Smoke detectors and grape focaccia

My home's smoke detectors are very, very sensitive.

I never worry that I'll be asphyxiated in my sleep if the house begins to smolder, which is generally a big positive. But baking things at high temperatures on a stone — crusty, tasty things like pizza — sets off the smoke alarm. I'd forgotten (or blocked out) that tidbit before firing up the stove to make grape focaccia Saturday. The harsh, blaring noise forced me to throw open each and every window while flailing a kitchen towel around my head like a madwoman. It also drove my dog Gus into the backyard. He stayed as far from the house as possible, and had to be coaxed back inside.

It was worth the hassle. Tossed with freshly chopped rosemary and thinly sliced shallots, the grapes wrinkled and softened as they cooked. The natural sugars are intensified as they bake. It's a great textural experience, biting into oozing fruit, warm juices dribbling down your chin, then encountering a mellow bread with a crisp crust.

In the past, I've added a bit of turbinado sugar and crushed fennel seeds to the topping, when I'm going for a sweeter bread, or thrown in a couple of thinly sliced garlic cloves if I want a slightly more savory option. I think thinly sliced roasted fennel would make for an interesting combo — that goes onto the Things To Make in the Future List.

Grape Focaccia with Rosemary and Shallots

This recipe makes enough dough for 2 focacce, about 10 x 16 inches each. The topping quantity listed below is enough for one focaccia. Double the topping quantity if you plan to bake both, or freeze the leftover dough for future use.

Dough

1 package active dry yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons)

1/4 cup warm water (for dissolving yeast)

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 heaping tablespoon Kosher salt

2 1/2 cups water

6 1/2 - 7 cups all-purpose flour

Topping

1 large shallot, thinly sliced

1 1/2 cups seedless grapes (red or green)

1 tablespoon rosemary, finely chopped

1 large pinch Kosher salt

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

Combine the yeast and 1/4 cup of water in a mixing bowl and stir to dissolve. Let it stand for about 10 minutes to proof.

Add the olive oil, salt, 2 1/2 cups of water and flour to the mixing bowl. Stir with a heavy wooden spoon. When the mixture comes together, knead it by hand on a floured work surface until smooth, about 12-15 minutes (a little less if you're using a mixer). Place it in an oiled bowl to rise, covered with plastic wrap or a tea towel, until doubled in size. This will take about 1 1/2 hours.

Divide the dough into 2 pieces and press into the desired shape on lightly floured or parchment-lined baking pans (mine are most often misshapen rectangles). Press your fingertips into the dough, forming small dimples. Cover and allow the shaped dough to rise for about 2 hours.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Brush the dough with 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Toss the grapes and sliced shallots with a pinch of Kosher salt and finely chopped rosemary. Spread evenly over the focaccia dough, then bake for 25-30 minutes, rotating once to ensure even browning. Cool on a baking rack for 5 minutes before serving.

The beauty of roti

Unleavened bread is a wonderful thing. I've known this for a while, but it fell off my radar screen for a couple of years. I got caught up in the hoopla that (justly) surrounded Jim Leahy's No-Knead Bread  and turned to the magic of an easy artisan-style loaf whenever it came time to bake. That changed this past weekend, when I went with an Indian dinner menu for an informal gathering (a.k.a. Game Night).

I'm no Indian food expert, but with the help of Julie Sahni's Classic Indian Cooking, I turned out a great meal featuring braised chicken with bay leaves, cardamom and cloves; lentils in garlic butter; a fresh mint relish; saffron rice; and Besan ki Roti, or Chickpea Flour Bread. Roti requires a bit of last-minute effort, but the recipe couldn't be simpler and the results are terrific. Griddle baked and finished over an open flame, the roti puff up, the soft aroma of chickpea flour wafting into the kitchen as the breads gently deflate and are brushed with ghee (clarified butter). The bread is lovely by itself, though it's the perfect vehicle for scooping up other foods. I'll be making roti for solo meals, rolling out small portions of dough on an as-needed basis, but it's fun party food, something guests can help with just before you sit down to eat.

Note: I plan on increasing the amount of red pepper a bit the next time I make roti. I couldn't taste it and didn't get any heat using the recommended 1/2 teaspoon in the original recipe that follows. Follow your taste buds.


