Last week was lazy. I only amounted to making shortbread, half of which George ate in two days and the other half was given away. It was the sort of shortbread that I took a bite of, put my piece down - saving it for later, but when I went back it was gone. This week's a little more productive, there's actual food and more cookies.

- Kale & Red Pepper Strudel

- Pesto

- Bagels

- Rugelach

My heart was initially only in it for the cookies, but after having to scrounge and scramble for lunches last week I could commit to making something real this time around. Spending these Sundays making things to take for lunch, eat for snack, and sometimes even again for dinner is truly a life-saver. Without it I eat toast three times a day and call them meals, I end up snacking on more and more cake at work, I rely on milk and coffee to propel me through the day, and pasta – lots of pasta for dinner, and sometimes there's sauce.

I've never used phyllo (filo, fillo) dough for anything. It's flaky, it's used for strudels, baklava, Spanikopita. That's about the extent of what I know about it. This Kale & Red Pepper Strudel is like Spanikopita but with a different set of vegetables and cheeses. Here's what I've learned about phyllo dough: it's really thin and delicate. It's so delicate that when I unrolled the package I thought the dough was actually parchment around the dough. I can't imagine making this stuff from scratch. I've also learned that it's a bit of a pain in the ass. It's so thin it's like it almost doesn't exist. How is this not going to completely fall apart? I layed out the dough as directed: on a 10” x 14” sheet pan, and oiled between every two layers. Then I put the filling in the middle and supposedly could fold up the edges of the dough to hold in the filling and then place the rest of the dough on top like a little dough hat. This wasn't exactly the case and wasn't going to go well – I could feel it.

I finished assembling and then I made a bold move: I trusted my instincts. When I make a recipe for the first time I'm sort of stick in the mud and I like to follow the recipe – blindly trusting that whoever wrote it in the first place isn't leading me down a path of frustration to disappointment. I like to think that following the written recipe will give me a basic understanding of what's supposed to happen and how things are supposed to go, and then, armed with that knowledge I can make whatever it is better. (Yes, I believe I can make it better. Every. Single. Time.) Today, though, I deviated. The dough was only 9” x 13”, it wasn't folding up over the filling well, it was absolutely going to spill out all over the pan and burn and be ugly. It wasn't going to happen on my watch, not today. I buttered my 9” x 13” Pyrex, I place it over the assembled strudel and flipped it all over. That's right, I put it into a smaller pan with taller edges than the recipe told me to.

This is the larger lesson I've been working on lately: to trust myself. It's like baking cake (everything is like baking cake for me, these days,) regardless of how long that carrot cake's been in the oven if the knife comes out with a few crumbs and it doesn't spring back when I gently press on the top – it's not done. If I can't remember whether the vegan pumpkin cupcakes should get a little more than one scoop or not but am pretty they should because the vegan chocolate cupcakes do – they probably do. If the cassaroley thing looks like it's going to turn into a huge cheesey mess if left on the baking sheet that the recipe told me to use – it's probably going to turn into a huge cheesey mess. After cooking for myself for 10 years, I'm proud to say that I've learned a few things, things I trust and know to be true from experience.

Maybe it was the pesto making that set me up for the crazy move to use a different pan than specified. The temperatures in Asheville are reaching down in the 30s at night and while we've been neglecting the garden for a least a month, George was good enough to harvest the rest of basil before it was too late. We had about 10 cups of basil and no recollection of which pesto recipe we used last time, I just knew it was really good and it wasn't from The Moosewood or Joy. We then assumed it was from Best Recipes in the World, but pesto wasn't even in the index. I told George he was in charge of the pesto and to make it however he liked. I was nervous, trying to be helpful without being a squasher*. It was difficult. In the end, I'm happy to say that the pesto turned out deliciously.

Pesto

10 c. fresh basil leaves

2/3 c. pine nuts

1/3 c. walnuts

1 c. grated Parmesan

1 c. olive oil

salt to taste

Put everything except the oil into a food processor, pulse a few times to start combining the ingredients. Turn the processor on and add the oil through the feed tube stopping to scrape down the sides if necessary.

