Mushroom Conserva

This is part of a series on great side dishes for Thanksgiving and year-round. The first of the series can be found here.

To my mind, there are two foods whose flavor profiles are so diverse, they can taste like just about anything. One is cheese, which can taste sweet or salty, buttery or nutty or mild, grassy or spicy or altogether funky, like hot peppers or red wine, pure raw milk or bay leaves. The other? Mushrooms.

The buttons taste bland, but when you get into chanterelles that taste and smell of butter and honey, oyster mushrooms with briny undertones, and morels that sing of smoke and springtime, you're talking serious flavor diversity. My favorites are honeycap mushrooms, which smell and taste like honey with chocolate undertones. I could literally sit for days with my nose deep in a basket of honeycaps.

The sweet taste of honeycaps comes at a price: $15 a box, to be exact. With few exceptions, I steer clear, making a b-line for the criminis, shiitakes, and maybe some chanterelles. Criminis are pretty plain, shiitakes slightly less so; when I serve these to company, I'm looking to maximize their flavor and increase their shelf life in case there are leftovers. For this, I turn to mushroom conserva. It comes from one of my new favorite cookbooks, Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc at Home.

A recipe the likes of which only Thomas Keller could have invented, mushroom conserva is to mushrooms what jam is to fresh raspberries. Keller has you essentially poach the mushrooms in oil perfumed with herbs and spices, splash the mixture with vinegar, and then jar them. Submerged in the oil, the mushrooms keep for upto a month -- much longer than they would otherwise. While the recipe calls for wild mushrooms galore, I've found that peppering a mostly crimini/shiitake mix with smaller portions of wild mushrooms works quite nicely, and is easier on the wallet. As if these weren't enough to motivate, this recipe -- just like the green beans I wrote about earlier this week -- is actually meant to be made in advance. Just trying to make your life easier, folks. Thank me later.

Mushroom Conserva from Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc at Home

note: if you don't have piment d'espelette, feel free to use a different paprika. I used smoked paprika one time I made this, and thought it was lovely.

2 pounds assorted wild mushrooms such as small shiitakes, morels, chanterelles, small porcini, hen-of-the-woods, trumpet and oyster; if you can't get these or enough of them, feel free to substitute some criminis, 2 cups extra virgin olive oil 2 bay leaves 4 sprigs thyme 1 sprig rosemary (6 inches) 1 teaspoon piment d'espelette (if you don't have this, feel free to use a different paprika) 3 tablespoons sherry wine vinegar kosher salt fresh cracked black pepper

Just before cooking, rinse the mushrooms as necessary to remove any dirt. Remove any stems that are tough, such as the stems of shiitake mushrooms and discard or set aside for another use, such as a vegetable stock. Trim the end of other stems as well as any bruised areas.

Cut the mushrooms into pieces. The size and shape will vary with the variety of the mushroom. Small mushrooms can be left whole, larger mushrooms can be cut into chunks or into slices. Some mushrooms with meaty stems such as porcini or trumpet mushrooms, can be cut lengthwise in half.

Use the tip of a paring knife to score the inside of the stem in a crosshatch pattern. This will enable the marinade to penetrate the stem. The pieces of mushroom will shrink as they cook, but the finished pieces should not be larger than one bite. You should have about 1.5 pounds (10 cups) of trimmed mushrooms.

Place the olive oil, bay leaves, thyme sprigs, rosemary and Piment d'Espelette in a large, wide saucepan over medium to medium high heat.

Place a thermometer in the pot and heat until the oil reaches 170 degrees F, stirring the mushrooms in the oil from time to time. It may be necessary to tilt the pot and pool the oil to get a correct reading on the thermometer. Adjust the heat as necessary, to maintain this temperature for 5 minutes.

Add the mushrooms to the pot, and gently turn the mushrooms in the oil.

When the oil reaches 170 degrees F again, maintain the temperature for 5 minutes, gently turning the mushrooms from time to time. The mushrooms will not initially be submerged in the oil, but will wilt as they steep.

After 5 minutes, turn off the heat and stir in the vinegar and salt and pepper to taste. Let the mushrooms steep in the oil for 45 minutes. Place the mushrooms, oil and herbs in a covered storage container. Kept covered in oil the mushrooms will keep for up to 1 month in the refrigerator.

Reheat conserva before serving.

Green Beans with Horseradish-Mustard Vinaigrette

This is the first of a series of posts about great sides for Thanksgiving and year-round -- stay tuned for more as we approach the big day!

For my money, this is the quintessential side. Flavor-wise, it's totally in keeping with Thanksgiving tastes. The horseradish helps cut all that sweet, fatty Tday food, and the mustard reinforces for a one-two punch of spice. And at a meal where salad is the wallflower, green beans are more formidable company for that big turkey and the boat full of gravy occupying everyone's attention.