Chickpea Flour Bread (Besan ki Roti)
Makes 24 six-inch roti, enough for 8-12 people
Adapted from Classic Indian Cooking

2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup chickpea flour
1/4 - 1/2 teaspoon red pepper (optional)
1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt
1 1/4 cups (or more) warm water
additional all-purpose flour for dusting

Put the whole wheat flour, one cup of all-purpose flour, chickpea flour, Kosher salt and red pepper (if you're using it) in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a metal blade. Pulse a few times to combine, then add then the water slowly through the feed tube with the machine running. The dough will come together in a shaggy mass.

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead for 10-15 minutes by hand. The dough will be soft and slightly sticky. Cover and allow to rest for at least 30 minutes, but up to 24 hours, before you plan to bake.

Place the dough on a work surface, dusting flour at the ready, and knead gently for about a minute. Divide it into 2 balls, then divide each of those into 12 equal portions. Roll the pieces into small balls and cover with plastic wrap as you work with them individually.

Place one ball on your work surface, dusting with flour to prevent sticking, and flatten with a rolling pin. Roll into a disc about 6-inches in diameter.

Bake on a hot griddle (I used a cast-iron skillet) until a few brown spots appear and the bottom is cooked, then flip over and cook the other side for about 30 seconds. Using a pair of tongs, hold the bread flat over another burner  — over the flame — with the gas set to high. Cook for 10-15 seconds, then turn and cook the other side for another 10-15 seconds.

Serve as is, or brush with ghee (clarified butter). Roti doesn't reheat well — it gets dried out and leathery — so enjoy fresh off the flame or at room temperature.

Hibernating with orange flower-buttermilk sorbet

What to do with the three-quarters of a quart of Maple View Farm buttermilk sitting in the refrigerator? Though I am the type to drink it, I decided to make sorbet — something to share. I was headed to my friend Cathy's house for dinner and a movie, and dessert was in order. Rather than stick with the ever popular buttermilk-lemon combination, I opted to use the orange flower water that's been sitting in my pantry for eons (alongside an almost identical pretty blue bottle of rosewater).

Orange flower water has a floral quality that makes a nice counterpoint to buttermilk's rich, slightly sour flavor. Combined with simple syrup for sweetness and brightened with a few drops of fresh lemon juice, the sorbet was a big success. Cathy and I enjoyed a quiet evening with a few episodes of HBO's New Orleans drama Treme, bowls in hand. I highly recommend both. 

Note: I added orange zest to the sorbet for color and flavor, but it should be considered optional — the sorbet would be good without it. If you opt for pretty orange flecks, add them after your sorbet is frozen, stirring it into the finished product as it comes out of the ice cream machine. Zest sometimes catches on the mixing paddle of the ice cream maker, forming a big clump rather than the evenly dispersed look you're going for. 

Look for orange flower water in Middle Eastern stores or the ethnic section of an upscale grocery like Whole Foods. You can also order it (and rosewater) from Amazon. I'm a big fan of the frozen canister type ice cream makers made for home use — they come in 1 and 2-quart sizes, and you can buy an extra canister or two if you make lots of frozen desserts.

Orange Flower - Buttermilk Sorbet

Makes about 1 quart

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup water

3 cups buttermilk

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1 teaspoon orange flower water

zest of 1 orange, finely grated

Combine the sugar and water in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves, then turn off the heat and set the simple syrup aside to cool. 

When the syrup is room temperature, combine it with the buttermilk, lemon juice and orange flower water to create the sorbet base. Chill for at least one hour, then freeze according to your ice cream machine's instructions. Add the orange zest to the sorbet after removing it from the machine and freeze for up to 1 month.

Rhett's Southern pantry

One of things I like most about my friend Rhett is his love of all things Southern. He is fiercely devoted to his hometown of Charleston and will never live anywhere else. He doesn't want to. I, too, am a Southerner, but my loyalties aren't so strong. I left North Carolina as soon as I graduated from college planning never to return. 16 years later I find myself enjoying life in Chapel Hill — enjoying it very much — but I threaten to move far, far way on a regular basis. I think it's the way I'm wired.

Rhett's reaction to my recent blog post on pantry basics came as no surprise. He sent a brief list of things he thought I missed, things his kitchen never lacks. All of these items are very regional, very Charleston, very much like Rhett himself — and I thought it would be fun to share. What follows is a slightly edited version of his email, as well as my own input. Maybe you'll be inspired add a few items to your list of kitchen staples.

