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Archive for the ‘Cooking’


Peace of Cake 3

Posted on September 13, 2010 by crankycheryl

Because it’s Rosh Hashanah and who couldn’t use a sweet NewYear?

And because it’s Eid and too many people in Burlington are outraged that the schools were closed for one of Islam’s most important family celebrations.

Because the peaches on the tree 10 feet from my deck are ripe and outrageous and demand to be eaten.

Because it’s the start of northern Vermont’s Eat Local Week, and this cake is pure Vermont.

Because my great-aunt Trilby died, at 89, in her sleep.  She was beautiful like it hurt your stomach to look at pictures of her on the boardwalk at Atlantic City in the 40’s, right after she married my great-uncle Harry.  She was the one who at last shamed me into learning to drive in my mid-20’s with the exhortation, “GAWD FORBID SOMETHING SHOULD HAPPEN TO YOUR MOTHAH AND YOU SHOULD HAVE TO DRIVE HER TO THE HOSPITAL,” during a visit to her home in Fort Lauderdale.  She’s the last of my grandmother’s generation, and my family’s place in the world  is smaller without her.

Here’s my honey cake, in celebration and remembrance.  And in hopes that we may all be granted peace, and mercy, and more time with those we love in the coming year.    It’s a mashup of Vermont localvorism, of the honey cake tradition, and it’s flavored with mahlab, an Arabic spice made from the ground pits of sour cherries.  The cake keeps getting better every day, so it’s a nice one to have around to nibble on.  And hopefully a nice sign of the days ahead.  L’shanah tovah.

Honey Peach Cake
Adapted from Joan Nathan’s Jewish Cooking in America
Yield: One bundt cake plus 8 muffins

1.  Preheat oven to 350.

2.  Prepare pans by greasing and flouring one bundt pan and either one loaf pan or approx. 8 muffins.

3.  Sift together into a medium bowl:

  • 2 1/2 c. sifted unbleached all-purpose flour
  • 1 c. whole wheat pastry flour
  • 2 1/2 t. baking powder
  • 1 t. baking soda
  • 1/2 t. salt
  • 1/4 t. cream of tartar
  • 1 t. freshly crushed mahlab

4.  Separate:

  • 3 large eggs

5.  Beat together in a large bowl until very well combined:

  • 1 cup sugar
  • egg yolks
  • 1 T. lemon juice
  • grated rind from one (0rganic) lemon
  • 1/3 c. olive oil
  • 1 c. honey
  • 1 c. warm black coffee

6.  Chop into 1″ pieces:

  • 2 ripe, sweet peaches

7.  Beat until fluffy and nearly stiff:

  • reserved egg whites.

8.  Combine parts:

  • Add flour mix in three parts, beating just until thoroughly combined with as few strokes as possible.  Fold in egg whites, then stir in peaches.

9.  Bake until an inserted skewer comes out clean, about 1 hour for the cake, and 30 minutes for muffins.  Let cool in the pan for 10 – 15 minutes, then cool completely on a rack.

Will last 4 or 5 days if it can, but it’s awfully nice for sharing.

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Children of the Corn 4

Posted on August 25, 2010 by crankycheryl

Is it just me?

Wouldn’t you expect that your children and their two friends could stay at the petting zoo and playground for two minutes while you ran to get them a bottle of water since the poor little darlings were thirsty?

And if they had to run wild in the minutes you were gone, surely you’d think they could continue on with the petting zoo animals, or climbing the wooden tractor, or running across the wide, safe, open field.  What child of reading age would cross an acre, pass the “CLOSED” signs, and enter the corn maze?

This place, by the way, is a big old actual maze with paths that swirl around in traditionally confusing and re-doubling ways.  It wasn’t terrifying at 3:00 p.m., but I sure as heck wouldn’t want to be there after sundown.   I’ve seen the horror movies and I know what goes on.

Still, you and your younger child yourselves entered the forbidden rows, yelling for the trespassers and were at last reunited, after telling the offending three children that they were in TROUBLE and had ONE MINUTE to find their way to where you were (because if you tell people to do something impossible while YELLING, the laws of physics will change to accommodate your wishes), and then the farmer showed up to yell at them too.

