Lamb Shanks Worthy of a Holiday Celebration

Apologies to those who are put off by the sight of cooked bones. I should have made three lamb shanks last night, but we really are on a budget, so, though I'm certain JR would have been thrilled with an extra shank, I have only picked over bones with which to illustrate today's post.

The Sunday meal is a big event in our house each week, particularly during the winter. It is the big fancy meal of the week and requires the most effort. Even in the summer, it's the day that we splurge and buy steaks - well, last summer anyway. We'll see what happens to those steaks during summer '09. Cue the violin player. I'm sure we'll find a way to afford steak during the summer even in this god forsaken recession.
Once the days grow shorter and the weather pushes us indoors earlier, JR and I both crave slow cooked meals. In the past, that could mean anything from Osso Buco (braised veal shanks) to standing rib roast to homemade pasta and Bolognese sauce. The Bolgonese sauce received an invitation to stick around during the recession, but, for better or worse, the Osso Buco and standing rib roast don't get to grace our dining table any longer. For the time being, at least. However, there are plenty of so-called lesser cuts of meat that are just as flavorful, allow you to enjoy the smell of slow-cooked provisions lilting through the house, and won't cause you to eat pasta with butter all week long because you decimated your food budget on Sunday. I had been eyeballing the lamb shanks at Whole Foods for a couple of weeks now, even having a conversation with my favorite butcher there about them last week ("How will you cook them?," he asked me. "I'm going to cook them in red wine and stew 'em," I responded, a little skeptical myself having never cooked lamb shank before.). This Sunday, I finally pulled the trigger and purchased two very healthy-sized shanks. They cost $5.99 per pound at Whole Foods for bone-in New Zealand lamb shanks. My favorite butcher informs me that American lamb is priced the same as New Zealand lamb at Whole Foods, so if you have a preference for American lamb, you're still at the same price point. I checked Peapod.com (Stop&Shop's delivery service), and they have boneless American lamb shank for $6.99 per pound. I'd wager that in-store, they're probably a bit less, and if you have a good butcher nearby, you should suss them up for they might have an even better price on the shanks.

I had long been thinking that it would be good to riff off of traditional Mediterranean lamb accompaniments in making my shanks, so I decided that I would use dried figs and raisins in the sauce, and then contrast the sweetness with goat cheese and toasted pine nuts. At the last minute, I decided that some orange flavor would be a welcome addition, and I have about 100 clementines in my house (they're on sale), so I added two to the mix. I read a little bit about lamb shanks before embarking upon my stewing of the jaspers, and then jumped right in. This being the day after I made them, my final analysis of the dish is that I would eat this every night if I could. With Bolognese and apple cake on the side. You know, if I were committing to eating just one or two or three things every night for the rest of my life. Also, could I get some cheese with that? Cheese should definitely come along to the island of favorite things.

Oh, right. The shanks.

The sauce is a little bit sweet, so if you don't share my unabashed love for sweet and savory combinations you can counter that with additional goat cheese crumbled over the top of the dish, or you could spoon less sauce on your plate, or you could use toasted walnuts in place of the toasted pine nuts, or you could omit the honey. You could also use different fruits in the sauce. I think dried apricots would be pretty amazing, as would my darling prunes (and yes, I know I still owe you the pasta with ricotta and prunes recipe - I haven't forgotten). I served this with goat cheese risotto - I'll post that recipe tomorrow - and balsamic caramelized cippolini onions. This dish is holiday- or guest-worthy, or just Sunday-is-a-good-day-for-cooking-worthy.

this is a bit neater a presentation than the dish actually appears with more sauce served in your home. I took some liberties here in reducing the dish down to just a few components so it would make a prettier picture. Please forgive me. Make the lamb, and all will be good.

Lamb Shanks in a Clementine and Fig Red Wine Reduction:

Ingredients:
2-4 lamb shanks - the sauce is enough for four servings, you just need to be sure you have enough room in your pan to accommodate four shanks. I would try to get shanks that are around 3/4 pound each.
salt and pepper
3-4 tablespoons olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped
3-4 cloves garlic or roasted garlic. If using fresh garlic, peel skin off and leave whole. If using roasted, slide the garlic from its skin and leave whole, it will disintegrate in the sauce.

1 tablespoon thyme
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon honey

2 cups red wine
2 cups chicken stock

6 dried figs cut into quarters
2 seedless clementines, cut into 1/4-inch circles. Wheels of clementine, as it were. As you are cutting these into 1/4-inch pieces, you will see if there are seeds. If so, just remove them. You don't want to be crunching on seeds at dinner.
a handful of raisins. In all honesty, I'm not much of a measurer (made-up word, fyi). Keeping this blog has forced me to measure more, but in cooking (not baking), I'm a big fan of, "yeah, that looks right." However, I think we can estimate that a handful of raisins is roughly equivalent to 1/4 cup.
1 bay leaf

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Remove shanks from the refrigerator approximately an hour before you intend to start cooking to allow them to come up to room temperature. This allows the meat to cook more evenly as there isn't a cold interior that requires more time to come up to the proper cooking temperature. This whole recipe process takes about 3 hours from prep through reducing the sauce, so plan your day accordingly. Generously salt and pepper the shanks.

Over medium-high heat, heat oil in a large, deep pan with a large bottom surface area. I used a braiser pan, but a large dutch oven would work equally as well. In either case, you must have a lid for the pan. Add the lamb shanks to the oil and brown well on both sides. Depending upon the heat, this will take 3-5 minutes per side. Once the shanks are browned, remove them from the pan and place on a plate where they will stay until you have prepared the cooking liquid - which later becomes the sauce - and can return them to the pan.

for the sake of practical education, this is what the shanks look like in the braiser pan in my poorly-lit 9-foot-by-9-foot kitchen just before the lid goes on & they cook for 2 hours.

Reduce the heat to medium. Add the chopped onion and garlic. Saute until onion is translucent, approximately 2-3 minutes. Add thyme, mustard, and honey, and stir to combine, cooking for 1 minute to meld flavors. Add the red wine and cook at a simmer for 1 minute. Add the broth, cook at a simmer for 1 minute. Add the shanks to the pan, and scatter the clementine pieces, fig pieces, and raisins around the shanks. Toss the bay leaf in as well. The cooking liquid should come approximately 1/2 way up the side of the shanks. Bring to a low simmer, cover, and cook until the meat falls off the bone - test with a fork to see if it does - approximately 2 hours, and flip the shanks over a few times during the cooking process to insure they are evenly stewed/braised/cooked.

Remove lamb shanks from the pan, and tent with foil to keep warm. Bring liquid in the pan to a boil and boil until reduced by half, approximately 10 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the butter until it is completely melted and combined with the sauce. Remove the bay leaf. Serve shanks and sauce with goat cheese risotto (recipe is coming tomorrow, don't fret.). Not to be a total control freak because you must do what works for you, but it looks pretty darned attractive - not to mention scrumptious - if you mound the risotto in one "corner" of your round plate, then place the shank so that the meaty end is perched along the side of the risotto and the end that is exposed bone rests in the air over the risotto. Then there's probably a little space for some caramelized onions on the side of the shank next to the risotto - yes, the caramelized onion recipe is coming as well - and then you should spoon the sauce over the shank. Sprinkle some toasted pine nuts or walnuts over the dish, maybe a bit of crumbled goat cheese if you like, and serve it forth. As a purely informational tidbit, and because I know some of you will be wondering, the rinds of the clementines are completely edible, even the bit where the flower meets the fruit is softened enough to eat. I know this, for I tried. All in the name of science. Or love of food. Whichever.