Rhett's Pantry Staples

Bourbon

Rhett: I drink it, yes. However, it does amazing things to pork, chicken, soups and chili; it's also great with chocolate and nuts.

Lynn: I don't drink it, but I keep a bottle of Maker's Mark my liquor cabinet. Friends (you know who you are) love the stuff, and I cook with it occasionally, using it to flavor ice cream, cake and hard sauce.

Buttermilk

Rhett: Without buttermilk there is no reason on this good earth to make biscuits, cornbread, pancakes/waffles or fry much of anything. It elevates wild game to new heights.

Lynn: Agreed. And I like to drink it, something my restaurant coworkers back in Boston thought was particularly disgusting.

Grits and cornmeal

Rhett: These are the most under-rated food items in the world. They pair well with seafood, chicken, veal, and wild game (marsh hens with grits and gravy). Fried grits can be topped with anything from pulled pork to caviar and creme fraiche.

Lynn: I keep cornmeal from White's Mill in Abingdon,Virginia in my pantry at all times. Your comments have set off a shrimp and grits craving.

Local honey

Rhett: Sue Bee is the Coors Light of honey — tasteless. Making the extra effort to buy local is more than worth it. It helps local farmers, the local economy, and provides many health benefits.

Lynn: Good point. I buy honey from Little Tree Farm in Oxford, NC. It's more expensive than nationally distributed honey, but worth it.

Joy's cornbread

My father claims that it took my mother, Joy, two years to perfect her cornbread. Many of her initial cooking efforts were, um,  unsuccessful. I've heard tales of burnt pot roast, fallen cakes, and undercooked vegetables, though those last dishes would be considered overcooked by many today — think green beans stewed for hours with bacon. To be fair, Joy had just turned 20 when they married, and she didn't have much cooking experience. She went from her parents' house to a dorm room to sharing a trailer with her new spouse in Jackson, Mississippi.

When I stop to think about it, my father was probably just looking for his mother's cornbread. Don't most men want food like Mom used to make? Maybe this post should be named after my paternal grandmother.

I compare all other cornbread to this one, the one my mother made daily when I was growing up. When I left home it was the one recipe of hers I had to have, the one thing I knew I'd want to recreate wherever I lived, so I set out to record the process exactly. But Joy doesn't measure ingredients when she makes this particular dish. The cups and scoops come out for just about everything else, but cornbread she creates by eye, by feel. We came to a consensus after a few tries, and I'm happy to report that the following recipe will very accurately reproduce Joy's version.

This isn't for everyone. I expect that anyone accustomed to what my father calls "Yankee cornbread" will be appalled by the crisp exterior, lack of sugar, and somewhat dry crumb, but these are things I like best about it. I love the crunch, the fact that this cornbread is perfect for scooping up the juices that surround slow-cooked Southern summer vegetables like pink-eyed peas and butter beans.

Compared to Miss Effie's cornbread, described by my friend Kitty in her guest post back in August, my mother's cornbread is loaded with "extras" like flour and baking soda. Joy used to cook this with bacon grease — she kept it in an old orange juice concentrate container in the fridge — but she's lightened up and uses vegetable oil now. An iron skillet is mandatory. Don't even think about baking this in another type of pan. Leftovers can be frozen — they're great for stuffing.

Joy's Cornbread

1-2 tablespoons of vegetable oil, lard or butter for the skillet
1/3 cup cornmeal (yellow or white)
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon table salt
1 egg
1 cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Place a 10-inch cast iron skillet — the bottom coated with a tablespoon of bacon grease, vegetable oil, or butter —  in the oven as it heats. The hot oil creates that crispy exterior you're aiming for.

Combine the dry ingredients in a medium mixing bowl with a fork or whisk. In another bowl, whisk the egg into the buttermilk, then pour this mixture into the dry ingredients. Pour the batter (it will be pretty thick) into the preheated skillet, spreading it to the sides with a spatula. Bake for 20 minutes. Warm slices are best slathered with butter.