So there we were with glaring adults and big-eyed children.  I was waiting for the finger-pointing and the meltdown and I was ready to dish out some Very Serious Consequences.  But that was when E. said, “Listen.  It’s my fault.  I went in and they came in to get me out.  I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed.”  The farmer looked at me and I think realized they were in much more trouble on the homefront than they were with the farm.  He asked, “So now you know you did something wrong?  And if I had a cable across that row you wouldn’t have gone in?  We want to make sure you’re safe, you know.”

I don’t know what you would have done but for me it was to give the children a hug.  And then we shared our first cider donuts of the season sitting around a picnic table talking about how to decide what’s allowed and what’s safe, about how smart it was to stay together and keep each other okay.

In the end it was one of those golden moments when our children show us the beautiful people they’re becoming, even if there’s plenty of crazy along the way.

And then we went home to make a dinner of our first 2010 local apples, some good Cabot cheddar, and a pile of crackers, since I had no energy left for cooking.  On the way, E. said, “Mommy, you know it’s not really my fault.  They should have signs showing how to get out of that place!  Can you believe there was only one picture of the whole thing?!”

Indeed.

And now that we’ve recovered I want to share with you this pure summer harvest celebration of a recipe that we enjoyed last week after a much less adventurous visit to our CSA farm.  It was Z.’s idea to mix, “corn … and cheese … and broccoli and water … and I’ll stir it all up!”  I’m sure he was thinking something more mudpie-ish, but to me it sounded like chowder, and that’s what we made.

Cheesy Corn Potato Chowder
About 6 servings

1.  Remove the kernels from:

  • 3 ears fresh corn

and set aside.

2.  Heat until rippling in a large sauce pan:

  • 2 T. butter or olive oil

3.  Adjust heat to medium-low, and add:

  • 2 cups diced potatoes, with peels unless you really hate them
  • 1/2 cup sliced carrots
  • 1/2 cup chopped onion

Cook for about 10 minutes, stirring frequently, until carrots are softened, and onions are starting to brown gently.

4.  Stir in and mix very well:

  • 1/2 t. salt
  • freshly ground pepper
  • 1/4 cup flour (substitute your usual thickener if you’re going for gluten-free)

Then pour in, 1/2 cup at a time, and bring to a simmer while stirring.

  • 2 cups milk
  • 1 cup water

5.  Stir in and cook at a low simmer just until broccoli turns bright green, about 3 minutes:

  • 2 c. shredded cheddar cheese (I use Cabot 50% reduced fat cheddar)
  • 1 cup finely chopped broccoli (or substitute spinach or chopped chard)
  • the reserved corn

Heat through, and serve.

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Czech Plum Dumplings 4

Posted on August 15, 2010 by crankycheryl

The Vermont plums are in, and they are damned good.   So good that I find myself leaving the farmer’s market each week of their short season with far more than I really need or have plans for.  Which was what was happening a couple of weeks ago when I ran into a friend who told me about her old neighbor who made dumplings with the plums that grew in her yard.

Of course the word, “dumplings” piqued my interest.  So with quarts of plums at the ready, I went home to find a recipe.  Here’s what I found, and have so far made two batches – one to freeze for winter, and one we ate fresh with grilled sausage and a great deal of delight.

Plum Dumplings
Adapted from AllRecipes.com
The original recipe’s yield says 25, but 20 seems to be closer to the truth

1.  Peel, quarter, boil until tender and then mash:

  • 2 large or 4 small potatoes

2.  While the potatoes are cooking, prepare the plums.  Slice in half:

  • 25 prune plums (Who knows?  Maybe you’ll get 25 out of the recipe and will actually need each one.  If not, you’ve got sugary sweet plums as a snack, so it’s a low-risk situation.)

Remove each pit, and sprinkle a bit of sugar into the spot where it was.  Place plums in a bowl while you prepare the dough.

3.  Make the dough by sifting together:

  • 1 1/2 cups unbleached white flour
  • 1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
  • 1/2 t. powdered lemon peel
  • pinch ground ginger
  • 1 teaspoon sugar
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt

Make a well in the center and add:

  • 3 egg yolks
  • 2 tablespoons softened butter
  • 1 cup mashed potato

Mix together with a wooden spoon until too hard to stir, and then knead until very smooth.