Dinner tonight: We have leftover sauce from the lamb shanks and left over risotto, so I bought a cheap-ass chicken at my local poultry farm today, and I am going to roast some Brussels sprouts to go with the dish. Estimated cost for two: $10.32, but this includes what will be leftover chicken that will either go into a pasta dish later this week or will be chicken salad for JR's lunches. Maybe we should call it $8.04 for two. The chicken was actually pretty large for the poultry farm - this one cost $4.57 and was 3.28 pounds. We'll use half of that. You might have read me mentioning chicken salad or pasta later this week. That's what we'll do with the other half of the bird. The Brussels sprouts were $1.81. The oil I'll use to roast the sprouts is 20-cents. The leftover risotto is a bit expensive, but it was part of the special Sunday dinner, and was a test-drive for the holidays, so there we are. We have to have these small luxuries, don't we? The carnaroli rice was $5.49 for what is the rough equivalent of 16 servings at my house. So the rice for the risotto is 68-cents for two. I used 6 cups of stock in total for the risotto, so at $2.19 for 4 cups of Whole Foods store brand stock, that's $1.40 for tonight's portion of risotto. I actually used turkey stock I made from the turkey-in-a-hole-in-the-ground carcass, so if you're making turkey for the holidays, keep the carcass, break it up into manageable pieces, and follow the stock recipe for the chicken soup, but with enough water to cover the turkey carcass (32 ounces in my case) then just freeze it up for when you need it next. The shallot for the risotto was about 30-cents, and the goat cheese was about $1.35 for the amount we used.

Pea puree. It isn't just for wee people.

pea puree lasagnette without bacon

Part of eating for less involves eating meat less frequently or in smaller quantities. I realize that this may be an unpopular approach for carnivores, but one way to eat nearly vegetarian meals is to use a small amount of cured meat, such as bacon or pancetta to garnish dishes. At Easter, I make homemade ravioli for the vegetarians in the family, and this past Easter, I made ricotta-parmigiano, pea puree, and beet ravioli. The pea puree was, surprisingly, the hit of the trio, and it spawned this recipe, which is much more simple than rolling out your own pasta and filling ravioli all afternoon. In fact, this recipe is more of an assemblage than a real recipe, in my opinion - and as such, it comes together quickly. It's only in the oven for about 30 minutes as well, so it's a pretty convenient, nearly meat-free meal for a weeknight. And if you are vegetarian, you know what to do. Skip the bacon. It's still scrumptious without it.

Pea Puree Lasagnette (little lasagnas):
Ingredients:
1 cup frozen peas
1/3 cup water

2 or more across-the-grain slices of shallot. For the Easter ravioli, I used around a tablespoon of chopped shallot and it had a decent kick to it. For this, you may want to start out on the more conservative end of the aromatic/shallot scale, unless you know you like a kick. If that's the case, load 'em up.
1/2 teaspoon thyme

6 lasagna noodles

8 ounces fresh ricotta - please try to find fresh ricotta as it really is a much better quality item than those shelf-stable-for-eight-months ricottas. If you're feeling the make-it-from-scratch love, Bon Appetit has a recipe for homemade ricotta in this month's issue. I intend to try that bad boy out this weekend, in fact.

salt and pepper, additional thyme if you like - you're only sprinkling this about, so it's up to you to determine if you'd like to include it.

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
2-3 tablespoons grated parmigiano-reggiano

For the "garnish":
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
4 pieces bacon
1 medium shallot, chopped
1 cup frozen peas
2 tablespoons creme fraiche or sour cream (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, cook frozen peas in 1/3 cup water until heated through. Remove from heat and set aside to cool slightly.

Bring water to boil in medium sauce pan, salt well and cook lasagna noodles until al dente - firm, yet cooked through. Rinse well with cold water to prevent noodles from sticking to one another or themselves. Set aside.

In a food processor or mini-food processor, combine the peas, their cooking water, and the 2 or more slices of shallot, and the 1/2 teaspoon of thyme and blend to a puree. It should look like baby food. Don't be afraid.

Grease a lasagna pan with enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Lay two sheets of pasta on the bottom of the pan the long way. Place 1/4 of the pea puree on each, then 2 ounces of ricotta on each, then salt and pepper (and thyme if you like). Cover this layer with another sheet of lasagna and repeat. Top with a third layer of pasta and place 1 tablespoon of butter, cut into pieces and evenly spaced around the noodle on top of each lasagna stack. Sprinkle parmigiano-reggiano over, and place in the oven on the middle rack. Bake for 30 minutes or until the lasagna is lightly browned and bubbling - indicating hotness as it does. Remove from oven and let stand for 5 minutes so that it doesn't fall apart while you cut it. Cut each stack in half and serve with the pea-bacon garnish described below.

While the lasagna cooks, cook the bacon to desired doneness in a saute pan over medium heat. Remove bacon from pan, drain on paper towels, allow to cool slightly, and then crumble into bits of your desired size. I like a larger bit o'bacon myself. Add oil to pan so that the pan is evenly coated (this may not be the full 2-3 tablespoons, use your best judgment). Cook the shallots until they are opaque, approximately 3 minutes. Add the peas to the pan and cook until heated through. Keep warm until lasagna is ready to serve.

Top each lasagnette with 1/4 of the pea mixture and sprinkle bacon over top of each plate. Top with a dollop - by dollop, I mean somewhere around a tablespoon - of creme fraiche or sour cream if you so desire.

Serves 4.

Dinner tonight: Ziti with roasted butternut squash, bacon, and creme fraiche. See, I'm making use of the remaining bacon from the pea lasagnette. So crafty with my meat conservation, I am. Estimated cost for two: $4.35. The ziti is that Whole Foods store brand that's made in the traditional Italian bronze-die, air-dried fashion, and yes, I really do think it makes a difference. The box was $1.99, and we'll use half of that. The butternut squash was 2 pounds and cost me 50-cents, but you don't live near the Sousa's farm, so you will likely pay 79-cents per pound, and we'll do the math that way to be fair to you. You only need a pound, so save the hollowed-out bowls for stuffing with Israeli cous cous or rice, apples, raisins, and cheddar and serving with roasted chicken or some such other use. But back to the cost of the squash. We'll call that 80-cents for the pound. I'm going to use leeks from the last day of my garden - can you stand that I still have these suckers? How long has it been? Those are free to me, but if you used even 1/2 of the mammoth leek I purchased at Whole Foods earlier this week - which would be more than enough - it would be 50-cents. The bacon was $2.15 for what turned out to be 6 pieces, and we're using the three leftover pieces, so that goes into the tally at $1.08. The olive oil is around 20-cents per tablespoon, so that's around 60-cents, and Vermont Butter and Cheese creme fraiche is on sale at Whole Foods this week. It was $2.99 for 8 ounces. According to Wikianswers, 1 ounce is equivalent to 1.99 tablespoons, so that's 37-cents for both of us.

2005 Sassotondo Ciliegiolo Maremma Toscana IGT

someone please get this man a glass of wine.

Back when we had just a wee bit more money, JR and I traveled to Italy. Our first trip was in the spring of 2001. It was JR's birthday, and originally I had wanted to take him to Key West for a long weekend, figuring it would be warm, festive, and I hadn't been there since spring break my junior year of college. I searched and searched and searched for reasonable airfare and lodging, and the best I could do was $1500. For airfare alone. For the weekend. Not for nothing, but even my college memories of Key West weren't compelling enough to have me spend $1500 just to arrive there. Then, on a lark, I decided to check fares to Florence, Italy. Round trip was around $500 per person, the dollar was strong, and, hey, I'd always wanted to go to Italy. And, yes, I know this was JR's birthday, but come on - $1000 for two people to fly to Italy? Why wouldn't he be agreeable, even if it was my always-want?

We arrived in Florence - which I recall asking my friend Celia prior to leaving, "Is Florence Firenze?" (yes, it is.) - after a long bus ride from Milan/Milano because our connecting flight had fallen victim to a random Italian labor strike that only impacted flights from Milan to Florence provided said flights were scheduled to depart between 8am and 10am. This is how labor strikes seem to work there, as far as I can tell.