The pantry

My friend Kathleen emailed me a few months ago with a question. She wondered how I could "whip up dinner every night," making a modest meal out of whatever was already in the house. My culinary background helps, but the truth is my day-to-day meals are nothing fancy, just good, simple dishes made from great ingredients. I visit the grocery store or farmers' market a couple of times each week for fresh produce or proteins, but I do have a well-stocked kitchen. The refrigerator always contains eggs, a hunk of parmesan cheese, a couple of lemons; the pantry is never without pasta, rice, a large assortment of dried herbs, and a few vinegars. The assortment varies a bit, but below is a list of basics I think every kitchen should have. It limits multiple trips to the store and allows you to create something tasty with whatever fresh items you bring home.

A few hints: it's wise to buy dried herbs and spices in the smallest containers you can find, unless you have a big cooking or baking day planned. Yes, they are more expensive per ounce, but they age quickly. Old oregano that smells and tastes like dust is no bargain. Check for bulk items at the grocery - you can buy as much or as little as you'd like, the turnover is usually pretty good, and the pricing is better.

The following is a very basic list of pantry staples. Herbs are dried unless otherwise noted.

Salt  - Table salt and kosher salt. I almost exclusively use kosher salt, but table salt is often called for in baking recipes because the smaller grains dissolve more easily. Kosher salt doesn't contain additives - typically iodine - found in table salt.

Whole black peppercorns - grind to order in a pepper mill

Vinegars - My first choice is sherry vinegar; I always have white wine and red wine vinegars as well as a good quality balsamic

Pasta - I keep one long, skinny pasta (spaghetti, fettucini) and one or two shorter types (penne, macaroni)

Rice - long rained white rice is my first option; brown rice allows me to feel virtuous

Mustard - Dijon (regular or grainy) and dried ( I love Coleman's)

Kalamata olives (in a glass jar, not a can; canned olives taste like tin)
Canola oil (or another neutral vegetable oil)

Chile oil
Bay leaves

Cinnamon, sticks and ground
Coriander seeds
Cumin seeds
Fennel seeds
Oregano leaves
Baking powder
Baking soda
Unsweetened cocoa powder
Vanilla extract
All-purpose flour
Unsalted butter
Eggs (large)
White or yellow onions - 2 or 3
Fresh garlic heads - 2 or 3
Red onion -1
Whole peeled tomatoes, canned - 2 or 3 cans
Extra virgin olive oil
Dried red chile peppers - whole
Hot red pepper flakes
Sugar - granulated and light brown
Soy sauce - I prefer Kikkoman
Tabasco sauce
Worcestershire sauce
Fresh lemons - 2 in the fridge at all times
Fresh parsley - I grow my own, so it's available at a moment's notice

Creamy bean soup

Scrumptious, smooth, creamy. Herb-scented, olive oil-enriched, crouton-garnished. I need to create quite an impression of the simple bean soup I made last weekend, because the pictures, well, the pictures aren't so great. And if you don't try this (brown soup with beige croutons) you'll regret it.

Spectacular fall weather inspired a bit of bean cookery over the weekend. I ventured into the pantry and broke out a bag of better-than-average heirloom beans — snowcap beans — from Rancho Gordo. Beans I ordered and got all worked up over in June, and with good reason. The heirloom varieties I've tried thus far have been amazingly good. Like all great ingredients, the Rancho Gordo beans haven't needed much help, just the addition a few aromatic vegetables and an herb or two.

Snowcap beans remind me of cranberry beans with their rich, velvety texture — perfect for soups. When I make this type of pureed bean soup I typically use a little pancetta, cooking the vegetables in rendered fat before adding the beans, herbs, and water or chicken stock, using the crisped meat as a garnish. Feel free to do that here if you'd like, but if you go to the trouble of procuring heirloom beans, try it first without the meat. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

You'll find many different opinions on the best ways to cook dried beans. Some people recommend adding dried seaweed or crushed espazote to the water to aid digestion; others insist that a pinch of baking soda does the trick. Many advise that you not add salt to the bean pot until they're done, lest you toughen the skins and prevent them from ever truly cooking through. I haven't found that any of these things are true, and I've tried them all. Seaweed and espazote are nice for flavor, but I'm not convinced that they help the, er, bean problem. Dried beans benefit from a soak prior to cooking —  this simply speeds up the process.

