Mushroom Pea Curry

It's a week after New Years, and I'm talking about vegetables. Could  I be more predictable?

Yes, it's that time of year when everyone you know has committed to hit the gym 3 days a week, quit cursing, and eat less meat. Personal experience tells me that while everyone clamors to steal my spot at spin class for a few weeks after the holidays, by mid-February, I've got my bike back (even if I have to call before 6 to reserve it - and yes, it's that worth the early wake-up: Dave is my overenthusiastic spinning instructor who hasn't bought a record since "Walking on Sunshine," and I love him for it.)

I've made resolutions before. A couple Augusts ago, I spent an inspiring day with my friend Cathy (known to the interwebs as Mrs. Wheelbarrow), and felt so fired up by all the things we'd made that I spontaneously made a list of Kitchen Resolutions. You know what? I've done all but two - I'm pretty proud of that.

Still, when it comes to traditional New Years resolutions, I'm more of a tweaker, preferring incremental changes to whole-hog lifestyle makeovers. While eating minimal meat was how I was raised, it's also a lifestyle choice I've consciously adopted. I try to avoid meat and poultry from animals not raised sustainably, which means most of the meat served at large functions and in typical restaurants is off-limits. I also keep a kosher home, and there's no way around the fact that kosher sustainable meat is incredibly expensive; I buy it only a few times each year. As such, I'm always on the lookout for interesting vegetarian dishes. This time of year, with all those Meatless Monday resolution-makers, I've got plenty of company.

A few weeks back, before climbing onboard for two family vacations (more about those later), a slew of holiday parties, and really more cookies than I feel comfortable counting, we made Indian food for dinner. I steamed basmati rice with saffron. I grilled up some impossibly smooth, silky avocado chapatis. We made Jen'sCurryflouwer Surprise. And then there was this: mushroom and pea curry from the queen of Indian cooking, Madhur Jaffrey. It's the best curry I've made to date.

I like that this curry has a thick, substantial texture even without potato. You could make it even more substantial by adding paneer, but I like it just as is, over rice, with some raita on the side. The sauce is rich from tomato and diced onion and Jaffrey isn't shy with the spices. One last plus: while some mushroom dishes get mushy after some time, this curry will keep for days. Call me crazy, but I think it may even improve as it sits.

Mushroom Pea Curry 2

I've made this twice for us, and brought a big container to friends who just had a baby. We all think it's a winner. So don't kick those "vegan 'till 6" resolutions to the curb just yet. There's plenty of flavor in this curry, no meat needed.

When your Indian leftovers run out, here are some other meatless recipes I've made and loved, from around the web:

• Black bean and espresso chili from The Kitchn
• Fideos from Deb at Smitten Kitchen (vegetable stock worked well here)
• Double broccoli quinoa from Heidi at 101 Cookbooks (I made it with cavatappi)
• Silken comfort tofu from Food52 (use a tablespoon of soy in place of the fish sauce)
• Eggplant involtini from Nigella Lawson

Mushroom and Pea CurryAdapted from Madhur Jaffrey Serves 4 as part of a larger meal (i.e. we made it with rice, raita, and another curry, and it was enough for two meals for each of us)

1 tablespoon ground coriander 1/2 tablespoon ground cumin 1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper 3 tablespoons ghee or canola oil 1/4 cup diced onions (about 1/2 a medium onion) 1-inch knob of ginger, peeled and finely grated 1 1/2 cups diced tomato (fresh or canned) 1 1/4 teaspoons salt 1 lb. cremini or button mushrooms, halved lengthwise (quartered if very large) 1 10-oz. bag frozen peas, defrosted (if not, no biggie)

Combine dry spices with 1 1/2 tablespoons water in a small bowl, and mix to form a paste.

Put ghee or oil in medium saucepan over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add onions. Stir to coat with oil, and saute for 3-4 minutes, until onions are browned at the edges. Add ginger and spices, stir to coat, and cook for about 1 minute. Add tomato. Stir and cook, scraping the bottom of the pan, for about 4 minutes, until tomato has softened. If tomato sticks to pan excessively, add a splash of water.

When tomato has softened, add 2 cups of water and the salt. Stir and bring to a boil; then reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Add mushrooms, bring back to a boil, then reduce heat again and cook 10 minutes. Add peas, stir to combine, and cook 5 minutes more over medium-low heat, until warmed through. At this point, check and adjust salt level.

Serve with basmati rice and raita (this one from Elise at Simply Recipes is really lovely).

Leek Latkes with Herbed Yogurt

By now you know that my mom was the primary cook in our house. She made us dinner almost every night. Still, my dad does have a few signature dishes that he'd make occasionally, which I really loved as a kid. One was apple pan dowdy. Another was matzah brei. And the third -- the marvelous third -- was latkes.

leeks and egg

My father's latkes are the best. They're lacy and delicate, well-seasoned, and unshyly fried to a (sometimes deliciously burnt) crisp, just the way I like them. I've made them his way several times over the years. I've also tried my hand at my mom's equally good sweet potato latkes, and have -- as she sometimes does -- mixed some zucchini into my pancakes. All varieties are worth making, now aren't they?

