"Come on, Dash. Come on Bella. Let's go conquer the world!"

You might find that the cooked tomatoes taste like someone's Italian grandmother scooped out the innards, made a 24-hour sauce, and poured the reduction back into the neon skins.

My battle cry moves them out the front door. 

You might find that it's comforting to make and eat this tart. 

I grab their hands and march out to the car. And I don't cry until they're safely tucked into their classrooms. 

EARLY GIRL TOMATO AND CHEESE TART

printable recipe

serves4

Anchovies are, of course, optional. But they really do disintegrate into the tomatoes so people will only notice a lovely saltiness. Don't replace labne kefir yoghurt cheese with regular yoghurt or Greek yoghurt (too moist). Goat cheese is a better substitution. You could use Roma tomatoes but they're not nearly as powerful in flavor. Or you could use cherry tomatoes and deconstruct the tart a bit by spreading the anchovies around on top. Don't use beefsteak or large juicy heirloom tomatoes because you will end up with a juicy mucky soggy tart.

ingredients:

1 recipe basic tart dough

3/4 cup labne kefir yoghurt cheese

1 egg

2 teaspoons lemon zest

1/3 cup heavy cream or half and half
pinch kosher salt

12 dry-farmed Early Girl tomatoes

kosher salt/pepper

olive oil
12 anchovies (packed in oil)

balsamic vinegar (the thicker the better)

1/3 cup chopped parsley

directions:

Roll out tart dough and press into tart pan. Refrigerate until needed.

Preheat oven to 350° F.

Beat the cheese, egg, lemon zest, heavy cream, and salt until smooth. Spread evenly over the bottom of the tart shell.

With a paring knife, remove stems and about an inch of the core from the tomatoes. You want to make room for an anchovy and some liquid. Press whole tomatoes into cheese mixture (hole up). Sprinkle salt and pepper into each tomato. Tuck an anchovy into each cavity. Fill remaining space with a splash of olive oil and a splash of balsamic vinegar.

Bake until tomatoes have shriveled and the cheese mixture is nice and brown. About 45 minutes. Allow to cool for 20 minutes. Sprinkle with chopped parsley. Eat.

VACATING

Mama why is everything about Bella I can't carry this it's too heavy I wish Dash had never been born mama you are ruining my life you are the worst person ever why can't we have cotton candy you always say no why won't you get in the water you're no fun.

Times 100. For three days straight. I'm done yelling. It's time to bust out my ninth grade acting skills.

I throw down the boogie boards and leave my kids behind on the Santa Monica Beach Boardwalk. As I march away with an exaggerated sense of purpose and a smothered giggle, I can feel their astonishment in the back of my neck. I count to ten in my head and then throw my arms up in the air and yell out with pretty impressive fake tears I can't stand it anymore and I'm going home. I hit the top of the stairs, round the corner, and peek back down the path and there they are gesticulating, conferring, panicking. Then I see Bella comforting Dash by putting her hands on his shoulders, followed by a hardcore finger-wagging warning like whatever you do Dash don't cross the bike path and wait for me here and I'll see what I can do about mama. He nods and sits down on a boogie board. As she runs up the stairs to find me, she glows with a maturity that's way beyond her nine years. She's tears-in-her-eyes sorry. We hug. And our beach day begins.

Very quickly, Dash is tap dancing, arabesquing, conducting, funky chickening, and José Limóning down the beach, all the while chasing birds and smashing sand castles. Bella is way too far out, diving underneath the waves, staying out of sight a bit longer with each entry. Over and over again I inhale sharply, firming the muscles in my body to gather the strength required to jump up and run into the water and swim out in three seconds flat to save her life. And then she pops back up and I get to exhale. I start to wonder how much more my heart can take of this whole parenting thing.

Dash gets braver and takes his dance into the waves and under the water he goes and I am shit crap fuck Dash where are you running to find him and pull him up and out but he's not yet as resilient as Bella so he needs to recover from the washing machine of the Pacific Ocean. I burrito-wrap him in his towel and plunk him down on his butt between my extended legs, my knees pressing in to contain him as he presses out and the rhythm continues in out in out in out like I'm working a Suzanne Somers' thigh master because even at rest my son vibrates with movement. I give Dash the job of never ever taking his eyes off of Bella. You, Dash, are in charge of keeping her alive. He likes this job. And I'm psyched that I only need to track one child. And since I have the rare connection of my mouth to Dash's ear I decide to address a few pressing issues.

Dash, I want us all to stop yelling. And to stop hitting each other.

Yeah, mama, we need to find some love.

 And we need to stop being so naughty.

You mean like last night when I poked holes in the air mattress and when I put the glue all over the wall and at the restaurant last night when I ran away from the dinner table and locked myself into the bathroom like that like that mama?