Velvety Bean Soup
Serve 6-8

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound dried snowcap or cranberry beans
1 large onion, diced
5 garlic cloves, minced
2 carrots, diced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 rosemary sprigs
10 sage leaves
water
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper


Cover the dried beans with cold water and soak, refrigerated, 8 hours. When it's time to cook the beans, drain and proceed with the recipe. If you're pressed for time, place the dried beans in a large pot and cover with water by about 2 inches. Bring to a boil, cover with a lid, then shut off the heat and allow the beans to soak for one hour. Drain, then proceed with the recipe below.

Warm the olive oil in a heavy-bottom stockpot over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until soft, about 5-7 minutes. Add the celery and carrots, stir, and cook another 5 minutes. Add the herbs and soaked beans, and cover with fresh water by about 2 inches. Simmer the beans until tender, adding more water if necessary. My batch of beans cooked in about 35 mintues, but please note that the cooking time varies, as some beans are older (and therefore more dried out) than others.

Remove the herb sprigs and puree with an immersion blender or standing blender. If using an upright, work in small batches with the lid loosely covering the top, and allow the soup to cool a little bit before pureeing. Hot splatters are painful as well as messy. Add more water to thin the soup if necessary and season with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Garnish with freshly made croutons (toast small cubes of the best white bread you can find in a little extra virgin olive oil on the stove top) and a drizzle of olive oil.

Slightly cooler temps = spicy three bean chili

All of my bitching about hot temperatures brought about a change in the weather. OK, that had nothing to do with it, but we've been hit with 2 days of much needed rain, the kind of weather that makes me want to curl up with a book and put a pot of soup on the stove. So what if it's a comfortable 74 degrees? Cooler weather calls for a celebration, and the promise of autumn brings thoughts of football, colorful leaves, and hearty foods. Fall is the best time for chili.

I took a yoga class after work, delaying my return home by an hour, so I used canned beans for my veggie chili meal. I use dried beans whenever possible (better flavor, less sodium, significantly less expensive), but this was a last minute decision, and I wanted chili before midnight.

My vegetarian chili recipe isn't set it stone — sometimes I add smoky chipolte peppers, toss in a zucchini or two, add a bottle of ale — but this recipe is a pretty standard starting point. I love the heat and complexity provided by fire-roasted tomatoes and jalapeno peppers, but feel free to make adjustments. Cooling garnishes include sour cream and cheese, if you like that kind of thing. I settled for a sprinkling of scallions on top, a piece of cornbread on the side. Hunkered down with a bowl of spicy bean marvelousness, my legs tucked underneath me on the couch, and a book in hand (The 19th Wife, which is good, but I've reached the saturation point with this polygamy thing), I couldn't have planned a better night.


Spicy Three Bean Chili
Makes about 8 servings

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 celery stalk, diced
2 green bell peppers, diced
3 jalapeno peppers
2 teaspoons ground cumin (freshly ground if possible)
2 tablespoons chili powder
2 bay leaves
2  15-ounce cans fire-roasted tomatoes, including juice
1 28-ounce can whole peeled or diced tomatoes, including juice
1 15-ounce can kidney beans, drained
1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans, drained
1 15-ounce can black beans, drained
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Possible garnishes:
scallions, chopped
sour cream
lime juice
cilantro, chopped
cheddar cheese, grated

Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed stockpot. Add the onion and garlic and cook over medium low heat until soft. Add the green pepper, celery and jalapeno, and cook for another 3-4  minutes. Add the chili powder, freshly ground cumin and bay leaves. Add the tomatoes and beans, stirring well to combine. Sprinkle with a few pinches of kosher salt and bring to a simmer. If the chili is too thick, thin it with a little water. Cook for at least 30 minutes before serving — longer is better. Like most chilies, this one improves with time. For best results, make it a day in advance.

The promise of fall and spaghetti squash joys

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I am desperate for fall to arrive. It officially began September 22 this year, but you wouldn't know it. Summer heat continues, with average high temperatures in the eighties, so my sweaters remain tucked away, the air conditioner continues to run throughout the afternoon, and my thoughts of warm autumnal foods remain just that. Thoughts.

Happily there is one super simple, light fall squash dish that doesn't seem terribly out of place in this unseasonal weather: spaghetti squash with butter, parsley and parmesan. A dish so easy it requires only a quick description rather than a formal recipe. A dish that allows me to cook and consume a vegetable in season, without feeling heavy and weighed down. Plus, it's fun - the cooked flesh pulls away from the yellow skin in long, willowy strands that wrap perfectly around a fork. Mild in flavor, I think spaghetti squash shines when paired with these light ingredients, but it's sometimes tossed with tomato sauce, a dieter's stand in for the more caloric pasta.