So the rugelach. It's a Jewish cookie which is more like a pastry. Butter and cream cheese are cut into the flour and there's a little wet (I used half & half) to hold it together. It's rolled out and chilled in the freezer for half an hour - a crucial part, I assure you. After it's good and cold, cinnamon and sugar are sprinkled on, followed by chopped walnuts, sometimes raisins, sometimes chocolate, I used almonds. Next you roll the dough up into a swirly, cinnamony log and cut each cookie about an inch wide and chill them in the freezer for another 15 minutes - a crucial part, I assure you. It's like making the pie dough flaky - the cold butter serves as a place holder for the air space between the layers of flour. If the butter is allowed to melt into the flour prematurely the cookies will come out flatter and sadder, but just as tasty.

(I was going to take a picture showing the difference between cookies chilled long and enough and not long enough, but we ate all the sad ones first.)

* squasher: one who prevents fun

As promised, we whipped up some stock a couple weeks ago. Big surprise, in order to make chicken stock one actually needs a whole chicken. My PSA for the week: read the entire recipe before you start. We'd already eaten the chicken; we opted for vegetable stock.

More and more we're finding uses for stock, like: soups, couscous (pearled, aka Israeli, couscous is currently my favorite), rice...okay so it's mostly just grains at this point, but you get the idea. I'm not opposed to those incredibly handy tetra packs of stock, but making it yourself requires just a little chopping and a bunch of waiting. This is the sort of thing I'd like to make at least a gallon of it to have on hand, and we aimed for a gallon, but in fact ended up with about half as much.

The idea of stock is pretty basic - boil vegetables and/or meats to extract flavor and nutrients, then use it to flavor other things. We began by roasting the vegetables, which is optional, but I figure if I'm going to bother making it, why not. So, roast up the veggies and garlic, transfer them to a large stock pot and add water, meat, bones, and herbs. Then cover, simmer, and wait. Some recipes call for a few hours, some call for half a day. Lastly, what's left of the vegetables and meats are strained out.

I'd intended to make soup from the stock, but by the end of the five or six hour simmering session I needed something more exciting to cook. George is in charge of cooking certain things around here: eggs, meats and risotto. These are things that require patience and dedication, these things some more naturally to him than to me. Asparagus Salmon Risotto is was, and it was delicious.

Mostly Vegetable Stock

adapted from Mark Bittman's Vegetable Stock, and Joy of Cooking's Chicken Stock

1/3 - 1/2 c. olive oil

3 large onions, quartered

5 carrots, quartered

4 celery stalks, halved

4 small-medium sized potatoes, washed, quartered

1 head garlic, peeled

bones & leftover meat from 1, 4lb. chicken

4 sprigs fresh thyme

12 sprigs fresh parsley

small handful fresh basil

2 Tbsp. apple cider vinegar

some peppercorns

1/2 c. dry white wine

7 c. water

salt

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Put onions, carrots, celery, potatoes, and garlic in a large roasting pan, toss with olive oil and place in the oven. Let veggies roast about 45 minutes, turning vegetables over a couple times until everything is browned.

After roasting is finished scoop veggies into a large stock pot, add remaining ingredients, 4 cups water and place over high heat.

Place the roasting pan over a burner, add about 4 c. water (depending on height of pan), and turn heat to high. Bring to a boil, scraping all the bits stuck to the pan. Add this to the stock pot and being to a boil.

Cover and barely simmer for 5 - 6 hours.

Strain, pressing veggies to extract as much liquid as possible. Add salt, if necessary. Stock is now ready to be used, refrigerated (keeps for up to 4 or 5 days), or frozen.

It's official: summer's over. We close the windows at night, we brush leaves off the windshield, I've lured my sweaters out of hiding, and finished knitting my first scarf of the season. Fall is wafting in and with it notions of soups, breads, and pies.