Suddenly, all I want to discuss is food.

Oh, Dash, how I loved that dinner last night. Let's talk about the pasta sauce. How do you think you spell it?

Allamoonalabasomething. All I know is it starts with an a.

 

He helps me write the letters in the sand.

A L L ' A M A T R I C I A N A

It's Italian. I wonder what's in that tasty tasty tasty sauce?

I don't know, mama. Look it up on your iPhone.

No. Let's guess and then make up our own. I say tomatoes, anchovies, garlic, and some yummy fatty pig.

Mama, all I can say is I just loved slurping up that thick pasta.

And I loved watching him across the table as he maneuvered the drinking straw bucatini, sucking it in with such gusto that his lips got slammed and stained with sauce. 

I miss our kitchen, Dashi. I want to make that sauce right now.

He looks way way past Bella and out to the boats.

Mama, are pirates real? With the boat and the bird and guns and stuff?

They are real. But they don't always have birds.

Mama, do birds have eyeballs on the backs of their heads?

Before I can answer, he's tearing off down the beach to find out.

At first it's cute to watch him run. Then I realize that he's not going to stop and I need to go get him. No I don't need to get him, he'll be fine. He's just a speck now. Yes, I do need to get him. No, I don't. And then I run like a motherfucker down the beach to capture my baby boy before he completely disappears.

SOME THOUGHTS ON ALL'AMATRICIANA SAUCE:
Full disclosure, I did look up all'amatriciana sauce on my iPhone when Dash wasn't looking. I found so many variations but decided to stick with what we had guessed with the addition of red pepper flakes and an onion. I think a few Italians might get mad at me for adding an onion. And my market was out of guanciale so I used pancetta. And it's the height of heirloom tomato excitement around here so I went in that direction. I'm trying to be flexible as a cook and a parent (it's much easier with cooking).

This is a simmer-all-day sauce; it's the kind of home cooking that takes over your apartment, seeping into your sheets and rugs and sofa pillows and summer dresses, lingering for days. But the final sauce is a wonderfully balanced red jam that's sweet, salty, acidic, and packed with disintegrating fatty nuggets of pork. It doesn't require much effort, just don't rush it.

BUCATINI WITH HEIRLOOM TOMATO ALL'AMATRICIANA SAUCE

printable recipe

Makes enough sauce to serve 4. It's intense so you just need enough to lightly coat the pasta. It would also make a great sauce for lasagna. Or you can freeze it to enjoy in the middle of the winter.

ingredients:

4 cloves garlic

4 anchovy fillets packed in oil

1 tablespoon tomato paste

a pinch of red pepper flakes (or more if you like)

1 tablespoon olive oil

6 pieces thinly sliced guanciale (pancetta or bacon), chopped or cut with scissors into 2" pieces

1 yellow or white onion, diced

1/3 cup red wine

6 large heirloom tomatoes (stick with colors in the red family for a vibrant red sauce), cored and sliced and then cut into about 1" square pieces

salt and pepper to taste

1 pound dried bucatini (or spaghetti)
handful of salt (for pasta water)
1/3 cup chopped parsley
1/2 cup grated parmesan, pecorino, or piave cheese
olive oil
coarse salt

directions:

Make a paste out of garlic, anchovies, tomato paste, and red pepper flakes with a mortar and pestle or food processor. Set aside.

Cook pork over medium heat until golden and crispy on both sides. Removed with slotted spoon and place on paper towel. Pour out half of rendered fat. Place back on medium heat. Add onion and cook until softened (about 5 minutes). Add  cooked pork and garlic/anchovy puree and cook for about a minute, stirring the whole time.  Don't let it brown. Add wine and cook until it's mostly evaporated. Add tomatoes. When it comes to a boil, turn it down to a simmer. Cook for many hours, stirring about every 30 minutes or so. When it's nice and thick (3-4 hours), taste and adjust seasonings with salt and pepper.

Bring a big pot of water to the boil. Add a handful of kosher salt.  Add pasta. Cook until al dente. Before draining pasta, scoop out a cup or so of pasta water into a pitcher. Drain pasta and place pasta back in pot. Add about a cup of the sauce and a splash of pasta water. Crank heat. Stir for a few seconds until pasta is coated with sauce. You might need to add a bit more sauce or pasta water. Serve immediately with the following toppings at the table: pasta water, chopped parsley,  grated cheese, olive oil, and coarse salt.

SPIRIT

The boy crawls in at his parents' feet, spelunking his way through jumbled legs and sheets until he emerges at their sleepy heads with a huge involuntary inhale. Flip flop sneeze cough and he's on his back tugging at the comforter and complaining that he doesn't have enough pillow room. He closes in on the mother, grasping her face and decorating lips cheeks chin neck with kisses. He rolls over and delivers the same to the father.

