Serious Barbeque Sauce

Missing your grill right about now? I sure am, and I never even had a grill. But nothing says "miss your grill" like cold, wet, winter nights.

Enter Ina Garten, my favorite Food Network dame and partner in butterlove. Her bbq sauce is the real thing, lemme tell you. By the looks of the recipe, you'd think she was joking: you'll need nearly 10 bottles of already-processed sauces and goops to make her sauce. But when it's done, you'll see that she was serious all along. Laced with onions, generously spicy and perfectly sweet-tart, this sauce is way, way tastier than the sum of its (very processed) parts. Trust me.

Serious BBQ Sauce From The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook Makes 1 ½ quarts

1 ½ cups chopped yellow onion (1 large onion) 1 T. minced garlic (3 cloves) ½ cup vegetable oil 1 cup tomato paste (10 ounces) 1 cup cider vinegar 1 cup honey ½ cup Worcestershire sauce 1 cup Dijon mustard ½ cup soy sauce 1 cup hoisin sauce 2 T. chili powder 1 T. ground cumin ½ T. crushed red pepper flakes

In a large saucepan on low heat, sauté the onions and garlic with the vegetable oil for 10 to 15 minutes, until the onions are translucent but not browned. Add the rest of the ingredients. Simmer uncovered on low heat for 30 minutes. Use immediately or store in the fridge.

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What I did with my very last tomato

Yes, folks, it's true: tomato season has come to a close. Back when I made this, in October, I wasn't walking, it seemed pretty unlikely that I'd make it back to the farmers market to catch one last round of tomato madness, so I figured it was safe to assume that the tomato I ate that night was my last for the season. I'm a card-carrying member of the tomato lovers' cult, so that's not an easy thing to admit -- but, like an old fling whose time has come to an end, I think I can walk away from this one with no regrets.

Running with that analogy for a minute: you'd like to think your last time with the fling would be the best there was to have, the best there ever would have been. But that's never the case, is it? Usually the last time is just....fine. Such was the case with my last tomato. It wasn't one of those specimens that could have been framed. No shiny, taut, glossy skin and jewel-like innards. Had it been perfect, I'd have eaten it raw, simply sliced with olive oil and fleur de sel. But I was already smack-dab in the middle of fall, and my tomato wasn't so perfect. However, it was jam-packed with flavor, that I can assure you. So I prepared that last tomato in a dish that quickly became a standby this summer -- a dish that's perfect for celebrating tomatoes' flavor even when their texture is somewhat imperfect. What's that, you ask?

Quick-sauteed tomatoes with feta and anaheim chilies. So few steps, so many flavors. It's one of those dishes where the right ingredients, the right cooking method and time, and the right appetite just work. It really is such an easy dish to throw together; while I generally make it for one, it is easily be sized up to feed a crowd. And while I often find myself eating it straight out of a bowl (and drinking the soupy sauce at the end, slurps and all), this quick-stew would be lovely (and a bit fancier) served over a slice of toasted baguette, perhaps rubbed with garlic. Already, I'm wishing I had a few more bites on hand!

If you've got one more tomato -- or, perhaps, one tomato that's not as shiny and perfect as all the others -- don't hesitate; make this dish. I promise, you'll look back on that last tomato with fond memories, and not one ounce of regret.

Sauteed tomatoes with feta and anaheim chilies serves 1

1 large tomato, needn't be perfect; I used beefsteak 1 anaheim chili 1 sprig cilantro, optional a couple big chunks feta cheese, high quality and not low-fat salt and pepper

Roast the chili over an open flame. I use my gas stove. Roast until the skin is blistered all over. Either using a damp paper towel or under running water, remove the charred skin until only the flesh remains. To reduce the pepper's heat, remove the seeds and fibrous membrane threads as well. Slice pepper into rings.

Slice tomato into 8 wedges, and slice each wedge in half. In small saute pan, place tomato, pepper, and 1 Tbsp of olive oil. Saute for 3 or so minutes over medium heat, until tomatoes begin to emit their juices. Toss a few times to incorporate. Add chunks of feta cheese, give the whole thing one quick stir to break up the feta a bit, turn off the heat, and eat immediately. Done correctly, the stew will make a delightful spicy feta-tomato broth at the bottom of the bowl, which is absolutely perfect for slurping. I usually lick the bottom of my bowl without shame.

Braised Sweet and Sour Red Cabbage

Not too long ago, I walked into my parents' house and immediately caught wafts of the most fantastic aroma coming from (as always) the kitchen. I started sticking my fingers into each of the dishes sitting on the dining room table, eager to find the source. After trying most everything else on the table, I nonchalantly scooped up a pinch of cooked red cabbage, thinking not even a little that it might actually be the culprit. Boy, was I surprised. Divine, I tell you! And I don't use that word all too often...but this truly is a recipe for the ages.

Turns out, it's also dead simple; go figure. At my persistent begging, my mom passed along the recipe she'd used to make it. I tweaked it, as I am often wont to do, because when I see an ingredient in the fridge and think it might add something, I've no self control, not even an ounce. And while sometimes that habit ruins otherwise tasty cooking (insert gross story here), other times, I'm rewarded for my impulses. This cabbage most definitely benefited from my hyperactive ingredient-adding tendency.