This week a surprisingly all-American menu:

- No-Knead Bread

- Roasted Chicken

- Apple Pie

The No-Knead bread recipe comes from Jim Lahey at Sullivan Street Bakery, via the New York Times and it's truly fantastic. (It's especially fantastic for someone with hand and/or wrist problems.) Mark Bittman sums it, "The loaf is incredible, a fine-bakery quality, European-style boule that is produced more easily than by any other technique I've used, and will blow your mind." (Read the full article here.) The majority of work in the recipe is done by time -- the long fermentation and wetness of the dough take the place of kneading. George bulked up this loaf by adding flax meal and sunflower seeds, but didn't add any extra liquid. So instead of being a sticky, soupy mess, it was a dry, clumpy pile. The finished bread was...rustic but tasty. The recipe makes it simple to add nuts or seeds or to substitute different flours, but if you add much more dry than 3 cups, add a little extra water.

After a season of mediocre soups last fall I refuse to do it again. We'll begin at the beginning this time: with stock. In preparation for chicken stock next week we decided to roast a whole chicken this week*. News flash: roasting a whole chicken is incredibly easy. For a 4 1/2 lb bird we put a large cast iron skillet in the oven, then preheated it to 450, slathered the chicken with butter, sprinkled on some salt and pepper then put the buttered bird in the hot skillet and roasted it, uncovered, for about 40 minutes. Now we have plenty of meat for sandwiches and plenty of bones for stock next week.

Like I said, it's pie time. Pie crust is something that's given me trouble in the past. You know the trouble I mean: tearing when rolled out, too thin, too sticky, burning, flavorless, or not even faking flakiness. This time I showed that crust who's in charge. Answer: me. I cut the fat in with a food processor and only until there were pea-sized pieces of fat. I think I'd been over-incorporating it, not realizing that little chunks of butter are absolutely necessary for flakiness. The other necessity for optimal flakiness: cold fat. (I say "fat" and not "butter" because you could use vegetable shortening or lard - which is apparently coming back into fashion.) When the cold chunks of fat melt away in the oven it creates the delicate layers of baked dough. I started with cold, cold butter, put the discs of dough back in the fridge for a hour before rolling them out, and even put the completely assembled pie in the freezer for 10 minutes before putting it in the oven. Was it all worth it? Absolutely. While the crust could use a little more salt or sugar (I haven't decided which yet) it turned out to be, hands down, the best pie crust I've ever made. I used some Granny Smith and some Honeycrisp apples which made for fine flavor - not overly sweet, or overly tart, but I could have gone for more flavor. Luckily we're in somewhat of an apple capital so I've got many many more varieties of apples to experiment with.

No-Knead Bread

Adapted from Jim Lahey & The New York Times

2 c. whole wheat flour

1 c. white flour

1/2 c. flax meal

1/4 c. sunflower seeds

1 5/8 c. water

1/4 t. instant yeast

2 t. salt

Combine flour, yeast and salt in a large bowl. Add water and stir until blended - dough will be kind of shaggy. Cover with plastic wrap and let rest in a warm place 12 to 18 hours.

Lightly flour a work surface, place dough on it, sprinkle with a little more flour and fold dough over onto itself a couple times. Cover with plastic wrap, let rest for 15 minutes.

Use just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to you or the work surface, shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel with flour (cornmeal or wheat bran work also) and put loaf seam side down on it, then dust with a little more flour. Cover with a clean towel and let rise for 2 hours. (The dough will have doubled in size and when poked won't really spring back.)

1/2 hour before baking preheat oven to 450 degrees and place at 6 to 8 quart dutch oven in to heat as well. When the dough's risen, carefully take the pot out from the oven. Turn dough over and place in pot seam side up. Cover with lid** and bake 30 minutes, remove lid and bake another 15-30 minutes, until crust is nice and browned.

*The chicken we purchased came with the most ridiculous sticker: one advertising a free music download.