"Hey, Dash," says the mother, "I think daddy got more kisses."

And he's back with thirteen more for the mother.

"Mama, can I be in the Winter Olympics?"

"There's no snow in Berkeley. You might want to try for the Summer Olympics."

"What are the sports in Summer Olympics?"

"Weightlifting, running—"

"Mama, I already know how to run."

"Right. You'd totally win that race."

The father continues the list, "Swimming, archery, gymnastics, fencing, cycling, shooting, diving—"

"Wait. Wait. WAIT!" shrieks the boy. "Shooting? Can I learn shooting?"

The mother pretends she has fallen back to sleep.

"When you're older," the father replies. "When you're much older."

The mother has so much to say and says none of it.

The father nudges the boy, "Why don't you ask that woman over there to be a good mama and get out of bed and get us some cobbler for breakfast."

"Believe it or not, we are out of cobbler. And I'll just have to be a bad mama this morning because I'm staying in bed."

"You're not a bad mama," the boy whispers into the mother's ear. "But I have a question. What are you thinking about with your eyes closed?"

"I'm thinking about my coffee," the mother whispers back.

"Mama's thinking about her coffee," the boy relays to the father.

"She's always thinking about her coffee."

The father leans in to the boy and asks, "Should we hug her?"

The mother doesn't resist as the boy and the father execute a slow motion eight-limbed envelopment.

The father murmurs, "Isn't mama delicious?"

And for a fleeting moment the mother is floating on an unfamiliar raft in the middle of a crazy perfect domestic ocean. 

The mother slips out of bed, puts on the kettle, and starts making her fifteenth cobbler of the summer.

A few thoughts on cobblers: 

Before adding any sugar, taste the fruit. In general, peaches and blackberries need very little additional sugar (only a tablespoon or two). Plums and blueberries will need need a bit more. Just try to keep the fruit tasting like it was just picked. Not like it was preserved in sugar.

Small amounts of lemon juice and zest, Grand Marnier, vanilla extract, vanilla bean, or orange flower water can help enhance the fruit flavor without dominating.

It takes a few extra steps, but I'm loving the combination of tart dough topped with streusel (made with Marcona almonds). This is a great way for kids (or grownups) to start playing with dough. Let them roll, cut, press, and tuck the dough in any way they want. Cobblers should look funky and messy.

Because the streusel topping is spread on top of the tart dough, the brown sugar sweetness doesn't dive down into the bubbling fruit. This helps maintain three very distinct layers of texture and flavor: pure fruity bottom, gooey doughy middle, and crunchy nutty sweet top. 

Remember, you can (and should) add a fourth layer of creamy and sweet with vanilla ice cream. Or crème fraîche. Or heavy cream (the best breakfast ever).

SUMMER FRUIT COBBLER WITH MARCONA ALMOND STREUSEL

printable recipe

(Serves 4  for dessert with leftovers for breakfast.)
I've baked this in every possibly tart, cake, pie, and gratin pan. Just don't use a dish with a removable bottom or it will leak.

for tart dough:
1 recipe for basic tart dough (make sure dough is refrigerated for at least 3 hours; you will have leftover scraps for your next cobbler)

for streusel:
4 tablespoons salted butter
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup flour (for streusel)
1/2 cup finely chopped Marcona almonds (or try blanched almonds, pine nuts, walnuts, hazelnuts)

for fruit (totaling about 6 cups when cut up):

5 large peaches and 5 large nectarines (or any combination of pluots, plums, apricots)
1 pint blackberries (or olallieberries)
1 pint blueberries 
2-6 tablespoons sugar (depending on sweetness of fruit and size of your sweet tooth)

juice/zest from 1/2 lemon
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

pinch salt

2 tablespoons flour (for fruit)

for egg wash:

1 egg

2 tablespoons heavy cream

assembly:

Remove tart dough from freezer or fridge and let it soften a bit. Roll out tart dough (about 1/2" thick). With a pizza cutter or knife, cut into 1" strips or any desired shape and place flat on a sheet pan. Refrigerate until fruit is ready.

For the streusel. Melt butter. Take off heat and mix in brown sugar, flour, and nuts. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 350°F.

For the fruit. It's best to peel all stone fruit (though plum skins can add nice tartness and color) by placing it in boiling water for 15 seconds and then shocking it in ice water. Skins will (usually) slide right off with the help of a paring knife. Cut 1" wedges directly into your baking dish. Add berries. Sprinkle with sugar, lemon juice/zest, vanilla, salt, and flour. Stir gently to combine.

For egg wash. Combine egg and cream.

Assembly. Place strips of dough over mixed fruit so that the pieces are overlapping a bit. You want to leave some lovely little pockets for steam and oozing juices to escape. Paint dough all over with egg wash. Spread streusel on the top of the tart dough (no need to cover all the dough).