If that's not enough to lure you, other benefits include its ease and speed of preparation (it takes 10 minutes flat) and its willingness to hang out for a few days before serving. Really, what more can you ask for?

I make these green beans year round, but they're especially great on Tday. Go forth and eat.

Green Beans with Horseradish-Mustard Vinaigrette serves 4 as a side

1 pound green beans 1 tablespoon spicy whole-grain mustard 1 tablespoon prepared horseradish (I make mine by blending horseradish root with vinegar) 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1/3 cup olive oil salt and pepper 1/2 cup sliced almonds

Preheat oven to 350º. Spread almonds in a single layer and toast until golden, about 10 minutes. Watch them carefully so they don't burn.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Fill a large bowl with ice cubes and water. Working in batches, cook beans in boiling water just until cooked but still crisp, about 2 minutes per batch. Transfer cooked beans to bowl of ice water to "shock" them and stop them from cooking further. Continue cooking and shocking process with remaining batches of beans. Transfer beans to separate bowl and chill. You'll be serving the beans at room temperature, so chill only enough that they're no longer hot.

Meanwhile, prepare vinaigrette. Mix horseradish, mustard, red wine vinegar, and lemon juice. Add oil in steady stream while whisking, until all oil has been added and vinaigrette is emulsified.

Transfer green beans to a serving platter. Drizzle vinaigrette over beans, top with toasted almonds, and serve at room temperature.

Rigatoni with Radish Pesto and Oven-Roasted Tomatoes

A couple weeks ago, my friend Jeremy told you using the last of the summer bumper crop to make oven-roasted tomatoes. Like the diligent readers you are, several of you went and made your own oven-roasted tomatoes. But then you emailed me later that week asking what to do with the oven-roasted tomatoes you had made. Recognizing that my first-impulse answer, "what can't you do with them?!" wasn't exactly so helpful, I started a list of ways to use these plump little suckers. Toss a couple on pizza; pile them in a heap on baked feta and serve with pita chips; add to roasted broccoli and drizzle vinaigrette over the whole mess; and so forth.

One suggestion I neglected to share, of course, was to toss them with pasta. Ironically, that's my most frequent use for them. I toss them with spaghetti and finish with parmesan, I add them to baked dishes like ziti and lasagna, and -- as you'll see -- I mix them with some rigatoni and coat it all with pesto. In this combination, the tomatoes brighten the pesto-coated pasta, punctuating with sweetness and acid. Once you've got the tomatoes, the dish takes about 25 minutes to make, though the results would suggest otherwise. An added plus: this doubles as weekday lunch. What more could you ask for?

The pesto is delicious -- though "radish pesto" is perhaps a misnomer, since the pesto is made not with the radishes themselves, but with their leaves. After years of buying radishes from the farmers' market and watching the forlorn greens wilt away in the fridge, I discovered this wonderful recipe on Food52 and haven't turned back since. The recipe is by "Oui, Chef," a regular contributor whose recipes are some of the most well-conceived on the site. I've always been one to add acid (lemon juice, lemon zest) to my pesto, and when Oui, Chef did so as well, I knew I had to read on. His pesto recipe combines traditional ingredients (basil, garlic, olive oil) with less traditional ones (feta, marcona almonds, chives -- stay tuned for more about them later this week), and the result is divine.

It's not only the tomatoes that have multiple uses, by the way. This pesto is exceedingly versatile. Shmear some on slices of bread or pieces of baguette, top with feta or ricotta, maybe some chopped tomatoes, and lettuce, and you have a lovely vegetarian lunch. Drop dollops onto pizza dough with a couple thin slices of radish, and some pecorino, and you have yourself a unique and delicious pizza. Add some to a vinaigrette and use it to dress beans (from a can is totally fine) for a nice variation on bean salad. You get the drift. One spread, many uses. Just the way I like it.

Rigatoni with Radish Pesto and Oven-Roasted Tomatoes

1 pound rigatoni or other large tube pasta 1/2 cup oven-dried tomatoes 3/4 cup radish and basil pesto (recipe by Oui,Chef on Food52 -- printed below with my adjustments) Parmigiano Reggiano Cheese

Cook pasta according to package directions. Drain and transfer to large bowl. Mix in pesto and tomatoes, and grate 1/4 cup cheese over top. Mix to incorporate; serve warm or at room temperature.

