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).

Butterscotch Pudding

2011, over already? Jeez.

It was a big year, 2011. Perhaps not as epic as 2010 (marriage!), but 2011 saw our first anniversary (with drinks at the W and dinner at Palena - lucky us!) and, in the same month, the purchase of our first home (an awesome condo with plenty of open space, a dream kitchen, and a deck...have I really not shown you pictures yet? Wristslap! We'll solve that soon.)

D started a new job this year, and I've been busier than ever at mine. More direct reports, more travel, and generally more responsibiity have all thrown something of a wrench in my grand plan to post more in 2011. You see, I've got so much to share with you; all sorts of little tips and tricks, entertaining ideas, and tasty morsels I ate in restaurants and tried to recreate at home. I want to share them all with you. But time was scarce in 2011, so some of those tips, tricks, ideas, and recipes - well, they're still lodged in a far corn of my brain, waiting patiently for 2012.

madeira tart

Some of our cooking, eating, drinking, and food-coma-ranting did actually make it to this space, though. There were bourbon pecan bars and ginger brownies that will make you swoon, I guarantee it; Easy green beans with pesto vinaigrette that I've made, oh, 20 times since first posting about them; and of course, my favorite fish dish ever, which took me only 5 years to finally share with you - Veracruz-style snapper. With a new year on the horizon, I'm ready as ever to find more memorable food - and to share it with all of you.

ndp beans

So let's get the new year off to an auspicious start, shall we?

butterscotch pudding

Friends, you will adore this butterscotch pudding. It's deeply caramelized, rich and thick, perfumed with plenty of vanilla and whisky. I'm thinking 2012 may just be the year of the pudding - and someone with top-notch food-prediction pedigree seems to agree with me. So here you go: the first pudding of 2012. It'll be the first of many, I hope.

In fact, I'm already making good on that last wish. Tonight, we're eating not one, but two different puddings for dessert. I'm setting up a Pudding Bar - and if, after this holiday season ends, you still have a hankering to entertain friends, you can do the same. I'm stocking the kitchen counter with big bowls of this here butterscotch pudding, as well as a chocolate coconut pudding from 101 Cookbooks. Alongside, I'll have little bowls filled with toasted coconut, sliced almonds, two kinds of cookie crumbles, grated chocolate, and whipped cream. Everyone gets a bowl to make their own customized pudding parfaits. Entertaining at its easiest and most delicious, yes?

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I thought you'd agree.

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So here's to a sweet 2012, filled with happiness, laughter, warmth, adventure, fear that comes with trying new things, and of course, plenty of pudding.

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Butterscotch Puddingadapted from a recipe by David Lebovitz Serves 4-6

So why did I dare change a David L recipe? Well, I wanted my sugar caramelized; I wanted some cream with my milk; and yes, I wanted more whiskey. So here you have it - a deeply caramelized butterscotch pudding with a generous helping of booze. Call it scotchy butterscotch.

1 cup brown sugar 4 tablespoons unsalted butter 1/4 teaspoon coarse salt 1/2 cup cream 2 cups milk 3 tablespoons cornstarch or tapioca flour 2 eggs 1 tablespoon whiskey 1 teaspoon vanilla 1/2 cup whipped cream, for topping 1 oz. bittersweet chocolate, grated

Put sugar in a medium saucepan and set over medium heat. When sugar starts to melt, begin stirring gently with a fork. The sugar quickly will turn from caramelized to burnt, so watch it like a hawk. When sugar has melted and has started to smell like caramel (but before it smells burnt!), stir in the butter, 1 tablespoon at a time. When butter has all been incorporated, add cream in a slow stream until it, too, has been fully incorporated. At this point, you should have a dark brown liquidy caramel. Remove pan from the heat, add salt, and set aside.

In a small bowl, whisk cornstarch or tapioca flour into 1/2 cup of milk, stirring until mixture is completely smooth. Add eggs one at a time, and whisk to incorporate.

Slowly pour the remaining milk into the saucepan with the caramel mixture, stirring to combine. Then add the starch slurry and whisk that in, too. Set over a medium flame and heat, whisking continuously, until mixture has the texture of hot fudge. remove from heat and whisk another 60 seconds to help the pudding cool. Add whiskey and vanilla, and whisk to combine.

You'll refrigerate the pudding in the bowl(s) in which you plan to serve it. For family style, spoon it into a serving bowl. alternatively, set several small glasses or bowls on a rimmed baking sheet and spoon pudding into those dishes. If you like pudding skin, refrigerate either uncovered or covered with plastic wrap. If you don't like pudding skin, press the plastic wrap against the surface of the pudding. (Incidentally, if you don't like pudding skin, you can refrigerate the pudding in one large bowl, and apportion it right before serving. Whatever you prefer.)

To serve, top each cup of pudding with a dollop of whipped cream and a teaspoon or so of grated chocolate.

Michael Symon's Tomato Soup

Can soup be controversial? I think maybe it can.

I've served this soup at probably ten dinner parties over the past couple years. D sets the first bowl down on the table and announces, "tomato soup." Guests slurp their first spoonfuls, and the crows start coming. "This is amazing." "Best tomato soup ever." "I need the recipe." Music to any cook's ears; it's no winder I keep making this soup.

It wasn't always this way, though. I blame the blue cheese.

blue cheese

The first time I made this soup, I told guests I'd made a spicy tomato and blue cheese soup. Three people said they'd pass. As in, have no soup. At all. The rest of us tucked into our bowls, and in no time, we were oohing and ahhing over how smooth, how strangely deep and rich it was. No matter: the three holdouts remained unwaveringly uninterested.

tomato soup ingredients

I learned the hard way that this soup does best with as barebones an introduction as possible. In this house, we call it tomato soup. Everyone loves tomato soup; no one asks any questions. If you don't know there's blue cheese lurking within your bowl, you'll never guess. You'll just take your first spoonful, then your second. And if you're anything like me, you'll declare this the bes tomato soup you've ever had.

tomato soup 2

Michael Symon's Tomato Soup adapted from Symon's book, Live to Cook

This soup is heady and flavorful - so much so that it can withstand a few adaptations. To wit: the recipe calls for whole canned SM tomatoes. I've only ever used the whole ones, but this time I only had crushed on hand; no problem. Also, I've made this recipe with stock only once, and it was vegetable stock; the other times, I've used water with no problem at all. Lastly, this time I did actually manage to find the Roth Käse cheese, but in the past I've used other cheeses. Again, no problem.

2 tablespoons olive oil 1 medium red onion, finely chopped Kosher salt 4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced 1 28-ounce can San Marzano tomatoes, undrained 1 1/2 cups chicken stock, vegetable stock, or water 3/4 cup heavy cream - I've scaled this back to 1/2 cup at times; totally fine 2 tablespoons sriracha sauce, store-bought or homemade 1 tablespoon fresh oregano leaves 1/2 cup crumbled rich, creamy blue cheese, preferably Roth Käse Buttermilk Blue Cheese

Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onion and a generous pinch of salt and stir to coat the onion with oil. Cover and cook for 2 minutes.

Add garlic, cover the pot, and cook for 2 minutes more. Add the tomatoes and their juices and the stock or water, and bring to a simmer. Add the cream, sriracha, and oregano and simmer gently (on medium-low heat) for 45 minutes.

Remove from the heat, and let soup cool for at least 10 minutes, then add blue cheese and blend until smooth in a blender or using an immersion blender, working in batches if needed. Reheat gently. Serve immediately. (The tomato soup will keep, covered in the refrigerator, for up to a few days.)

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.