**If you're using something like an enamel coated Le Creuset pot, you may want to unscrew the knob from the lid, some of them aren't prepared for higher oven temperatures.

We're back! Here are some food related highlight pictures:

Blackberry Thyme Margarita at Claire's in Hardwick.

Red Onion sandwich at Red Onion Restaurant in Burlington.

Maple creamee with chocolate sprinkles and maple sugar at Morse Farm in Montpelier.

Popovers with sautéed plums and butter at Cynthia and Leland's house in Cambridge.

Cynthia makin' slaw.

Some weeks just get away from me. In fact, most weeks that include anything in addition to going to work, coming home, and going to my weekly scheduled chiropractor appointment can be characterized as "getting away from me." These weeks aren't necessarily grueling, they're just full of things and I get tired easily. The days all sort of blur together and I can't really tell when anything ends - it certainly doesn't help that the clock on my computer has been drastically incorrect for at least two weeks.

There were at least two lunches last week that consisted of Goldfish pretzels and Ritter Sport bars. Dinners have consisted mainly of those boxes of couscous and maybe some tofu. Oh! There were lentils! Lots of lentils. It's in these times of great confusion that I can really count on George to pull through with something sensible - like lentils. I can't even tell you how he made them so delicious, probably with garlic.

Part of the reason things seem so crazy is that we're leaving town this weekend! This means there won't be a regular post next Tuesday. I will, however, bring back pictures and tales of food to share with you. There will be cake and maybe some pizza.

I did make one single dish this time:

- Chickpea and Brocolli Casserole (from Vegan with a Vengance by Isa Chandra Moskowitz)

It was easy, pretty cheap, and bland (i.e. perfect.) Something you should know is that I really, truly, and thoroughly enjoy foods without spices. I'm one of those people who don't really eat spicy foods. I want food to make me cry because it's so incredibly tasty and such a wonderful expereience, not because I can't stop my eyes from watering. It just simply tastes like it's ingredients and that's awesome. What're the ingredients? Chickpeas, carrots, an onion, bread crumbs, vegetable stock, salt, olive oil. The chickpeas get mashed, the carrots shredded, the onion thinly sliced and it all gets mixed together and put into a 9"x13" glass dish and baked at 350 for 45 minutes covered with foil and 15 minutes without the foil.

(I've got some pictures, but as of posting time Blogger is being too testy to let me upload them.)

I stopped into a used bookshop; I was in the market for some David Mamet. Not finding it and not remembering any other books on my growing list, I turned to my back up plan: stand in front of the cooking section, my head cocked to the right and read every title on the shelf. This typically proves fruitless and I move to the craft section. This time there was something waiting for me.

I recognized it by the font, the border, the color: blocky, simple, yellow. Chez Panisse - but which one? I was hoping for Fruit. Alice Waters and Chez Panisse - her biography! Hardcover! $6! I gasped, I grabbed, I was victorious. Finding a Chez Panisse book used is rare find, in my experience. It meant someone had cleaned out their books on food - undoubtedly just collecting dust on their shelves, they probably aren't that into cooking anyway, but Alice Waters looks so good and impresses guests. Chances are this person didn't bring just this single book.

There was one by Anthony Bourdain; he writes about food, stars in his own show about food, loves New York, is a little crass and swears. George recently started watching his show, No Reservations. There were two copies of his book, Kitchen Confidential, one was clearly meant for me. There was a paperback copy of Laurel's Kitchen, a staple vegetarian cookbook found most commonly in the North East, the Bay Area, and my book shelf. There was...what? Really? Here? The River Run Cookbook. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, River Run is a Southern style restaurant in Plainfield, VT. The French toast is my favorite, followed by grits with cream. There's usually catfish available for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They hold trivia night on Tuesday and live music on the weekends. I used to live above their kitchen. The unexpected didn't end there, one shelf below I discovered a copy of the Horn of the Moon Cookbook. Another one from the restaurant in Vermont. This one, however, is long gone. It left Montpelier before I even knew it was there. What're it's recipes doing here?