4.  Flour a cutting board well, and roll out half of the dough to 1/4″ thick.  Use a glass or biscuit cutter to cut out 3″ or 4″ rounds.  (Work fairly quickly so the circles don’t dry out.)  Place one round on the palm of one hand, rub the circle’s outside with a sugared plum to moisten the dough.

Stretch and seal the dough around the plum, trying your best to avoid any holes in the dough.  (If you do end up with a hole, just grab a scrap from the board and patch it.)

Repeat until all dough is used up, gathering and re-rolling as many scraps as you can.  (To freeze at this point, place in a single layer on a well-floured cookie sheet and stick in the freezer until hard, and then put in a container or bag.)

5.  Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, and gently place dumplings in the water and boil for about 10 minutes. (Add about 4 minutes if you cook from frozen.)

6.  In a large sauce pan, melt together over medium-low heat and stir until warm and thick:

  • 1/2 c. unsalted butter
  • 1  c. brown sugar or your favorite jam or marmalade (we were lucky to have some peach butter bubbling away on the stove and so used that)
  • 1/4 c. bread crumbs to thicken if you like.

I’d like to come up with some brilliant summation here, but I’m a bit distracted as I’m here with a 5-year old here who insists it’s my birthday (it’s not) and that I have to go off to a party with Batman, a plastic dinosaur and some wooden milk.  You, on the other hand, should get yourself some plums and eat them in any way you can think of.

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Massive Cookies & Extreme Library Gratitude 4

Posted on June 30, 2010 by crankycheryl

I don’t know if our librarians could possibly know how much the summer reading program saves our sanity.

How positively alluring and magnetic we find that weekly day at the library, amidst the chaos of the disrupted schedule, the dinners with friends that stretch on into the night while mommies sip wine and can’t bear to call children in before sunset, the watergun fights and overtired, mosquito-bitten warriors on endless quests.

Library day.  So we gather whatever books we can find to return, bring in the boys’ reading lists from the past week and we toodle down the hill.  They perch on chairs and gesticulate wildly while they describe the horrible things their favorite characters have done on that week’s pages.

While there this week, E. excitedly found a past favorite, “Wild Boars Cook.” Oh, the boars (Horace, Morris, Boris & Doris) are horrible creatures, beautifully drawn and full of badness.  While in this sequel book they are neither bathing in toilets nor breaking toys nor farting, they are in the kitchen making a “massive pudding,” with ingredients I’ll leave you to discover.  Plus the book ends with a recipe for a massive cookie, and we made our version of it.

Massive Cookie
Adapted from “Wild Boars Cook”
Makes 1 cookie, about 12 servings

Preheat oven to 350.

Cream together until very well blended in a medium bowl:

  • 1/2 stick (4 T.) butter
  • 1/4 c. olive oil
  • 3/4 c. sugar

Sift over the top of the butter mixture:

  • 1/2 c. white flour
  • 1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
  • 1/2 t. salt
  • 1/2 t. baking soda

Stir thoroughly.  Then mix in:

  • 1/2 c. chocolate chips

Grease a cookie sheet, then form dough into shape of a large cookie.

Bake for 15 minutes, then have one of your little boarlets carefully sprinkle over the top while you stand there nervously with potholders between your child and the pan.  Or maybe just do it yourself:

  • 1/2 c. m&m type candies
  • 1/2 c. gum drops or jelly beans

Bake for 15 minutes more, or until golden brown.

Cool, cut into wedges or whatever shape you like.

Have any great kids books with recipes you love?  I’d love to hear about them since, ahhhhh, our next library day is coming soon.

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Saved by Lettuce Soup 5

Posted on June 16, 2010 by crankycheryl

Oh, for crying out loud.

Here I am the day before CSA pick-up #2, with a crisper full of lettuce that’s about to be crowded by a lot more. Something drastic had to be done.

So I started thinking about lettuce, and how it has a lot in common with vegetables that tend to get much more diverse treatment like zucchini or cucumber: basically green containers of water without a terribly strong flavor of their own.  And I remembered running into a lettuce soup recipe somewhere out there on Planet Internet, and put this together with what needed to be used up around here.

This particular version yielded a tart, fresh, creamy soup that I served warm.  But you should feel free to serve it cold and make any substitutions – soy or coconut milk for the cream and/or yogurt, drop in a couple teaspoons of hot sauce instead of the salsa, toss in a grated cucumber or whatever you like.   Remember: soup is here to use up what you’ve got and you’ve got to make it work for you.