I like to roast the squash in a medium oven, but you can cook it in the microwave if you're in a hurry. If you opt to nuke it, split the squash down the middle, remove the inner guts and seeds, and cook with 2 tablespoons water on a microwave safe plate for about 10 minutes. Microwaves differ (as do squash), so it make take a little more or less time. When the squash is soft and the strands pull out easily, you're good to go. They will retain a little crunch when cooked.


Spaghetti Squash with Parsley and Parmesan
Serves 3-4

1 spaghetti squash, weighing about 3 pounds
3/4 cup parmesan cheese, grated
1/4 cup parsley, grated
3-4 tablespoons of butter
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Pierce the spaghetti squash several times all over with the tines of a fork. This will allow steam to escape during cooking - you don't want it to explode in the oven. Bake until soft, about 1 hour. Remove from the oven and split in half lengthwise. Scoop out the seeds with a spoon, then use a fork to pull the spaghetti-like strands away from the skin. Place the strands in a bowl, toss with the remaining ingredients, and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Cell phones and pecan shortbread

It was a quiet Saturday. Very quiet. I was busy with meetings and errands, household chores and dog walks, but I enjoyed an unusual amount of down time, time for reading and movies — pleasures I don't get enough of on weekends. It was fantastic. I was a little miffed that I hadn't heard from a few people, but happy with the silence, the tranquility. When I went to recharge my cell phone Saturday night I realized the ringer was turned off. Five messages on voice mail, seven missed calls. Lesson learned: put the phone on vibrate more often, though do it intentionally.

Baking was included in Saturday's roster, as I planned to meet friends for coffee and wanted to bring a snack. I think coffee meetings beg for snacks. These can come in a savory form, but most often a sweet, sugary something-something is the best accompaniment to hot beverages and scintillating conversation. Or even not-so-great conversation. Our meeting was lively and fun, but I do think the cookies added a bit of cheer.

This was my first time baking cookies from celebrated author Dorie Greenspan's Baking: From My Home to Yours (my very first post featured her pound cake). If the pecan shortbread is any indication of how good her other cookie recipes are, I look forward to more time in the kitchen with this book.

Greenspan's technique for rolling out shortbread dough was a revelation to me. I've always patted the soft dough into a prepared pan, pricked it with a fork, and preceded with baking. In this recipe, the dough is placed in a plastic bag with a zipped closure and rolled out into a smooth rectangle using a rolling pin. The top of the bag is left open during the rolling to let out air and avoid a nasty explosion. When the correct size is reached, the bag is sealed and the dough is left to firm in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours before it's cut into squares and baked. The result: the neatest, cleanest looking shortbread cookies I've ever made. Tasty, too.

Brown Sugar-Pecan Shortbread Cookies
Makes 32 cookies
Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
pinch of ground cloves
2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup finely ground pecans

Confectioners' sugar, for dusting (optional)

Sift the flour, cornstarch, salt and cloves together and set aside.

Beat the butter and brown sugar together until the mixture is very smooth (about 3 minutes in a heavy stand mixer using the paddle attachment). Reduce the speed to low and add the dry ingredients. Mix only to incorporate - don't overwork. Add the ground pecans and mix the dough just a few more times, evenly distributing the nuts.

Use a rubber spatula to transfer the dough to a gallon-size zipper-lock plastic bag. Leaving the top open, place the bag on a flat work surface, and roll the dough into a 9 x 10 1/2 inch rectangle that's about 1/4" thick (mine was little thicker). Turn and lift the bag as you roll to avoid creases. Seal the bag, pressing out air, and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or for up to 2 days.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and position the racks to divide the oven into thirds. Line  baking sheets with parchment or silicone mats.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and slit the bag open. Turn it onto a cutting board (throw out the bag) and cut the dough into 1 1/2-inch squares. Place the squares on the baking sheets and prick each with a fork, gently pushing the tines through the cookies until they hit the sheet.

Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, rotating the sheets halfway through (back to front and top to bottom). The cookies will still be very pale when they're done. Cool on a rack. I skipped the confectioners' sugar, but, if you like, dust the cookies with it while they're still warm. Cool to room temperature before serving.