We were grubby, hot, and more than a bit concerned that we wouldn't love Italy having just spent 6 hours on a bus riding through heavily industrial areas. Where was the beautiful countryside I had been dreaming of? Where was the stunning architecture? It wasn't at Aeroporto di Firenze where the bus deposited us, and it wasn't in the outlying areas of Florence that our cab passed through on the way to our hotel. But the beauty was very much present at the foot of the Ponte Vecchio where our cab let us out as I sputtered, and I do mean sputtered, as I'm pretty certain it came out as though each syllable were its own word, "tenga il resto," instructing him to keep the change as JR and I emerged into the humid air of April in Florence.

We deposited our bags at the hotel and promptly walked toward the Duomo, which is what is required of all tourists upon arrival in Florence. And once you get there, you will see that it truly is a requirement, there is simply no other way to explain how so many humans converge on a space that doesn't contain, say, a Twilight star on a promotional tour, or The Jonas Brothers and their requisite throng of squealing tweens. Surely, culture couldn't draw this big a crowd on its own? Ahhh, but it does.

Upon seeing the clusters of tourists milling about outside the Duomo, you realize that you will have to come back early the following morning if you'd like to actually see the inside of the church. You will return in the morning, but only after your husband pulls the "alarme" cord in the shower which results in a hotel staff member knocking at your door screaming "are you alright in there?" in Italian, to which you respond, once you somehow decipher the Italian, "Si. Si. Tutto bene. Grazie." Yes, yes, all good, thank you. This commotion will then cause your husband to ask, "what was that?" "Oh, just some staff member asking if every thing's alright in here." Then there will be silence from the bathroom. "What," you will ask. "Oh, nothing." "You didn't pull the cord in there, did you?" More silence, and then, "I thought it was to start the fan." Note to Americans Traveling to Italy: if there is an exhaust fan, it is not connected to the cord in the shower that says "alarme" over it. The alarm that alerts the staff that you are in the shower and injured is connected to the cord that says "alarme" over it.

As it isn't the next morning yet, you have yet to enjoy your own personal alarme incident, and you still want to see some of Florence before you pass out from jet and bus lag, you stroll over to the Piazza della Signoria near the Palazzo Vecchio and the entrance to the Uffizi Gallery. This is where the fake David spends his days on a pedestal. The real David of chiseled-by-Michelangelo-himself fame is in the Galleria Accademmia, and you need to purchase tickets in advance to see him, in the event that you're planning a visit. Just north of the piazza was a little side street that contained a fantastic wine bar. The wine bar was connected to an equally fantastic shop called Magazzino Toscano that sold beautiful ceramic plates, bowls, water jugs and decanters in stunning jewel tones, antique table linens, hand-crafted copper pans, and hand-forged knives with stunning carved bone handles. People could sit and eat dinner at enormously long wooden tables in the shop. JR and I were feeling quite road fatigued, and, though it was too early in the afternoon for an Italian person to consider sitting at the bar - 4pm - we felt we deserved it after that arduous bus tour through the industrial north of Italy. The barman was very friendly, and spoke excellent English (another Note to Americans Traveling to Italy: do not believe any person who tells you "they all speak English." Think about it. They're Italian. They live in Italy. They speak Italian with the other Italians. Unless they have a real need to speak English, which they all don't, they won't be proficient in it. Just as you aren't likely to be proficient in Spanish if English is your first language and all the people you come in contact with speak English.). We opted for a flight of Tuscan wines, which had us both sampling 4 different wines. As is the way in Italy, the barman provided us with snacks, in this case, olives and chunks of pecorino cheese, in little ceramic jewel-toned ramekin-type bowls. He then brought us Tuscan bread, which is unsalted, and instructed us to sprinkle salt from one small jewel-toned bowl over it, and then to drizzle olive oil over the salted bread. We savored our wines as we relaxed at the bar - all dark wood and walls lined with wine bottles, which, we would learn, is typical of Italian wine bars - and I fell in love with the little ceramic bowls, six of which I now own, and one wine, which stood out from the other three. I was already in love with JR and we hadn't seen quite enough of Florence for me to have fallen in love with it in a wine bar, so please don't be disappointed if you were looking for more romance out of the previous sentence. I do love Florence now, as well, in the event you're wondering. I asked the barman - his name was Davide - the name of the wine that had captured my affections. Sassotondo, he said. It was a Super-Tuscan wine. Super-Tuscan wines are generally sold as red table wine because they don't adhere to the regulations of the Italian government's quality-control labels, Denominazione di Origine Controllata (DOC) and Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita (DOCG), which control the types of grapes and the ratios at which those grapes may be used in blends in the production of Italian wines. Super-Tuscans tend to use grapes that are known as "international" varieties, such as Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Syrah/Shiraz in their blends, where most DOC or DOCG wines use indigenous Italian grapes, such as Sangiovese in Tuscany, or Nebbiolo in Piedmont, or Nero d'Avola in Sicily. The list of indigenous Italian grapes is rather long, and, while I do hope to try them all and write about them here, I'm not going to do so today.

I thought for certain that I'd be able to find Sassotondo when I returned home, but that turned out not to be the case. I even gave money for a bottle to some friends who were traveling to Italy, but they never found it either. Clearly I had forgotten about that amazing new search technology, The Google, or my quest would have been come to its conclusion sooner. I had given up hope of ever finding it here in the States, but then, this past Sunday, I was covering a wine event at Tomasso Trattoria in Southboro, Massachusetts for a wine newsletter, and, as I scanned through the list - nearly 100 wines! - I saw it. 2005 Sassotondo Ciliegiolo Maremma Toscana IGT. Maremma is the region within Tuscany. Consider it like a county within a state here in the U.S.. It is coastal, and was long barren of vines as it was infested with malaria-carrying mosquitoes, but no more. I don't know what they did to the mosquitoes and the malaria, but it is now one of the most sought-after areas for wine production in Italy, much because of the reputation of the Super-Tuscan wines produced there. The international grapes thrive in the climate of Maremma, and many famous and very expensive Super-Tuscan wines are produced there, including the highly-rated 2001 Masseto, which is a Merlot and which I found on sale for $749 per 750ml bottle online, though it appears to retail for anywhere from $900 to $1100 per bottle. Ok? Sassotondo is a splurge by my Poor Girl standards ($15 and under, preferably under by $5 or more), but at $22.00 per bottle, it's nowhere near the ooops-I-guess-I'll-have-to-miss-my-mortgage-payment-this-month price tag of a wine like Masseto. The Sassotondo contains 90% Ciliegiolo, a grape believed to be native to Italy and the parent of the primary wine grape of Tuscany, Sangiovese. The remaining ten-percent is juice from the Alicante grape, which is a grape developed in France and prized for its deep ruby color, and this wine is a deep ruby red. Even with the rich color, it is a light wine, fruity and low in tannins, and a perfect wine to enjoy with food, or, as the taster next to me on Sunday concurred - without food. That's up to you. No one's there to judge you, you know. The distributors, Steve and Rachel, seemed almost as happy for me as, well, me, that I had finally been reunited with this wine. Fortunately, I now know just where to go when I'm hankering for a bottle of Sassotondo - Tomasso Trattoria has a wine and food shop next door called Panzano where I can fetch me a bottle any time. Hey, come to think of it, that's almost the same set up as the wine bar and Magazzino Toscano in Florence, isn't it? Ahhhh, buona fortuna per Io! E per tu!

Dinner tonight: Bolognese lasagna. I cannot wait - it's going to be perfect for this rainy, dreary day and, I think will go well with the Sassotondo! Estimated cost for two: $3.77. For real. The sauce cost $8.29 as made in the Untraditional Bolognese post, we had 2 servings of it over pasta last Friday, so 6 servings are going into the lasagna, and that's $6.22. The lasagna noodles are one-half of a box that cost $1.59, so that's 80-cents. The Bechamel sauce consists of 4 cups of milk which was $1.39, the butter was 43-cents, the flour was 6-cents at $3.99 for 76 quarter-cups per 5 pound bag, and we used the less-expensive, already grated, but still real - no green jars of faux cheese for us - parmigiano-reggiano from Venda Ravioli, 3 ounces of that cost us $2.43. The total cost for the lasagna is $11.33, and that works out to $1.88 per serving.