Green & Creamy Lettuce Soup
4 servings

Put in a blender:

  • Half of the leaves from one head of any mild-flavored leaf lettuce (it doesn’t have to be perfectly crisp), reserving the rest to be added in as the soup purees
  • 3/4 cup low fat yogurt
  • 1 avocado, minus peel and pit
  • 2 T. lemon juice
  • 1/2 cup salsa (I used a medium-spicy salsa verde that was lurking around)
  • 1/2 t. kosher salt
  • 2 T. light cream

Pulse the soup to puree, adding in the rest of the lettuce as there’s room.  Heat just until warm, or serve cold.

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Stuffed Grape Leaves: Further Encounters with Weed-Eating 2

Posted on June 10, 2010 by crankycheryl

So at last I’m reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and the truth is that I’m liking it so much that I’m a little bit embarrassed.

I was sure that I was going to find it a total snoozer, and roll my eyes at all the stuff I already know.  Like I need to be taught how to eat locally and why it’s a good idea?  But reading it is like talking to another localvore friend, one who’s clever and funny and self-deprecating and good-hearted, and not as “preachy” as I’ve heard the book described.

Maybe that’s why I took it a little personally when I read the passage about how my new BFF’s year of eating locally was going to mean growing food and buying from local farmers.  And ABSOLUTELY NOT going to include gleaning weeds by the roadside because she didn’t want to fit some low-class stereotype.

Ahem.

I like collecting weeds, and I’m okay with knowing that my sons will grow up to be mortified by the habit.  It’s okay because one day they’ll appreciate my boundless creativity and thriftiness.  Of course by then I’ll be dead and my ghost will be hovering over the heads of their wives or husbands saying things like, “Really?  You’re too good for that?  You’re just going to throw out the peel and those greens and not even make soup out of it?  And what the hell is that thing you’re wearing?  You call that a shirt?”

But here and now my target is grape leaves (well, grape leaves plus eight uninterrupted hours of sleep and maybe paying my bills on time for once).  The vines are absolutely everywhere, and I’m gearing up for a big harvest and preservation.

And in the meantime, I’m preparing lots of dolmades with the fresh ones.  They’re a quick snack or meal, taste great, are gluten- and dairy-free, and easily made vegan.  Come on by and join me among the weeds.

Stuffed Grape Leaves
Adapted from Joy of Cooking
About 40 rolls

Pour 2 cups of boiling water over:

  • About 40 large grape leaves (or 2 small jars if you haven’t gotten the fresh wild ones around).

Let sit for 1 hour.

In the meantime mix well together in a large bowl:

  • 1 1/2 lbs. ground lamb or beef (locally, humanely raised)
  • (if you want a vegetarian version substitute 2 cups dried lentils plus 1/3 cup of water for the meat)
  • 1 finely chopped onion
  • 1/2 cup finely chopped fresh herbs (your choice – I used oregano and thyme)
  • 1/3 cup uncooked white rice
  • 1 T. salt (don’t skimp)
  • Ground black pepper to taste

Line a large saucepan with several leaves.  Then roll the remaining leaves by placing a leaf on a small plate or cutting board, vein-side up and with the stem facing you.  Put a heaping teaspoon of filling about an inch above the leaf’s bottom.  Fold over the left and right sides, then roll from bottom to top and place in the pan with the flap-side down.  Roll the rest of them and place in concentric circles in the pan, building to a second level as necessary.  Save a few smaller grape leaves aside.

Drizzle over the top:

  • 3-4 T. olive oil

Pour in:

  • 2 T. lemon juice
  • 2 cups stock/broth or water,

Place remaining grape leaves on top, and cover with a small plate (this will ensure that all the stuffed leaves are sufficiently submerged).  Cover the pan and simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the rice and meat/lentils are cooked.  Serve hot, cold, or at room temperature – which is how much Mediterranean food tends to be eaten.

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Roast Chicken with Rhubarb, Parsnips & Nettles 0

Posted on May 14, 2010 by crankycheryl

It’s that magical time of year, yes:  time to defrost the freezer! And so I’m trying to plan meals around the things that need to come out of said box of frost.   I found myself rooting around in there the other day, and was delighted to find a whole organic roasting chicken in the back of it that had somehow escaped winter meals.