I would like to know who relinquished all these books to the shelves of Mr. K's. Do I know them? There's a bookmark in the back of Alice Waters advertising the Berkshires. Not much to go on. There they were and there I was and it was like bumping into an old friend I hadn't seen in a while. I remember things about life before now. It put me in perspective for myself. There was no need to one-up this old friend with impressive stories, we were what we were and I like what I am. If River Run is the past, I think Chez Panisse is the future.

This week:

- Extra Tangy Sourdough (Sort Of)

- Beet & Goat Cheese Salad

- Pasta with Veggies

- Granola

Often times when I make bread, and all is said and done, the flavor of the bread lacks something. It's a little tricky to say what specifically, but I generally classify it as "depth." There are a variety of ways to deal with this: slather it with butter or Nutella, ignore it, or let it rise slower and longer. This holds true for many fermented things - think beer, wine, or even some cheeses. This Extra Tangy Sourdough begins by mixing part of the flour, part of the water and the starter (called the sponge) then it rises in the fridge overnight. In the morning the rest of the flour and water are added, along with the salt and it rises again for five hours. It's then shaped and rises for another two to three hours before going in the oven. There's no extra yeast added, which forces you to let it rise for a long period of time. George made these loaves, and while they're definitely more tangy they're not quite as sour as he'd like them. We may try messing with the amount of starter used and I think adding a little whole wheat flour couldn't hurt.

Beets. I really like beets. They're naturally sweet, wicked magenta, and edible from the greens to the roots. Roasted or raw, it makes little difference. In my world (and many others), beets in salads are typically accompanied by goat cheese. The tried-and-true salty/sweet (bacon ice cream, chocolate covered pretzels...) is unbeatable. Taking a hint from Martha this time, I added green beans. Not just any green beans, no no, haricots vert. They're French, they're thin, long, tender, and crisp. More importantly, I actually found some. (I was pretty sure I was destined to substitute greasy beans.) Oh, they're amazing. Their flavor is lighter and more delicate, maybe a bean/cucumber hybrid. Now, I'll be honest, this salad isn't fully assembled. There's a sauce Martha recommends and it involves...mustard. I'm not a mustard fan. I'm working on a substitute. Boy, when I'm done, it's going to be one bitchin' salad though.

After these two dishes things got simpler. The big dish this week is a little unsophisticated. Pasta. Vegetables. Toss. Add cheese. Luckily it's delicious and really easy to put in some tupperware at 4 am. I highly recommend it. The breakfast is a good friend: granola. This time I went a little crazy and put some dried cranberries in. This should be tossed in after the oats and things are already toasted.

Around the same time I thought Cream of Celery Soup was hip and good, I tried making pitas. They proved undeniably more delicious than the soup, but for some reason I quickly lost interest. Having gained about two and a half years of bread experience and more in the way of patience, I'm ready to try again.

This week:

- Pita Bread

- Falafel & Yogurt Tahini Dressing

- Sauerkraut

- Peach White Wine Sangria

First, let's talk about sauerkraut. George is really into it. Billed as a sort of probiotic, it's healthy, it's German - what's not to love? We took a trip to the WNC Farmer's Market and purchased four cabbages for about $4.50. The lady we bought them from pegged us from a mile away, "Somebody's makin' 'kraut!" The thing about sauerkraut is that all the beneficial enzymes are already present in the cabbage, all it really takes is a little shredding and a little time. George's method is as follows: shred the cabbage, place it in a large bowl, add 2-3 T. salt, stuff it all in large jar, and wait a week or so. Specifically, he punches it into the jar - he swears it's crucial. (I see some experimenting with sauerkraut's spicier Korean cousin, kimchi, in our future - stay tuned.)