Confessions of a Dough Eater

It's true. I can't deny it any longer. I am a compulsive dough eater. And I thought the apple-cinnamon combination was my weakness. Well, it is. But, then, so too is dough. In pretty much any form. As a child, I would sneak little bits of store-bought frozen dough from the back of the loaf - meaning the part facing the wall - while my mother waited for it to defrost and rise so she could make calzones. And I love calzones, but I would eat the dough even if it was partially frozen. Chewy.

On Sunday morning, I was making chocolate chip cookies. In theory, they were meant for JR's lunches this week, but, as JR so kindly pointed out, I probably ate about 3 or 4 cookies in dough alone. And that might have been a poor use of my dough resources, because this batch of chocolate chip cookies far surpassed any other batch of chocolate chip cookies I have ever in my life made. I think that's because I let the dough sit out for about six hours before baking them. You can see that I have no fear of food-borne illness such as salmonella, leaving dough out for hours before baking as I do. I strongly advise against you doing this at home as I don't want to be responsible for you and your entire clan spending an overnight under the dreary florescent lights of your local Emergency Room, but my cookies were crispy outside and chewy inside this time, where normally, they're just crispy. Of course, this requires more experimentation and better note taking. It could be that I undercooked them slightly and not that I left them fermenting for hours that resulted in the better texture. So, right, definitely don't try the leaving-out-the-dough method until I report back to you on that.

With chocolate chip cookies all made for this week, and a little extra dough rolled carefully in waxed paper - yes, in the refrigerator, I'm not trying to air-cure my cookie dough - one might wonder why I would make a new batch of cookies today. On a Tuesday. It defies logic. I am parsimonious. More cookies are frivolous and anti-thrifty. We already have enough cookies, all nicely wrapped, might I add, ready for JR's lunches through Friday.

But, in the spirit of parsimony, I was at the Whole Foods this morning buying pork shoulder to roast the cripers out of tomorrow (4 hours of cooking time! Gack!) as it is on sale - through today only, people - for $1.59 per pound. I got an enormous pork shoulder for $7.73. It will be scrumptious in the cider gravy that I use for chicken (though I will double the flour, stock, and cider amounts to be sure the pork is covered in liquid), and JR will be able to enjoy pulled-pork sandwiches rather than pb&j (not that there's anything wrong with pb&j, mind you) for the days following. We may even have pork quesadillas later in the week. Who knows? We're crazy like that. So there I am, in the Whole Foods, with the primary mission being to purchase the pork shoulder, and the secondary mission being to buy a large leek so I could see how accurate my leek-cost estimates have been to this point here on the blog. Plus, I'm nearly out of all of my leeks from the last day of my garden, so I will have to start purchasing them myself. And, incidentally, the leek I purchased was 18-inches long (yes. I did measure the freaking thing, strange and disturbing as that is.) and cost $1.01. You could feed a lot of people leek and potato soup with this one leek. But I digress. As I am wont to do. I decided to check out the mushrooms on my way out of the produce department as I am planning a mushroom frittata for later this week, should we tire of pork, that is. Upon viewing the mushrooms, I decided to wait until I could hit my local farm stand to get those. So now, by virtue of the store layout, I am funneled past the nuts and dried fruit to continue on my merry shopping way, at which point I see the Whole Foods 365 store brand honey roasted peanuts. This reminds me that I really want to try a recipe from Alice Medrich's Pure Dessert for salty peanut butter cookies. The Whole Foods store brand honey roasted peanuts are only $3.39 for, well, a lot. At this moment, they're in the house, and I'm riding out my sugar high here in the studio while I type this (in the event you couldn't determine this on your own from my manic tone), so just trust me, there are enough to make a batch of cookies, eat multiple handfuls while reading the recipe for said cookies, and still have enough leftover such that JR will think he hit the honey-roasted peanut lotto when he opens his lunch tomorrow.

As I alluded to in the previous paragraph, I might have had a handful or six while reading through the recipe, and while my coffee brewed. And, as it is always a good idea to read all the way through a recipe before starting, I learned that this cookie dough requires refrigeration. Of one to two hours, or overnight. So I figured it was a good idea to get them underway now so that I can bake them later on this afternoon. I melted the butter (yes, yes, you'll see. I'm going to share. Of course I'm going to share.), drank a shot of espresso and sugar, mixed up the dough, and, whoopsie - tasted it. Oh, what a bad idea for a dough addict. Now, I'm writing this while my dough refrigerates. I haven't even tasted the finished product yet. But Alice Medrich has yet to let me down with any finished product, and, might I remind you, I've already sampled the dough. Which tastes like a sophisticated version of peanut butter cup filling. Remember, the recipe is for salty peanut butter cookies, and the salt contrasts perfectly with the sweet. And, you'll also remember, I like salty and sweet, and sweet and sour. These combinations make me happy. So, after eating maybe only 2 cookies' worth of dough - a vast improvement from Sunday's 3-4 cookies' worth - I finally mustered up the will to cover the dough and refrigerate it. The will came from within, too. I didn't even see the dough-covering coming. Just suddenly, my dough-eating Id bust out and said, "enough, enough! Too much pleasure! Too much!" Really, you know you've got problems when your Id puts on the brakes.

Salty Peanut Butter Cookies, adapted from Alice Medrich's Pure Dessert (get this book - you won't regret it):

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt

1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
1 stick (8 ounces) unsalted butter, melted

1 large egg (brown eggs are local eggs, and local eggs are fresh - just a reminder.)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup all-natural chunky peanut butter, stirred well before measuring to combine oil with solids

1 cup honey roasted peanuts (Medrich calls for toffee-coated peanuts, but these weren't readily available, and I'm sure there is a fine producer of said toffee-coated peanuts around, but I am poor/parsimonious, and $3.39 for the Whole Foods brand seemed like a good deal to me. I may miss the toffee taste, but I can aspire to that down the road.)

Combine flour, baking soda, and salt in a bowl and stir well to combine.

Combine melted butter, brown sugar, and sugar in a large mixing bowl. Whisk to combine.

Add egg, vanilla extract, and peanut butter to the sugar-butter mixture. Whisk to combine.

Using a spatula or silicone spoon, add flour mixture, stirring until dough just forms, but being certain that all flour is combined into the dough. Eat approximately two tablespoons of dough to be sure it's good and tastes like grown-up peanut butter cup filling. Cover and refrigerate for 2 hours or overnight.

Place the oven racks in the upper third and lower third positions in the oven. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. While oven preheats, place the cup of peanuts into a plastic storage bag with a secure seal and whack the peanuts into coarse bits, not fine bits, coarse bits, with the spatula or spoon that you recently used to scrape dough off of the walls of the mixing bowl in order to sample. Place coarse peanut bits in a shallow bowl. Resist the temptation to use your mini-food processor for this task. It cuts the peanuts too finely. As in, you could make all-natural chunky peanut butter with your food processor nuts if only you have some peanut oil on hand. That is not the goal here. Maybe some other time, but not now.

Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Using your hands, form approximately one-inch balls of dough from the refrigerated dough. Try not to eat any more dough because you've already cost this batch of cookies about 4 from the total yield. Roll the dough around in the coarsely chopped/whacked peanuts to coat, being certain to cover all of the dough with peanuts. Place on the parchment-lined baking sheets 2 inches apart from one another.

Bake the cookies until they are lightly browned on top, approximately 15-18 minutes. You must rotate the pans from top to bottom and front to back approximately midway through the cooking time to insure even baking.