Then I found the last round of root vegetables from a winter CSA pick-up, and had nettles and rhubarb from the farmer’s market, and before I knew it, I had a great dinner coming together, tart and sweet and green.  The rhubarb gets soft and melty, the big chunks of parsnip keep just a bit al dente, and the contrast is really nice.

I almost always make roasts in a clay pot, but you can use any basic recipe (like Thomas Keller’s below).  Clay pot cooking is its own special technique.  It doesn’t result in the same flavor intensity you get from dry-heat roasting, but I love how forgiving it is, and how it helps the other flavors inside the pot meld and transform.

Roast Chicken with Rhubarb, Parsnips & Nettles
4 – 6 servings

  • 1 4-ish pound chicken, humanely raised please, rinsed, patted dry, and with any necks or whatever removed from the inside
  • 4 – 6 large parsnips, scrubbed, peel left on, cut into nice big chunks 2″ or so
  • 4 stalks rhubarb (about 3/4 lb.), washed, leaves removed, cut into 3/4″ pieces
  • 1 lemon, organic, washed, seeded, and cut into 1/8’s
  • 4 T. olive oil
  • 1 t. kosher or other favorite salt
  • 2 cloves garlic, chopped
  • 1 lb. nettles, handled with gloves, rinsed, blanched for 2 minutes and drained very well  (mine were from Half Pint Farm – maybe they’ll have more this week)

If  using a clay pot, prepare by filling top and bottom with cold water and letting sit for 20 – 30 minutes.

Line pot with parchment paper (I was out & so I didn’t).

Mix 2 T. oil, 1/2 salt, garlic, and juice from 2 or 3 slices of the lemon together in a small bowl.  Rub all over the chicken, including under the skin.

Place parsnips, rhubarb, remaining salt, remaining oil in the bottom of the pot.  Place chicken on top, put cover on pot, then place whole thing in the oven with rack in the lower third.  Heat oven to 450 (on my slow oven 475 works better), and cook for 50 – 60 minutes, until juice from deepest part of the thigh runs clear.  Remove top from pot and cook for 20 minutes more, or until nicely browned.  Remove from oven, place chicken on a platter to settle for 10 or so minutes.  Mix nettles into the parsnip-rhubarb mixture in the pan.  Place vegetables around chicken and serve.

Don’t have a clay pot? Here’s Thomas Keller’s Basic Roast Chicken Recipe.  You can do the vegetables on the side, in their own covered dish while the chicken cooks and present them the same way.

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Curses! Greek Veggie Burgers 4

Posted on May 05, 2010 by crankycheryl

I don’t know what is happening to me, but I seem to be turning into Cursing Mommy.

We were coming home from Costco the other day, merging onto the highway.  There were three cars driving in our direction, and two of them merged into the passing lane so we could merge in.   I started to get up to speed and steer into the right-hand lane, but saw that car #3 had not yielded.  This is clearly annoying, but really not an unexpectedly big deal, right?

So what happened next is a little confusing.  A word came out of my mouth that I didn’t really know was in my vocabulary, a word so far beyond polite conversation that I can’t write it here.  It was a word that had Z. in an explosion of delight there in  the backseat:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  What’s a dushbag Mommy?!  HAHAHAHAHAHA!  DUSHBAG, DUSHBAG, DUSHBAG!  Mommy said duuuuuushbag.

Proud I was not.

Clearly I have no excuse for what came out of my mouth as I was reading about the recall of all those children’s products and realized I had given the boys the tainted medicine.  Upset, of course, but was it really necessary to provoke E. to ask:

Son of a what, Mommy?

It’s a good thing I’ve got some nice mellow dinners like this one to get myself on an even keel.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Greek Veggie Burgers
yield: about 12

Puree together in a food processor, leaving it just a bit chunky for texture

  • 1 1/2 cups steamed and drained kale or spinach
  • 1/2 c. chopped sauteed mushrooms
  • 1 1/2 cups cooked or canned chick peas, drained

Place spinach mixture in bowl and stir in:

  • 1 1/2 cups bulgur wheat (3/4 c. dry, soaked in 1 1/4 c. boiling water for 30 minutes)
  • 3/4 cup vital wheat gluten
  • 1/4 cup olive oil
  • 1 T. tamari, soy sauce, or Bragg’s
  • 1 t. chopped garlic
  • 1 t. dried lemon peel
  • 1 t. chopped fresh oregano or 1/2 t. dried

Form into patties, then place on baking sheet (give a little space around each, but they won’t expand like baked goods so don’t worry too much).  Bake for 25 minutes, then carefully flip with a spatula and bake for 20 more, until nicely browned.  Serve in whatever burger-y way you like.