Bake until golden brown and bubbling (about 45 minutes but check after 30). Poke the tart dough to make sure it's almost firm and crisp on top and still a bit soft on the bottom. Serve immediately with ice cream. Or room temperature with heavy cream.

SUMMER VINYASA

Wake up with the birds and the sun. Check to make sure the dog is still alive.  Clean rat shit off the butcher block. Take tart dough out of the freezer. Make a hella strong cup of coffee. Ninja your way into your son's locked room and find him asleep with a pocket knife, Liquid Paper, and a spy pen. Offer eggs. Offer oatmeal. Offer cinnamon toast. Watch your kids' eyes bug out above the cinnamon toast when you rant about the importance of gun control. Pile into the car. Tell your daughter you're sorry but you just can't explain Pink's lyrics it's just you and your hand tonight. End up at Target. Try to talk your daughter out of the short short denim shorts. Try to talk yourself out of the hot pink bikini. Buy both. Yell at a woman in a black SUV to slow down bitch and pick a fucking lane already. Boil garlic cloves in olive oil. Listen to your daughter do a mama-style door slam when you tell her she can't have a new iPod. Pour hot garlic oil over cherry tomatoes and simmer them with salt, sugar, and lemon thyme. Consider returning the hot pink bikini. Ask your son how much he loves you and shiver when he says mama I love you neverending and forever. Assemble your third cherry tomato, garlic confit, and anchovy tart of the week. Drink a martini and cut your son's hair. Regret being that annoying mom who says you don't like anchovies what is wrong with you? Smile when your daughter offers to do the dishes. Snuggle in bed with your daughter and allow her to pet your head. Sit down at the computer to try to articulate your excitement about this tart and realize you're so tired that all that you can write is I fucking love this tart I fucking love this tart I fucking love this tart. Crawl into bed without brushing your teeth and notice you're still wearing your apron. Hug your dog and mumble who the heck do I think I am attempting to do anything around here except trying to keep all of you creatures alive? Wake up at 3 a.m. drenched in sweat. Check on your kids. Go back to sleep until your screaming son wakes you up at 5 a.m. Lie down forehead to forehead until his nightmare fades and he drifts back to sleep. Flip on the kitchen lights and say good morning motherfuckers to the rats. Watch the sun rise. Eat some cold tomato and anchovy tart. Clean the rat shit off the butcher block. Make a hella strong cup of coffee. Remove the tags and tuck the hot pink bikini into your underwear drawer.

CHERRY TOMATO, GARLIC CONFIT, AND ANCHOVY TART

printable recipe

This tart would be super tasty made with pizza dough or puff pastry.

Make sure to prepare the tart dough a few hours ahead of time. It works better to cool garlic confit and tomato mixture before assembling tart. But if you're in hurry then just throw it all together and it will be fine. And if anchovies gross you out, skip them. Corn is a wonderful addition. Or  spread under the tomatoes a layer of goat cheese mixed with 1 egg, salt, and heavy cream. Play. Maybe some pancetta? Prosciutto? Or an egg or two cracked on the tart? I'm hungry.

ingredients:

1 1/2 times this recipe for tart dough, refrigerated for a few hours (or just make double and saves scraps for mini-tarts)

1  head of garlic confit, cooled

2 pints cherry tomatoes (any kind, color, or size)

2 tablespoons garlic confit oil

4 sprigs lemon thyme (or regular thyme)

big pinch kosher salt

big pinch white sugar

2 tablespoons Dijon mustard (I love Grey Poupon)

at least 10 anchovy fillets (packed in oil)

parmesan or pecorino cheese

directions: 

Roll tart dough into desired shape. You can press it into a large tart pan or leave it free form on a sheet pan. Refrigerate until needed. Put garlic oil in medium-sized pot on medium heat. Add tomatoes, thyme, salt, and sugar. Cook and stir until tomatoes soften just a bit (about 3 minutes). A few tomatoes will probably explode. Take off heat and cool to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Spread mustard over cold tart dough leaving about 1/2" at the edges. Strain tomato mixture and save remaining broth for soup (very important or tart will be soggy). Spread cooked tomatoes all over tart dough. Drape anchovies over the tomatoes. Squeeze garlic confit cloves out of skins and onto the tart (I like placing a clove next to each anchovy fillet). If you want, place a few more cloves in the center of the tart along with the thyme sprigs. Grate cheese all over. Paint exposed tart dough edges with garlic oil.

Bake until nice and brown and beautiful. It should take between 30 and 40 minutes. A good test is to pick up the corner of the tart and see if it's floppy or firm. Take it out when it doesn't bow at all. Or, if you like it a bit gooey, take it out when it's not quite firm.

Eat right away. Maybe with arugula and avocado bowls and anchovy salad dressing.