Alice Medrich says they will be very soft when they first come out of the oven - not having baked them yet, I cannot attest to this, but I trust her, so I trust you will trust her as well. They will firm up as they cool, she assures me (and you), so let them cool on baking racks and then serve them forth. Yield: about 56 cookies if you eat no dough. About 50-52 if you do eat dough.

Dinner tonight: pea puree and ricotta lasagnette (mini lasagnas, or individual lasagnas, if you will) with sauteed peas, shallot, and bacon (how I wish it were Vermont Smoke and Cure bacon, but, alas, this time it is not). Estimated cost for two: $6.12. I got the idea for this from pea puree ravioli I made for Easter this year. I pureed the peas with just a little bit of shallot and their cooking water, then combined the puree with ricotta, salt, and pepper, and stuffed my ravioli with them. Making ravioli is a bit of a time-consuming project, however, so in an effort to streamline that process, I figured that layering lasagna noodles (purchased, not homemade - I am a terrible cheat on this dish today) with pea puree and ricotta, and then topping it with a quick saute of peas, shallots, and bacon would be a pretty satisfying substitute for homemade ravioli. The peas cost $1.29 per bag (Whole Foods store brand, people!), we'll use 1/2 of the bag. The ricotta was $3.99 for 8 ounces, I'll use between 2 and 4 ounces, but let's just call that $2.00 to err on the side of caution. The shallot we'll call 50-cents. The bacon was $2.15 for 4 slices of slab bacon at the meat counter (on sale at Whole Foods). I'll probably only use two slices because it is thick, so that's $1.08, but even if you splurged and used it all, the meal total only leaps to $7.20. Not too shabby for a cheap-arse dough addict's meal. The lasagna noodles were $1.59 for a box with 18 sheets of pasta, we'll use 3 sheets for tonight's meal, so let's call that 27-cents. I'll toss a little parmigiano-reggiano (the $12.99/pound kind, not the fancy Red Cow) over it all, so let's call that $1.62 for 2 ounces.

Posted on Wednesday, December 10: ok, a quick note on the covering-the-cookie-dough-in-whacked-peanut-bits. I clearly lack the skills of Alice Medrich, so I wasn't able to get peanut bits to adhere to every last speck of dough. No matter, I improvised and made them such that the tops have the honey roasted peanut bits on them, and they are still quite scrumptious. I think the next time I do this, I am going to make bars out of them. Don't tell my family or my neighbors, because they are likely getting these in their baked goods gifts at Christmas (family and neighbors, stop reading now!), but I will bake the dough without the peanut bits in a parchment paper-lined brownie pan. I will let it cool, then spread Nutella over the top, and then sprinkle them with peanut bits. I think I should make a test batch first, though. Just to be sure.

Also, my brother just dope-slapped me for mentioning the chocolate chip cookies without posting the recipe. All in good time, all in good time. Of course, he hasn't read this far because he was asked to stop reading a moment ago, so if you see him, please let him know that I will post that recipe in the near future. But don't tell him about the peanut butter/Nutella bars. That's a surprise. Thanks for your help with that.

Roasted Fennel and Carrot Soup

I have some semolina and cornmeal bread on its second rise in the house right now, its primary purpose to complement the roasted fennel and carrot soup I made on Wednesday night. JR and I were both taken aback by how good the soup was - oh, and don't even get me started on the honeyed mascarpone - but JR's lone complaint was that it required some toast to round it out. Toast with sweet cream butter, in fact. So today, we will have the fennel and carrot soup masterpiece for lunch with a toasty, crunchy, buttery friend. I recommend you do the same, so here is the soup recipe to help facilitate that goal.

Roasted Fennel and Carrot Soup with Honeyed Mascarpone:

Ingredients:
2 medium fennel (anise) bulbs, approximately 2 pounds total weight - fronds removed, bulb rinsed, and cut on the bias from top (where the fronds were) to the bottom, in pieces approximately 2-inches thick
1 1/2 pounds carrots, peeled, rinsed, and cut into 2-inch lengths
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
salt
pepper

1 large leek, white and light green parts only, well-washed and cut into 1-inch lengths
2-3 tablespoons olive oil, or enough to coat the bottom of your medium soup pot/sauce pan

1 tablespoon dried thyme

5-6 cups vegetable broth. If you don't have any vegetable broth on hand, chicken broth is an acceptable substitute, though it will assert itself more than the vegetable broth.

2 tablespoons honey

1 tablespoon per each serving mascarpone (an Italian cream cheese, available in Italian markets and in most supermarkets. Vermont Butter and Cheese Company makes a domestic version as well.)
1 teaspoon honey per each tablespoon mascarpone, plus more if you have a relentless sweet tooth

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Toss the fennel and carrot pieces in a large bowl with the olive oil, coating well. Spread oil-coated fennel and carrots on a large rimmed baking sheet, being sure that they are in one layer. Salt and pepper lightly.

Roast fennel and carrots until just beginning to brown, approximately 30-35 minutes, turning over mid-way through the cooking time for even browning on both sides. Remove from oven and set aside.

Heat 2-3 tablespoons olive oil in a medium sauce pan or soup pot over medium heat. Add leek, and saute until leeks are softened and beginning to fall apart, approximately 2-3 minutes. Add roasted fennel and carrots, and 1 tablespoon thyme. Cook over medium heat for approximately 2 minutes to combine flavors. Add 4 cups vegetable broth, bring to a gentle simmer, and cook at the gentle simmer, covered, for 15 minutes. Remove from heat.

Now, you're quite likely hungry while you're making this, but do resist the temptation to move to the blending step immediately after removing the pot from the heat. You do need to allow it to cool so as to avoid your blender exploding all over the kitchen walls, counter, you, and your Golden Retriever (or Pug, Beagle, Rottweiler, Labradoodle, Maine Coon Cat, Cockatoo, what-have-you). In this same spirit, you must also work in small batches. I try not to put more than two to three inches of liquid into the blender at a time when working with lukewarm ingredients. For this soup, I also used room-temperature Whole Foods 365 (store) brand vegetable broth for the blending so as to also bring down the temperature and help me avoid certain disaster. For I have been there. And there is nothing that impedes cooking progress quite like a blender explosion.

So, working in small, lukewarm batches, puree the fennel, carrots, leeks, and broth, adding room-temperature broth as needed to help thin the mixture. I used approximately 1 1/2 cups of room temperature broth during the pureeing process while making my soup, but if you like it a little less thick, you are free to add more liquid. You can make that decision once you return the puree to the stove, which you are about to do.

As I pureed in batches, I transferred the soup to a glass mixing bowl with cup measures denoted on the side, and which also has a very handy pouring spout and handle. Very handy. This particular recipe will generate between 7 and 8 cups of soup, according to my handy mixing bowl/measuring cup, so 7-8 servings. Return the puree to the soup pot/sauce pan, and return to the stove (I told you so), warming to serving temperature over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Add two tablespoons honey, stirring well to combine, then salt and pepper to taste - I found it very important to salt sufficiently, it highlights the flavors of the fennel and carrot, and contrasts nicely with the sweetness of the honeyed mascarpone.

And so you must make the honeyed mascarpone. A good time to do this is while the pureed soup is coming back up to a serving-appropriate heat. This also allows for the mascarpone to come up to room temperature so that it doesn't ice your lovely soup, and makes the mascarpone easier to blend with the honey, as it will soften up as it comes up to room temperature. Simply combine a tablespoon (or thereabouts) of mascarpone (or creme fraiche, which would also work if it's easier for you to locate in your grocery store) with a teaspoon (or thereabouts) of honey. Remember, you're eating this, so you have to like how it tastes, and I'm not going to be stopping by to be sure you used my exact ratios, so do what works for you.