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When in Doubt: Fritters 3

Posted on April 23, 2010 by crankycheryl

We were out to dinner the other night and a friend pulled a couple of crinkly plastic bags out of her purse.  She had a share of a wild-crafting CSA, and declared that she needed some help “appreciating” the coltsfoot and sedum with which she had been gifted that week.

We nibbled at bites, furrowed our brows, and concluded that frying was the answer.  Definitely frying.

Two days later, Z. and I were having our usual Monday at home and it was time for breakfast when I stumbled on the bags in the fridge.  Fritter time.

So I beat together until smooth:

  • 2 eggs
  • 1/3 c. white whole wheat flour
  • 1/4 c. milk
  • 1/4 t. kosher salt

And then stirred in a cup or so of the mixed wild stuff.

Then heated up in a large skillet until it was slightly rippling:

  • 1 T. butter
  • 1 T. olive oil

Then poured the whole mix in, and let it sit until the underside was set and the top was starting to bubble, when it got flipped.

Then I cut it into wedges and ate half of it. It was really good – the coltsfoot has a sort of cumin-like taste that I found delicious.  The sedum tasted most like wilted thick spinach, pretty green but unoffensive.

And this is when the really startling thing happened.  Z. was watching Sid the Science Kid when he started wrinkling up his little nose and said, “I smell something yummy, Mommy!”  Hmm.  I asked if he wanted some.  I gave him a little slice, which he promptly devoured.  And then he ate the rest!  Hardly picking out the greens at all!

Truth be told, I’m still a little stunned.

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Fennel-Tomato-Orange Relish 0

Posted on April 21, 2010 by crankycheryl

Now I have a four-year old whose favorite word is, “stupid.”   He’s discovered its versatility, with applications like,

“I can’t have a second dessert today?  I don’t want to be part of this stupid family any more.”

“My face got wet.  This swim class is 10 amounts of STUPID!”

“My [child-centered, loving, hippy-dippy, filled-with-friends] pre-school is stupid and I’M NOT GOING.”

It’s a joy and a half, I tell you.

But still it’s spring and it’s beautiful and I crept outside this afternoon to do some gardening and before I knew it both boys had found their way out with me to dig in the dirt and water plants.  And then we spied a new neighbor’s little boy around their age and in a flash they had all armed themselves with plastic guns and were climbing the dirt pile and refusing to come in when the rain started.  It felt like childhood.

And while this was going on I was working on a clean-out-the-crisper effort, and turned some random bits of of this and that into a fully respectable and totally delicious relish.  We had it with some mashed potatoes and lamb chops I had found in the freezer and defrosted, but it would be great with some sauteed tofu, or spread on a wrap with some brie or prosciutto, or with some eggs for breakfast.

Do consider yourself warned:  it is far too stupid for ornery four-year-olds.

Fennel-Tomato-Orange Relish
Makes about 2 cups

In a large skillet heat:

  • 3 T. olive oil until rippling

Add:

  • 1 large onion cut into 3/4″ dice
  • 1 large or 2 small fennel bulbs, white parts cut crosswise and then diced into 3/4″ pieces

Cook over medium-low heat until transparent, then add:

  • 2 diced plum tomatoes
  • 1 organic orange with its peel, cut into 1/2″ dice 
  • 1 organic lemon with its peel, cut into 1/2″ dice
  • 1/2 t. kosher salt
  • finely chopped fronds from the fennel

Cook for about 10 minutes at a light bubbling simmer, then cover and cook for 30 minutes more over very low heat.  Stir 2 or 3 times and add a bit more olive oil if it starts to stick too much.  Remove lid and cook over medium heat for 5 minutes more.  Serve warm or cool and use as you like.

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    Cheryl Herrick's brave Vermont quest to bring together food-love and mom-life. All original content (written, graphical, recipes or other), unless otherwise noted, is © and/or TM Cheryl Herrick. All rights reserved by the author. Want to reprint a recipe? Just get in touch and ask.

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