Hanukkah provides an annual excuse to blithely and guiltlessly fry things. Never one to squander such an opportunity, this year I decided to experiment in the fried-root-vegetable-pancake department. No potato latkes for us this time around; the wringing and sieving and squeezing what appears to be an endless stream of liquid from those tubers simply got the best of me. Instead, I turned to the book that now sits front and center on my new cookbook shelf: that'd be Plenty, the newish book from Tel Avivi/Brit Yotam Ottolenghi. It's like this book was written just for me: eggplant, pomegranates, tomatoes, feta, and yogurt are just about everywhere. And everything I've read about this book suggests that it's ideal when used as a starting point, a resource for improvisational cooking. That's just my speed.

Page 34 of Plenty contains a recipe for leek fritters that I've been planning to make for weeks in honor of the holiday. Encouraged to riff, I made a slew of changes to Ottolenghi's template. Most notably -- and I know this departs from the Hanukkah zeitgeist of frying everything in oil -- I swapped half the olive oil out for butter. Sorry, I couldn't resist. I also found that a bit of water really helps the leeks soften more quickly, so I added that along with the butter and oil. Out of shallots, I used half an onion. It works; shallots would be wonderful, though. Also, I skipped the whipped egg white. Less fuss, and the pancakes were still plenty fluffy. You can thank me later.

leek latke batter

You know what's great about this latke batter? It requires no squeezing. Leeks don't leak. They just stay put, incorporating seamlessly into a batter scented with tumeric and cinnamon, coriander and cumin. I might add a tiny pinch of ground cloves next time, for a base note.  Other than that, not much I'd change. The latkes are shockingly light, aromatic, and a really nice change from the usual potato variety.

leek latkes 3

Improv cooking, again a success. Though that yogurt sauce? I actually made it according to the recipe. And after devouring half with a spoon tasting it, I wouldn't change a thing.

Happy Hanukkah, friends.

Leek Latkes with Herbed Yogurt

Serves 4

Right, so about that whole "by the recipe" thing. I actually swapped in creme fraiche for the sour cream Ottolenghi calls for, and I used a lot less of it than of yogurt (recipe says half and half). I liked the tang of the creme fraiche, but I've come to the purely speculative conclusion that this sauce would be great with any mixture of yogurt, creme fraiche, and/or sour cream that you like or can make based on what's in your fridge. Go forth and improvise!

When you do fry these up, use either a nonstick or cast iron pan. I test-fried a batch in a regular stainless steel pan, and with enough oil or butter they won't stick, but make your life easier and use something nonstick.

For the latkes: 1 lb. leeks (about 6 medium), quartered lengthwise, sliced 1/2-inch thick, rinsed, and dried 5 shallots or 1 medium yellow onion, diced 1 stick (4 oz.) butter, divided 2 T olive oil 1/4 cup water 1 small serrano or Thai red chile, seeded and diced 1/4 teaspoon tumeric 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander 1/2 teaspoon cumin 1/2 cup chopped parsley 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon sugar 2 eggs 2/3 cup milk 3/4 cup flour 1 scant tablespoon baking powder olive oil for frying

For the sauce:

1 cup greek yogurt, sour cream, creme fraiche, or a mixture (I used 3/4 yogurt, 1/4 creme fraiche) 1/2 cup coriander leaves, chopped 1/2 cup parsley leaves, chopped 2 garlic cloves, crushed 2 tablespoons lemon juice 3 tablespoons olive oil 1/2 tsp salt

In a large skillet, melt 4 tablespoons of butter and 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add leeks and shallot or onion, toss to coat with butter/oil, then add water to pan. Cook about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until water has evaporated and leeks have softened. Remove from heat and add chile, parsley, spices, sugar and salt. Set aside to cool completely.

While leeks cook, make the yogurt sauce: blitz everything in a food processor until fully combined into a uniform, light-green sauce.

Melt remaining 4 tablespoons of butter.

In a separate bowl, combine eggs, milk, melted butter, flour, and baking powder to form a loose batter. Add cooled vegetable mixture, and fold together just until combined.

Set up a platter next to your stove, and line it with 1 layer of paper towels.

Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Test oil heat by dropping a small bit of batter in; if it sizzles when it hits the oil, you're ready to fry. Use a standard ice cream scoop or 2 large spoons to scoop batter into the pan. My large skillet fit four latkes at once. Fry latkes for 2-3 minutes per side, until golden brown. Transfer to towel-lined platter when finished cooking. If doubling the recipe, you can store finished latkes in a warm oven (275 degrees F will do) while you make a second batch.

....Oh. Consume.

Twice-Baked Sweet Potatoes

I'm back, in the nick of time, with one last side dish to grace your Thanksgiving table (because really, can you ever have enough sides?) By now, you're probably squared away with your stuffing, your Turkey, and those pies. So here's an idea for what to do with all those sweet potatoes. I wouldn't call it a traditional dish, but it's certainly a play on tradition.