Serve the soup hot with the dollops of honeyed mascarpone in the middle of the bowl. Salt and pepper to taste, and serve it out. Watch for even your meat-and-potatoes-loving family members to look up, a bemused smile on his or her meat-loving-I-can't-believe-you're-serving-me-another-vegetarian-meal face, and say, "wow." And then say, "if only we had some buttered toast."

If you like crystallized ginger, I would chop that up finely and toss a little over the top of the soup. It certainly wouldn't hurt. Or maybe some fennel seed if you like that sort of thing. Or carrot chips that you baked in the oven. Or just some chopped fresh parsley. You get the idea. But be sure to have toast at the ready. Whatever you do, there must be toast.

Dinner tonight: Untraditional Bolognese Sauce with Rigatoni. Estimated cost for two: $6.24. The ground meat was $3.79 per pound at Venda Ravioli, the carrot, celery, and onion for the soffrito (which is the slowly simmered base of the sauce) were about $1.00, the tomatoes were $2.00, and the amount of milk I'll use in the sauce will be about 50-cents. I'm also using anchovy paste and a bit of tomato paste, so let's call those $1.00, to be generous about it. And don't go all nose-scrunchy on me about the anchovy paste. The purpose of the anchovy paste is to add a depth of flavor to the sauce that is indistinguishable as anchovy, but instead, adds to the savory quality of the sauce. The total cost of the sauce is $8.29 for approximately 8 servings, so $1.04 per person for that. The pasta was $2.79 for the box (not Whole Foods store brand this time, but De Cecco instead, which I had purchased a while ago at Whole Foods (check out the De Cecco link if you think you want to buy by the case - it's only $1.75/box). I'm completely sold on the Whole Foods store brand bronze-die (traditional method) pastas, which are a bargain at less than half the price of my favorite imported bronze-die, air-dried pastas), and we'll use half of the box. We'll use the pre-grated parmigiano-reggiano from Venda Ravioli, which costs $12.99/pound, and we'll use about an ounce of that each, so $1.62 for that. I will put a good sized dollop of mascarpone on the very top of the mountain of rigatoni and sauce, so we'll call that $1.14 at 57-cents per ounce. Making the bolognese tonight will allow me to whip up a bechamel sauce tomorrow and fashion a lasagna out of the leftovers, which will be ultra-convenient for us early in the week when we're both a bit over scheduled, and will also be a perfect culinary answer to the snow and cold we're expecting.

Finca el Origen 2007 Reserva Malbec

While Argentines ponder whether their popular Vice President, Julio Cobos, will be asked to resign by their unpopular President, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, for voting against her initiative to raise taxes on farm exports this past July, you and I are free to ponder how this $10.99 Reserve Malbec from Argentina's Uco Valley got to be so darned good.

You may also want to send a thank-you note to Senor Cobos, as vineyards are farms, too, and - though I don't have direct confirmation from anyone in the Argentine government - I would bet that an increase in farm export taxes would result in an increase in the price of Argentinian wines. I would bet. If I were a betting type, that is.

My friend Mark at Gasbarro's Wine on Federal Hill in Providence steered me to Finca el Origen's Reserva Malbec on a recent visit. I have long known that there are many values to be found in South American wines, as well as Australian wines, but I do have a little thing - perhaps we could call it an obsessive love , though I'm not certain that's quite strong enough - for Italian wines, so it can be difficult to get me out of the boot (the Italian boot. I'm speaking figuratively here. I don't actually put my physical self in a boot while shopping for wine. Even at 5'5", I'm a bit too tall to attempt that sort of crazy.). However, Mark knows my taste in wine, so his recommendation was all I needed to bring this wine home with me. That, and the fact that he informed me that Finca el Origen sells their grapes to the venerable Catena winery, and Catena is generally double the price of this bottle. Did you hear me? Same grapes. Less money. Ok, not literally "same grapes", that would be impossible, but same grower. Less money. Sounds good to me.

This is a boozy wine, this Reserva Malbec. It is a deep garnet red in the glass, and smells toasty, earthy, and of leather. Or at least I thought so. For you wine connoisseurs out there, after a spin round the glass, the abundant legs present themselves alerting you to the 14.5% alcohol contained within. You want to share this bottle. With a few people. Unless your goal is to become drunk. Then go ahead, keep it to yourself.

For those of you non-connoisseurs, legs is a term that applies to the clear streaks that trail down the glass after you've given the wine a vigorous swirl. More legs means more alcohol. And this wine has legs like a centipede. Only centipedes are gross and make me scream, and this wine is excellent, and I am now screaming it from the interwebs' virtual mountaintop that is my blog.

The Malbec grape originated in the Bordeaux region of France, where it is known as Cot. It is a rough and rustic grape with a thick skin in its native France, but upon being planted in Argentina, began to evolve and become more finessed, resulting in smoother, more sophisticated wines. The change in the grape's characteristics between France and Argentina has been attributed to the high altitude of the vineyards in Argentina. The vineyards of Finca el Origen are between 1050 and 1200 meters above sea level in the upper Uco Valley of Mendoza province. The Andes mountain range marks the western edge of their viticultural zone. It sounds like a fantastic place to visit, drink wine, and admire the mountains. It's almost summer there now, you know.

My first taste of the wine was very smooth. I tasted black cherry, a little bit of the oak from the barrel aging in the form of vanilla. But very subdued vanilla. The wine had a rich, smooth mouthfeel. JR's review consisted of him saying, "yeah. It's just really good," over and over. And then over again.

Finca el Origen's website says that the wine tastes of plums, blueberries, and strawberries, with a hint of cinnamon (did someone say apple cake?), and while I wasn't right on the money with my tasting notes - though everyone does register tastes slightly differently - this wine is right on the money ($10.99!) for a winter warmer. I see some beef short ribs and Finca el Origen's Reserva Malbec in your future this winter. I really do.

Dinner tonight: leftover chicken in cider gravy. I told you that we'd be eating that for days, didn't I? Estimated cost for two: $4.51. And probably some leftover roasted fennel and carrot soup, which was quite scrumptious between the subtle licorice flavor of the fennel, the sweetness of the roasted carrots, the honeyed mascarpone and a very light sprinkling of kosher salt over it all. I can't decide if I should share that recipe or the pasta with ricotta and prunes tomorrow. Please stop with the "ew, gross" look over the prunes. It is a fantastic meat-free dish, and Mr. Meat-and-Potatoes, JR, even said, "wow. It tastes like meat." Ok?

Honey mustard-cider marinade

Yes, I do intend for you to use this on the pig. You have been warned.

Before I head back into the house (I write to you from my computer in my studio which is in the barn behind the house) to roast the carrots and fennel for tonight's soup, I wanted to quickly share with you the recipe for Country Style Pork Spare Ribs in Honey Mustard-Cider Marinade. It's simple, uses only a few ingredients - you could always substitute apple juice or orange juice for the cider if you don't have any on hand - and pork ribs have the added benefit of not being turkey. And I think we all can agree that not being turkey one night this week is a huge benefit.

Country Style Pork Spare Ribs in Honey Mustard-Cider Marinade:

Ingredients:
2 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup apple cider
salt
pepper

4 Country Style Pork Spare Ribs, approximately 1-inch thick (four, or however many you intend to serve out. The marinade yields about 3/4 cup, which should provide enough for 6 ribs)

2-3 tablespoons brown sugar

In a medium mixing bowl, combine the honey, mustard, oil, and cider, whisking to blend. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Place spare ribs in a large storage bag or large shallow dish, such as a pie dish, cover with the marinade, and refrigerate for 2 hours or overnight. Alternately, if you don't have time to wait 2 hours, marinate the ribs unrefrigerated for one-half hour.

Preheat the oven to 375.

Line a baking sheet with foil. Place ribs on foil, spaced evenly across the baking sheet. Sprinkle enough brown sugar to lightly cover each rib over top. Bake for approximately 45 minutes, flipping ribs over mid-way through cooking time, and sprinkling brown sugar over top of that side as well.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you - though I am about to do so just the same - that this marinade and sugar-dusting would work just as well with chicken or other cuts of pork. Oh, pork tenderloin, why do you forsake me with your expense? Why? Why?