These will keep in an airtight container for about 4 days at room temperature. They can be frozen for up to 2 months.

Just because peanut butter cookies

Peanut butter cookies remind me of my Uncle James. More accurately, they remind me of my mother, Joy, who bakes them for her brother a few times each year. Christmas is a given, but she's been known to whip up a batch of cookies for his birthday, when he's not feeling well, or just because. I think just because is the best reason of all. Fresh flowers gracing Monday night's dinner table, a hand written note that doesn't mark a special life occasion — these are the things that make me smile.

Joy relies on an old, well-worn copy of The Joy of Cooking for many recipes, and peanut butter cookies are no exception. They're crumbly and rich — wonderful cookies that remind me of home. One big whiff of the very peanut buttery dough transports me to childhood. My elementary school age self, slightly dusted with flour, stands at the kitchen counter, pressing the tines of a fork oh-so-carefully into the tops of the raw dough, simultaneously flattening and marking the cookies with a cross-hatch.

As a forty-something, I've strayed from my mother's standard recipe, adding coarsely chopped peanuts to the dough and often opting for the extra-large variety, which I find extra-appealing. I made a batch Tuesday night (regular size) and mailed half to Uncle James; the remaining cookies made it to work the following day. It's no one's birthday, (happily) no one is ill; it's a batch of Just Because Peanut Butter Cookies.

Peanut Butter Cookies
Makes about 28 cookies

1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup peanut butter (smooth or chunky)
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of kosher salt
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup lightly salted peanuts, roughly chopped (optional)


Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Line baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone mats and set aside.

In a small bowl, combine the flour, salt and baking soda. Set aside.

In a mixing bowl, cream the butter, then add the peanut butter and sugar, beating until light. Add the egg and vanilla, mixing until combined. Add the dry ingredients, mixing until well blended. Add the chopped peanuts (if using).

Roll the dough 1 1/2- inch balls and space them 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Flatten them slightly with the tines of a fork (I like to mark them in 2 directions, the lines running perpendicular to each other in a crosshatch pattern — old habit). Bake for 10-11 minutes, until light golden brown. Remove to a rack to cool.

Most excellent cherry oatmeal cookies

A package of dried Bing cherries caught my eye at Trader Joe's over the weekend. Clipped neatly to a hanger that ran the length of the shelf, the ruby spheres looked, well, interesting. Desirable. Promising. Surely they'd add something special to a grain salad or batch of brownies (those marketing people know what they're doing). Into my cart they went.

I began leafing through Cindy Mushet's cookbook The Art & Soul of Baking when I got home. Buoyed by my recent success with her cream scone recipe, I was eager to try more of her creations. Is it merely coincidence that the book included a recipe for Cherry Oatmeal Cookies? Divine intervention? I don't know, but in less than an hour I had a batch of homemade goodness a coworker described as "the best cookie ever." I've already received a request to make them again for Halloween. Is there a Halloween party at work I don't know about?

The only change I made to the original recipe was to increase the amount of dried cherries and oatmeal in the dough — in my opinion, more cherries and more oatmeal make for a better cookie. If you want to follow the recipe as written, decrease the amounts listed below by 1/4 cup. According to the cookbook, this recipe makes about 50 cookies, but I ended up with 36. Okay, so I ate a few spoonfuls of raw dough (I couldn't help myself), but not 14 cookies worth. I swear.

Cherry Oatmeal Cookies

Adapted from The Art & Soul of Baking

Makes about 36 cookies

1 stick (4 ounces) unsalted butter, softened

1/2 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed

1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1 large egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup rolled oats

1 cup dried cherries

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and place a rack in the middle of the oven. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone mat.

Beat the butter, brown sugar and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Be sure to scrape the sides of the bowl with a spatula to be certain the ingredients are evenly combined. Add the egg and vanilla extract and blend well.

In another bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. With the mixer at a low speed, combine the dry ingredients to the butter mixture.  Add the oatmeal and dried cherries and mix until evenly combined.

Use a small ice cream scoop or spoon to portion the dough, spacing the cookies 2 inches apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake for 13 to 16 minutes, rotating the baking sheets once to ensure even cooking. The cookies should be cooled on a rack and may be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.