Radish and Basil Pesto via Food52

1 cup packed fresh radish greens, well washed and dried 1 cup packed basil leaves, well washed and dried 2 cloves garlic 1/4 cup marcona almonds 1/4 cup olive oil Juice of 1/2 lemon 1/4 cup feta cheese, cut or broken into chunks 1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese 3 radishes, finely minced 1 tablespoon finely minced fresh chives Kosher salt and black pepper to taste

Place garlic and almonds in the bowl of a small food processor with a pinch of salt and a few grindings of pepper, and pulse until finely minced.

Add the radish and basil leaves, and process while pouring the olive oil through the feed tube, stopping as needed to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Continue until oil has been incorporated and pesto is smooth.

Add feta and radishes, and pulse just until broken up into small bits -- this is where the pesto gets chunky. If you prefer a completely smooth pesto, process for longer at this stage.

Pour pesto into a medium sized bowl, and mix in the lemon juice, grated parmesan, and chives.

Test for seasoning, adding more salt, pepper or lemon juice as desired. Spoon into an air-tight container just big enough to hold all the pesto, pour a thin layer of olive oil to coat the top, and store in fridge. Pesto will keep for up to 1 week.

Pasta with Fresh Tomato Sauce

Where we live, time is running out to make this sauce. Tomatoes are on their last legs here in the Northeast, and I've been alternating between panic and panicking on and off for the past three weeks about their impending disappearance.

By now, you've seen posts on cream of roasted tomato soup and sundried tomatoes. Everyone's trying to squeeze the last little bit out of summer's tomato bounty, and really, who can blame them? I'll be doing the same -- there are many jars of oven-roasted tomatoes in my future -- but for now, I'm chopping the last of those tomatoes raw into my bowls of pasta and enjoying them in their juicy, fresh state while I still can.

This may not be the first you've heard of fresh tomato sauce: Mark Bittman wrote about it recently for the New York Times. When he did, I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing suddenly that I, like Bittman, have been making this sauce for years, and only now had it occurred to me that it might actually be a recipe worth sharing. Truth be told, that's not 100% accurate. I've actually been taking pictures of bowls of pasta with fresh tomato sauce for two years now -- whether its just the tomatoes, tomatoes with a pillow of ricotta or mozzarella mixed in, or with some other vegetables (zucchini, mushrooms) added in. This dish is a staple of my diet, and I'm appreciative to Bittman for making me realize just how post-able it is.

The beauties of fresh tomato sauce are many. While long-simmered sauce makes an ideal accompaniment to a deep bowl of noodles in January, fresh tomato sauce on a handful of spaghetti reminds you that, yes, there was a summer season and no, it wasn't so long ago. Fall brings a tendency to slip prematurely into hibernation; fresh tomato sauce holds us back.

The method couldn't be simpler. A shallot and some butter or olive oil mingle over the heat. Pieces of chopped fresh tomato -- any tomato really, though don't use heirlooms here; I've had success with everything from big red beefstakes to baby yellow cherries -- and are added, along with some salt, and the heat is raised slightly. The pan is shaken enough to get everything distributed, and before you know it, the pasta is just shy of al dente, and it's heading for those tomatoes to finish cooking. The whole mess is topped with either a shower of finely grated parmesan or a spoonful (or several) of fresh ricotta cheese. Mixed. Plated. Consumed.

The recipe I provide below serves 4, but I make this meal most frequently to serve just one. It's the ideal food for those evenings you're alone in the apartment, ready to curl up on the couch and indulge in something comforting. And, in case I wasn't super clear, this is a sauce to be made now. Get cookin'.

Pasta with Fresh Tomato Sauce serves 4

1 pound long pasta: spaghetti, vermicelli, and linguini are all great 1 shallot, chopped 3 tablespoons butter or olive oil 1 1/2 pounds fresh red or yellow tomatoes (no need to use heirlooms here; their nuance will be lost in the sauce) salt and pepper finishing flourishes, including a handful of ripped basil leaves, a generous grating of parmesan, a scoop full of fresh, milky ricotta, or anything else you want

Bring plenty of salted water to a boil in a large pot. When at a rolling boil, add pasta, stir to separate noodles, and return to a boil. Cook until just shy of al dente.

Meanwhile, heat butter or olive oil in a wide shallow pan over medium. When butter foams or oil shimmers, add chopped shallot. Shallot should sizzle. 30 seconds later, add tomatoes. Turn heat to low. Cook 5-7 minutes, until tomatoes have softened and smoothed together somewhat. You're not looking for a completely smooth sauce; you just want the tomatoes to break up, to absorb the butter, and to mix in with the shallots. When this happens, you're golden.

By now, your pasta should be not-quite al dente. Drain, and transfer into pan with sauce. Toss to incorporate, and cook a scant additional minute. Add cheese and/or basil, transfer to platter, and serve.