I'm thinking that the next time I indulge in this mustardy sweetness, I'm going to go with pork chops. Not only that, but I am going to stuff those pig parts with apple slices and cheddar cheese. Oh, so decadent. Poor little piggy. Lucky you and me.

Dinner tonight: Roasted fennel and carrot soup with honeyed mascarpone. Estimated cost for two: $3.88. The fennel costs $4.20. I used 1.5 pounds of carrots at 80-cents per pound, so $1.20. I am using leeks from the last day of my garden, which are free for me, but we'll call it 75-cents for everyone else. Olive oil is 60-cents for 3 tablespoons. The broth is $2.19 for 4 cups. The mascarpone was $4.99 for 8 3/4 ounces, so 57-cents per ounce. We'll have an ounce each, and the honey being used is a minuscule amount, but we'll call it 50-cents. The soup ingredients will make 8 servings, so fennel, carrots, broth, leek, and olive oil are divided by 8, multiplied by 2, and then the mascarpone and honey are added to that to get the "for two" cost.

p.s. we're having apple cake for dessert. Have you not tried the apple cake? For shame, for shame you nonbelievers. It is mind-bogglingly good. Make it. You must.

Dreaming of PB&J. And cinnamon sugar, too.

With all of this turkey-in-a-hole-in-the-ground excitement, you might suspect that I've slacked in my weekly yeast bread baking duties. But you would be wrong. In fact, you are wrong. On the Sunday prior to Thanksgiving, I made some honey wheat bread based on a recipe I found - where else? - at King Arthur's Flour website. The bread was moist and just a little bit sweet, and made the most unbelievably satisfying peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As in, this is the kind of bread that makes you crave peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Imagine? Dreaming of the lowly pb&j as you would a delicacy - in my case, truffles or perhaps some Robiola Tre Latte cheese. It's also working out quite nicely with leftover stuffing, cranberry sauce, and turkey for JR's Cape Cod turkey sandwich lunches this week. And, in fact, it made for a good day-after-Thanksgiving French Toast as well. The recipe makes two loaves, so I recommend that you try it out this weekend, make sandwiches - did someone say pb&j? - with it all week, and save a few slices for a robust breakfast of French Toast drizzled with honey or maple syrup the following weekend. Your family will thank you for it. Believe me.

Honey Wheat Oatmeal Bread, adapted from King Arthur's Flour recipe:
Ingredients:
2 cups boiling water
1 cup rolled oats
1/2 cup sugar, preferably turbinado (sold as "Sugar in the Raw")
1 tablespoon honey
1/2 stick unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon yeast
1 1/2 cups white whole wheat flour
4 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup raisins (optional, but a very, very good idea)

In the mixing bowl of a stand mixer, combine the boiling water, oats, sugar, honey, butter, salt, and cinnamon. Stir with a spatula to combine. Let cool to lukewarm such that you can touch your hand to the outside of the bowl and it is pleasantly warm, not painful. Start testing around 5 minutes after combining all ingredients.

If using active dry yeast, sprinkle it over top of the oat mixture and allow to dissolve, approximately 5 minutes, prior to adding flour. If using instant yeast, mix it and the wheat flour into the oat mixture. Add the all-purpose flour one cup at a time until all four cups have been incorporated, and, if using raisins, add those to the dough now. Knead for 5 to 7 minutes by machine, or until satiny. If kneading by hand, this will likely take 10 minutes. I like to do a combination of machine kneading and hand kneading so that my arms don't feel like they're about to fall off after 10 minutes, but I still have the very gratifying sensation of bringing the dough to a satiny consistency myself.

Place dough in a lightly greased bowl that will accommodate it doubling in size. Cover with lightly greased plastic wrap, and place in a warm, draft-free area until doubled in size, approximately 1 hour.

Divide the dough in half. Shape each half into a loaf and place in lightly greased loaf pans. Cover each loaf with lightly greased plastic wrap and set in a warm, yes, you guessed it, draft-free area until the dough has risen about an inch over the top of the loaf pan. This will also take about an hour.

Preheat oven to 360 degrees. Bake until golden brown, approximately 33 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool on a rack. Serve a piece or two right away with butter and cinnamon sugar if you're feeling a bit impatient and don't want to wait until Monday noontime to taste just how well your efforts have been rewarded.

Dinner tonight: I'm making the chicken in cider gravy once more. I'm working on an entertaining menu for 8 to submit to the Boston Globe food editor, and I want to be sure of the ratios when making it for 8. Later this week, I'll be making roasted fennel and carrot soup as well, and then I have to sort out the dessert details, but the pasta course will be the butternut squash lasagna. So fennel and carrot soup, butternut squash lasagna, chicken in cider gravy with mashed potatoes and carrots, and maybe apple cake. I love that apple cake. It's better than I remember every time I have it. And I've been having a lot of it, I have to say. If you happen to be in an emailing mood, please email the Globe and tell them how much you enjoy reading my blog. Heck, while you're at it, could you email the ProJo and New York Times (webeditor@nytimes.com - attention Pete Wells) as well? Any other newspapers or food mags would be - excuse the pun - gravy. Ok, so speaking of gravy, the chicken in cider gravy for 8 costs somewhere around $18.05, or $4.51 for two. When I made this back in October, I used slightly more expensive chicken broth, but now I am a devotee of Whole Foods store brand broth for $2.19 for 4 cups. The cider was $2.99 for 8 cups, we're using three, so that's $1.07. Roughly 4 tablespoons of olive oil is 80-cents. The nearly 4-pound chicken plus two additional legs is $7.12. The carrots are $1.60 at $3.99 for 5 pounds of carrots, and the celery and onion, I've put in as $1.00. I haven't estimated the flour or the dijon mustard but promise to do so very soon. There's something rather daunting about 576 teaspoons of flour per bag that I just can't face up to right now. I do hope you understand. The potatoes for the mashed potatoes are 57-cents per pound (buy local!), and the butter is about $1.14 - for 8 servings. We'll be eating chicken in cider gravy and fennel-carrot soup all week and into next. You'll be so bored hearing about it, won't you, now?

Do it yourself: Turkey-in-a-hole-in-the-ground pictorial essay

Pictorial essay sounds pretty fancy, doesn't it? I thought it best to illustrate the entire Turkey-in-a-hole-in-the-ground process with photos for those of you who want to pull these shenanigans off yourself next year. It starts with a large, fresh bird. This year, our bird was 30 pounds. One year we commissioned a bird from my brother-in-law, Trip's, Vermont neighbor. When Trip arrived to fetch said bird, it weighed over forty pounds. Nonplussed, as he had to pay by the pound, he said to his neighbor, "I only needed a thirty pound turkey." Her response: "What did you want me to do, tell it to stop growing?" Ahhh, the vagaries of buying local. But doesn't it just add to the adventure? (the correct answer to this question is "yes". I wasn't being rhetorical.)

Step 1: Dig a hole 3 feet deep by 2 feet by 3 feet. Then stand in it to prove it is so.