I've always loved twice-baked potatoes, with their crisp skin and just enough potato inside to cushion the cheesy filling. So why not twice-bake sweet potatoes? Yes, their flesh is less starchy, and their skins are harder to crisp up. But when you succeed -- and you will succeed - you will reap the rewards of hot, sweet, crunchy, soft, sweet 'taters like you've never had'em before.

raw sweet potatoes

Here's the beauty of this dish. Have a favorite filling for twice-baked potatoes? It'll go great here, too. I'm talking sour cream and cheddar and chives, or parmesan and sage, or whatever you usually use. But you could also take these in a totally different direction, as I did last night. Instead of trying to balance the sweet flesh with a more savory filling, I succumbed to the sweetness. Boy did I ever.

sour cream and maple

Here's what we're doing: we're filling 'tater halves with a mix of sour cream, maple syrup, and crunchy demerara sugar. When I made them, I simply mixed the ingredients together - but I'm recommending that you sprinkle the sugar over everything else. That way you'll have a crunchy, burnt-sugary gratinee topping. You'll know they're done when you've had to fight yourself at least 3 times from opening that oven, pulling out the sweet potatoes, and eating every last one, right then and there. Now that's what I call a successful Thanksgiving side.

twice-baked sweet potatoes-2

Twice-Baked Sweet Potatoesserves 4

4 sweet potatoes, scrubbed very well and left unpeeled 2 tablespoons sour cream 1 tablespoon maple syrup 2 tablespoons demerara sugar pinch flaky salt

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Line the bottom of the oven with foil.

Prick sweet potatoes in several places, and set on a rack in the middle of the oven for about 35-40 minutes, until they do not resist when pricked with a knife.

Meanwhile, combine sour cream with maple syrup, and stir until smooth. (It's ok if there are a couple lumps.)

Halve sweet potatoes lengthwise, and use a spoon to scoop out most of the flesh, leaving a 1/4-lining of flesh on each of the skins. Transfer skins to a lined baking sheet.

Spoon the sour cream mixture evenly into each of the skins, and top with a generous sprinkling of demerara sugar and the tiniest pinch of flaky salt.

Return to the oven, and bake about 20 minutes more, until skins are crisp at the edges and sour cream mixture is bubbling. Serve hot.

Brussels Sprouts with Caraway Seeds

Ohh, brussels sprouts. The unsung hero of the Thanksgiving table. Have your turkey, eat as many sweet potatoes as you'd like; when the maple syrup is dripping down your chin, the marshmallows bursting from your jowls, and the cranberry sauce shmeared bright red across your plate, you will have a moment - everyone has a moment - when the sweetness of it all, the sheer quantity of sugar, exhausts you. At that moment, you'll reach for the bowl of brussels sprouts, grateful that something on the table that's purely savory. Thank goodness for brussels sprouts.

here's the thing about sprouts recipes, though. Lots involve that very maple syrup that coats your yams. Or apples. Or pears (guilty as charged). Those are delicious - I'm not criticizing! - but if you take your turkey in a sweet direction (here's one recipe I'm particularly excited about that looks pretty sweet), you'll want a foil for all that sugar. So if I were making Tday dinner this year, I'd go as simple as it gets. Just some olive oil, salt and pepper - and the secret star ingredient: caraway seeds.

Let's talk caraway for a moment. It's deeply savory, and a welcome break from the sweet stuff. It's distinctive on its own: when paired with caraway, brussels sprouts need little embellishment (let's face it: you're saving your juice for the perfect turkey and a slew of pies). And they provide a little crunch to those sprouts, always welcome on a day when mashed potatoes and candied yams reign.

Also - and the importance of the following is not to be underestimated - they're easy to make. Let's be honest: brussles sprounts are the fifth child of turkey day dinner. Toss 'em in the oven. Forget about 'em. If it's a good recipe, the sprouts will turn out just fine on their own, while you're fussing over your pie and basting that bird. And by the way? Cook's secret: these sprouts are shockingly delicious right out of the fridge the morning after the big day. The caraway will have permeated the vegetable completely; sneaky leftover nibblers, I aim to please you.

brussels sprouts caraway 2

Also, incidentally: these sprouts are good all year, not just on Tday. If you're making a smaller batch, you might try making them on the stove top, as I did the second time I made them. They certainly get more blistered and brown over in a hot pan, and while they cook a bit less evenly, I found it quite exciting to watch those caraway seeds crackle and pop over the flames, crazy chick that I am.

Brussels Sprouts with Caraway Seedsadapted from a recipe in Gourmet

Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Caraway Seeds 1 1/2 pounds Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved lengthwise 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil 1 teaspoon caraway seeds salt and pepper freshly ground nutmeg (optional - if you only have the pre-grated stuff, skip it)

Preheat oven to 450°F and place a rack in middle of the oven.

Toss Brussels sprouts with oil, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper, and a very light dusting of nutmeg (if using) in a bowl until well coated. Transfer to a large 4-sided sheet pan in 1 layer and roast 10 minutes. Sprinkle caraway seeds over Brussels sprouts and toss, then spread out in 1 layer and roast until Brussels sprouts are crisp-tender and well browned in spots, about 10 minutes more.