Falafel intimidates me a little bit, it's the fear of failure. What if they all fall apart? What if I end up with a pile of crumbly bean bits? It must be difficult to prepare. Here's what I decided, it's not earth-shattering, but it's easily forgettable: all the ingredients are tasty on their own. So, theoretically, when combined they remain tasty - whether or not they retain their intended shape. (Maybe someday I'll recount the tragic tale of my fresh fruit tart. Tragic.) The Falafel Burgers from a couple weeks ago have been in regular rotation in my kitchen for a few years. I see them as easy to whip up, easy to bake, easy to keep all week. What never really crossed my mind is that actual falafel could be easier. News flash: it is!

This actual falafel recipe is from Mark Bittman's Best Recipes in the World, a cookbook I highly recommend. (It's chock full of great international recipes, easy to grasp, and so far - simple to prepare.) Here it is: some garbanzo beans, some onions, some spices, parsley*, and an egg have a run-in with a food processor. Then they get rolled into little balls and take a dip in a couple inches of hot oil. Then we were left with a bowl of the best homemade falafel anyone could hope for.

George classified the falafel as, "f#$%ing perfect." With the help of James Beard and Beard on Bread we made them truly perfect - inside fresh pitas. It's the formation of one giant air bubble that creates the pocket in a pita. Actually, it's a lot of little air bubbles expanding and bumping into each other to become one big one. The outside of the loaf becomes tougher before the inside so the bubble doesn't burst through the crust (most of the time.) If you sit, eagerly waiting and watching the pitas bake up you'll see it happen right before your very eyes! (We watched all of them, and even tried to make a video - unfortunately it came out pretty awful.) One of the keys to a successful pita is not letting them become too crispy or dry, which can lead to malfunctioning pockets or generally too-dry bread. I timed ours at about 3 minutes and as they came out of the oven I stacked them one on top of the other and wrapped them in a damp towel, to finish cooling I stuck them into a paper bag (sans damp towel.) Another key is baking them on a stone, we used our pizza stone. Don't let me fool you - Pita Bread is wicked easy, apparently great to try with kids and can be baked in all sorts of ways: in the oven, on the grill, in a skillet.

I found this great video from Julia Child's show "Baking with Julia". This dude, Jeffery Alfred, guides Julia through the process. I had a hard time paying attention, mostly because of his haircut and partially because of his weasley Mr.-Roger's-esque voice.

Peaches are in season, maybe you've noticed. They're pretty inescapable down here. I hear there's debate over whether Georgia peaches are superior to South Carolina peaches or not. It would be like the debate about whether Vermont maple syrup is superior to New Hampshire or Canadian maple syrup**. In reality, I don't think there's a noticable difference. My peach pallete definitely isn't refined enough to honestly tell the difference, but that's really beside the point. Now that the peaches have soaked up some sun their headed to soak up some wine.

Epicurious is a pretty great resource, which is where this Peach White Wine Sangria recipe was found. I warn you, though, it's pretty sweet - literally. In fact, it's too sweet for George to drink. So if you don't dig the sweetness I'd recommend decreasing the sugar or increasing the wine. Or maybe even a little extra lemon juice, or in my case remember to put the lemon juice in period.

Peach White Wine Sangria

From Gourmet via Epicurious

1 c. loosely packed basil + 8 or so extra leaves

3/4 c. sugar

1/4 c. fresh lemon juice

2 cans peach nectar

1 bottle chilled dry white wine

1 large peach, chopped

Put basil, sugar, and lemon juice in a small saucepan and bruise the basil with a wooden spoon. Add one can of peach nectar and bring to a simmer, stir until the sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat and let stand 5 minutes, then drain through a seive into a heatproof pitcher and discard the basil. Add in the wine, the other can of peach nectar, the chopped peach and extra basil leaves. Chill!

* So. The parsely. I naturally said, "Parsley, smarsley!" George somehow convinced me it was vital to the dish and that we wouldn't have a ton left over. We currently have a large bunch of parlsey withering away in the vegetable crisper. I'm glad the parsley's in the falafel, but hope to have a healthy crop of my own before I ever need it again.

** For the record, VT maple syrup has been and always will be superior - duh.