Step 2: A new development this year as a result of nephew-in-law Ian's now-obvious genius: fill a cardboard box (yeah, so what if ours is a beer box, huh?) with crumpled up newspaper and kindling - like a charcoal grill starter, but you aren't ever pulling this thing out of the hole in the ground, so you want it all flammable rather than made of sheet metal.


step 3: Light box o'tinder and quickly get the heck out of the hole. Helpful hint: it's a good idea to have someone strong there next to the hole who can help you out. This is fire you're playing with so you need to move more quickly than it. Alternately, you could light multiple fireplace matches and drop them in, or you could use our old, trusty method of balling up newspaper, throwing it into the bottom of the hole, topping that with torn cardboard, then topping that with kindling, and leaning into the hole to light it, which eliminates the need to quickly jump out of the hole.


step 4: Watch the box o'tinder burn.


step 5: Add wood and build up a base of coal slowly. Until two hours into it, when your brother-in-law comes out and wonders why the heck the fire isn't burning hotter, and informs you that we're never going to get 18 inches of hot coals before midnight, so step it up, fer cripes sakes! But at the beginning, you can build it up slowly. You have a couple hours before the questioning of your technique and the demands for a hotter fire are spoken.


step 6: Stand around. Drink. Feed the fire occasionally.

step 7: Stand around some more. Drink. Feed the fire occasionally. Tell funny stories and catch up with family who you see entirely too infrequently.


step 8: Discuss what's wrong with the fire. Here is a list of options to get you started: 1.) the fire isn't burning hot enough. We'll never have enough coals to cook the bird all the way through; 2.) would you just look at the wall caving in over there? The fire is going to be put out for certain - oh god, the bird will never cook through; 3.) Whoa - the fire is burning too hot - those flames are HUGE - the bird is going to burn for certain. I sure do hope we have enough side dishes so we don't miss the meat tomorrow; 4.) Cripers, there's a ton of soot in my beer - ugh - my teeth crunch - blahhh! The bird is going to be full of soot if it does cook!


step 9: Settle down and admire the fire. Try to move out of the path of soot so that your next beer (which happens to be your 8th) has less crunchy texture to it.


step 10: Tell everyone you see the face of Mrs. Twitchell, the former owner of your brother-in-law's house way back in 1805, in the flames. If they don't believe you, show them a picture.


step 11: Begin to panic that you really won't have 18-inches of hot coals by midnight, which is what you need in order to sufficiently bury the bird to insure it cooks through, and midnight is the magic hour for the burying, so hurry up and put a lot of wood on the fire. Then admire the fire and continue to drink beer (now you are on your 9th and you aren't even beginning to consider what this means for you tomorrow). Know that your beer will be crunchy no matter where you stand around the fire. You cannot avoid soot.


step 12: Bring the turkey - which sometime around step 2 had its cavity stuffed with a couple pounds of butter and enough ice cubes to fill the cavity, butter was placed under its wings and legs, then it was wrapped in 8 layers of heavy duty aluminum foil, and finally placed in its turkey cooking cage - to the fire. Set it perilously close to the edge of the fire and in a dark spot where no one can see it very clearly.


step 13: Get your foot trapped in the turkey cooking cage on your way back to the studio to graciously get beer for everyone. Watch from the ground while everyone is doubled over in laughter and those who are able to stand upright (while laughing) take pictures of you and your foot in the cage. Eventually remove your foot from your boot in order to let your father remove the darned thing from the cage. Think, "wow, my family are a bunch of jackasses. Good thing I wasn't hurt - a lot of help they'd be!"


step 14: By some miracle there actually are 18-inches of hot coals, so you put on your gloves and grab a long-handled non-flammable shovel (meaning no wood handles, people), and move the coals off to the sides of the hole to make room for the turkey in its cooking cage.


step 15: Continue with the moving around of coals to make a pocket in which the bird will spend the night. Those bad boys are HOT, so you'll need to move quickly. Plus, a panic will develop about getting the turkey in the ground tout suite. This is a very active time for you, Mr. or Ms. Hot Coal Mover.


step 16: Leading with the hand that you whacked with a hatchet earlier in the night while cutting kindling, and which probably needed stitches, but you didn't have time to deal with that nonsense, and as a result, you are now wearing ten Disney character bandages over to control the bleeding, lower the turkey into the coals.


step 17: Lower the turkey into the hole and now use the handle on the infinitely handy turkey cage that you commissioned my husband or my brother-in-law to make for you for the low, low price of one meeeeelion dollars to position the turkey in the center of the coals and nestle it into them such that the bird itself is surrounded by hot coals. Don't forget that your non-flammable shovel is quite helpful in accomplishing this task.


step 18: Oh, yeah, hey - did I mention about the shovel? Yeah, well you'll want to use it to cover the turkey with coals as well. After that, you will use the shovel to cover the bird and coals with dirt from the hole you dug. Then you will need a flashlight so you can see what you're doing while you place a tarp over the hole in the ground and place rocks around the edges to prevent it from blowing up and rain or snow interfering with the cooking process overnight.


step 19: I don't have a picture for this. Well, ok, I do, but my sister-in-law would kick my batooty if I used it, so for step 19, please go to sleep and try to get a decent night's worth even though you've had nine, ten, eleven beers. Oh, but who's counting?


Step 20: If you happen to be in the shower during this step, you'll miss it because it happens pretty quickly and then you won't get any pictures - ones that would cause your sister-in-law to box your ears or otherwise. Twelve hours after burying the bird, dig up the turkey-in-a-the-hole-in-the-ground. Bring it to the garage or some other nearly outdoor location and vacuum the dirt off of the foil to avoid that telltale crunch of dirt in your holiday dinner. Place the still-wrapped bird in a large foil turkey roasting pan in order to carry it into the house.

Step 21: Bring it inside, place it on the counter, and unwrap the turkey. Don't be freaked out that the skin isn't brown. It's still going to be darn good even without crispy skin on which to munch.


step 22: Remove "pan" juices in order to make gravy.


step 23: Get a little help transferring the bird to a platter.


step 24: Admire the bird and be certain that each of you says to every other one of you, "Well, looks like we did it again. It's perfect!" Do not skip a single relative. You must say it to everyone, even the small children, so that they, too, will know the inherent risk in cooking the turkey this way.


step 25: Enjoy the meat that falls off the bone and be thankful for yet another Thanksgiving that also happens to make for a good story. In addition to the other things you're thankful for, of course.

In all seriousness, this is a very labor-intensive holiday tradition. The hole is dug a couple of weeks prior to the holiday - because the ground is in danger of freezing the later in the month it gets - and it and its dirt, which is placed off to the side, are covered with a tarp. We burn cut up skids, rather than good firewood, though that's up to you if you want to burn a lot of $200-per-cord wood for the holiday. If you are using skids, you need to cut those up in advance into pieces that fit into the hole - I estimate 18 inches long is good. It helps to keep the wood covered as well, and it's not a bad idea to already have your kindling in ready before the big day. You'll need to start your fire around 7:30 or 8pm in order to have 18-inches of coals by midnight. Don't burn a fire near trees or dry leaves, of course, and check with your town regarding fire regulations before jumping into this process. As with any fire, it's, ah, yeah, a fire, therefore dangerous and can burn you and yours, so maintain a safe distance from the edge of the fire and supervise kids around the fire. Can you see I'm trying to avoid litigation next November 27th? Yeah. I am. Don't be a dope around the fire, ok?

Dinner tonight: country style spare ribs in a honey mustard-cider marinade, polenta, and caramelized onions (though I should be making apple sauce - I'm feeling a little lazy after the weekend Turkeypalooza and high school reunion.) Estimated cost for two: $9.47. The marinade, for which I will give the recipe later this week, costs $1.33 for 3/4 cup. The pork spare ribs were $4.40 for a pound and a quarter - JR will eat two ribs, I will eat one. The polenta is $1.41 for two servings; 56-cents for the polenta itself at 14-cents per 1/4 cup, the Whole Foods store brand chicken broth is $2.19 for 4 cups, and I'll add 1 tablespoon of butter at the end, for 8-cents. The sweet onion cost 99-cents per pound, I'll use one pound, plus butter at 37.5-cents (yes, we'll call it 38), and sugar, which is negligible (or I am too lazy to figure out the cost of 4 tablespoons out of a bag that was $2.50 and gives 576 teaspoons. It could be laziness. I did mention Turkeypalooza and my high school reunion, right? I'll do this math some other time, I promise.), and balsamic vinegar for 96-cents.