According to the basic recipe (which itself is quite lovely), red cabbage cooks until soft and fork-tender in a mix of tomatoes, red wine vinegar, sugar, onions, and raisins. Out of raisins, I used dried cranberries, which were nice (though I think I'd try it with raisins next time, since I bet they're just dandy). I also added more than a splash of dry red wine, which gave the dish noticeable depth of flavor and helped cut the straightforward sweet-sour dichotomy with a hint of bitterness. I also subbed in red onions for the yellow onions in the original recipe, because that's what was lying around my house. Red onions also have a slight bitterness to them, which wasn't obvious to my dull palate but may have done some good (who knows?). Last but not least -- here's the real show-stealer -- I added a generous sprinkling of pomegranate seeds to the finished dish, just before serving. Their ruby-red color and gem-like shape lent a decadence to an otherwise homey dish, their tangy-sweet flavor mingled lovely with the cabbage juices, and their crunch gave the final product important textural contrast. Needless to say, I was happy with the outcome -- and the dish got overwhelming positive feedback from my lunch guests (one of whom is notoriously, um, selective -- love you, T!) I'll be making this dish when pomegranates are available as much as possible.

Braised Sweet and Sour Red Cabbage

1 apple, chopped 1 red cabbage, sliced pretty thinly 2 cups onions 3 cloves garlic 1 tsp olive oil 3 or more cups water 3 cups tomatoes (I used canned) 2/3 cup raisins or craisins 1/2 cup plus a couple Tbsp. red wine vinegar 1/2 cup sugar or brown sugar salt and pepper 1/2 cup dry red wine, to taste the seeds of 1 pomegranate

In large pot, saute onion and garlic in olive oil over medium heat until translucent and fragrant. Add cabbage, 2 cups of water, and remaining ingredients except pomegranate and salt. Cover and ignore. Seriously. You want the cabbage to soften and break down a bit, and the other flavors to meet and mingle. Check occasionally, and add water as needed to prevent sticking. In all, the cabbage should take about an hour; you want it really soft and fragrant, and you want the scent to be mellow and rich. Promise -- it's really delicious when it's finished. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

At this point, you can store the cabbage in the fridge for up to two weeks or in the freezer forever (did I just say that?)

Immediately before serving, sprinkle the pomegranate seeds overtop and toss to incorporate. You won't be sorry.

lazy boozy french toast casserole

Since having surgery on my foot, my time in the kitchen has been severely limited. It pretty much hurts to stand still for more than a few minutes, and I can't put much pressure on the foot yet. My left foot is taking a serious hit, what with all the hopping and limping, so standing on one foot to cook complex, multi-step dishes is also not an option. With this in mind, I've had to curtail my everyday zeal about being in the kitchen, and limit my cooking to practical dishes requiring little to no prep.

When at last Saturday's lunch we found ourselves with a whole extra challah, I somehow got tapped to take it home. And people, I think we all know that there are few things better than day-old challah french toast on a lazy Sunday. With that said, soon as I woke up on Sunday morning, I realized that the absolute last thing I wanted to do was hover at the stove, waiting for all those slices to soak and fry up. It just wasn't going to happen.

Enter awesome Deb of Smitten Kitchen, and her recipe for Boozy Baked French Toast. The perfect antidote to both hunger and laziness, baked french toast allows you to enjoy this fantastic weekend breakfast without all the prep work. The result? A cross between french toast and bread pudding; not your usual crunchy-all-around slices of fried french toast, but a lovely casserole with soft, custardy innards and a crisp crust, thanks to cinnamon sugar topping.

Of course, some of us procrastinate more than others; Deb had the foresight to make her casserole overnight, giving the bread time to soak up the milk-egg mixture. I'm simply not that awesome. I woke up Sunday morning wanting French toast casserole, having done absolutely nothing the night before. But hey -- I made it work. I cut the milk by a third, so there would be less liquid floating around. I also dotted the top layer with butter, to ensure that the cinnamon sugar would get crispity-crisp. My last-minute game plan totally payed off. About 40 minutes after french toast casserole entered my head, it entered my mouth. Oh-so-tasty. Maybe I'm awesome after all.

Lazy Boozy French Toast Casserole adapted from Smitten Kitchen

1 loaf Challah bread in 1-inch slices, any kind will do 2 cups whole milk (3 if letting sit overnight) 3 eggs 3 tablespoons sugar 1/2 teaspoon salt

Your choice of flavorings: I used Deb's recommendation of 3 tablespoons Bailey’s and 3 tablespoons Cointreau, but she also suggests Frangelico (hazelnut), Chambord (raspberry), Creme de Cassis (black currant) Grand Marnier or just a teaspoon or two of vanilla or almond extract. You can add a teaspoon of zest for a citrusy kick, add a half-cup of chopped nuts such as almond slivers or pecans between layers or on top or a similar amount of raisins or other dried fruits. And of course, let's not forget chocolate chips for over-the-top indulgence.

1. Generously grease a 9×13-inch baking dish with salted (Deb's fave) or unsalted butter. 2. Arrange bread in two tightly-packed layers in the pan. Cut one slice into smaller pieces to fill in gaps, especially when using braided Challah. If using a thinner-sliced bread, you might wish for more layers, though Deb finds that over three, baking can be uneven. If you are using any fillings of fruit or nuts, this is the time to get them between the layers or sprinkled atop. 3. Whisk milk, eggs, sugar, salt and booze or flavorings of your choice and pour over the bread. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar and dot with butter. 4. If making at night, wrap tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate. The bread will absorb all of the milk custard while you sleep. 5. Bake at 425 for 30 minutes, or until puffed and golden. This will take longer if you have additional layers. 6. Cut into generous squares and serve with maple syrup, fresh fruit, powdered sugar or all of the above.

Serves 6 as main course.