To name a few:

Sticky fingers from peeling fresh garlic

Leftover lentils tossed with grated carrots, dried blackcurrants, chopped cilantro and parsley, olive oil, vinegar and a pinch of baharat served with a big hunk of feta.

Evening walks with the setting sun

Watching Éric Rohmer’s Pauline at the Beach

A 10:30 bedtime

I made a crumble topping (oats, toasted oat flour, butter, maple sugar and salt) to serve with grilled peaches and whipped vanilla mascarpone. I have lots leftover and have been loving it with strawberry jam and sheep’s milk yogurt.

Properly making the bed

Finding a sunscreen I love

I bought a fake Louis Vuitton wallet on Canal street when I was 18 and have used it as my wallet since. The zipper has broken but its otherwise relatively unscathed. 10 years later and the time was ripe for something new, I found this perfect pink leather wallet and carrying it around makes me girlishly happy.

Making, then eating, a 7 layer dip for the World Cup Final

Homemade almond milk in my matcha

Laying on the couch

Eggs from our neighbor. They are $5 a dozen and their yolks taste like sunshiney fudge.

One of my favorite dishes on our trip to London was a farinata at Ducksoup. Farinata is a crispy flatbread made with chickpea flour, water, and olive oil, and while I think I make one quite well, theirs was unlike anything I’ve tried. It was thin and lacy, almost like a crepe. They served it drizzled in honey with a few slices of lardo melted in the residual heat. I loved it so much I ordered another one for dessert. I recreated it at home with wonderful success. I’ll share the recipe soon.

The anticipation of a matcha soft-serve from Matchaful, my absolute favorite summer treat.

Receiving postcards like this from my mother

Finding butters I’ve never tried at the store

Ellie Hix’s chocolate and buckwheat cookies.

I cooked burgers for a group of bachelorettes and had multiple leftover cooked cheesy patties. I cooked chopped tomatoes in a pan until they burst into sauce, then crumbled in the cold, cheesy meat. I added some cooked mafalda with a ladleful of starchy pasta water, and topped the dish with fresh basil. I named it Cheeseburger Pasta and imagined it as my new favorite childhood meal.

I hope through the wonderful, mundane, aching days of summer you, too, find yourself taken by the ordinary pleasures of your life.

More soon.

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My favorite way to communicate with friends is through small, regular updates on what they are loving to cook and eat. Last week I received a voice memo from my friend Gaia that she had recently fallen obsessed with honey, quiche and champagne. We yap on about our shared love for whole milk; she sends photos of thick steaks wrapped in butcher paper, which I know are destined for Sunday dinner with her husband; I tell her about the freshly milled sorghum that just got dropped off at my door, imminently destined for chocolate chip cookies.

Gaia sent me a rough recipe for these chestnut crepes and they became an instant household classic. Aside from the chestnut flour itself, the ingredients for the batter likely already live in your fridge: whole milk, eggs, butter. No gluten, no grains, no refined starches, just the unadulterated nutty sweetness of chestnuts ground to flour! A revelation.

Chestnut Crepes

You can take the time to whisk your batter together in a bowl, diligently avoiding clumps of flour, though I much prefer a lower effort route and toss everything in a blender and go. The batter really benefits from an overnight rest - helping to make the crepe much easier to manage in the pan. The cooked crepes become more pliable if you let them rest for a while after cooking, a nice feature if you plan to fill and roll them. I keep a plate warm in the oven, ready to receive crepe by crepe as they cook. By the time you’ve cooked them all, the majority will feel relaxed and limber.

They are soft with crispy edges, nutty and surprisingly sweet…even when you eat them straight from the pan.

Makes 8-10 ten inch crepes

2 cups finely milled chestnut flour

2 large eggs, at room temperature

2 ½ cups whole milk, at room temperature

2 tablespoons butter, melted and cooled, plus more for frying

½ teaspoon fine sea salt

In a blender, combine all of the ingredients and blend on medium speed for 10-15 seconds, until you have a smooth and pourable batter with no visible clumps of flour. Set the batter aside to rest, covered, for at least 30 minutes or preferably overnight.

When ready to cook, heat a nonstick crepe pan or a well seasoned carbon steel pan over medium heat. Add a small pat of butter and tilt the pan to distribute it. The pan should be hot enough for the butter to bubble and melt upon contact, but not brown. Add a ¼ cup of batter to the pan and immediately tilt the pan in a circular motion to spread the batter evenly. Cook for about 2-3 minutes, or until the bottom is a nice golden brown and the crepe flips with little drama. If the batter tears when you try to flip it, it likely needs to cook for another 30 seconds or so. Cook on the other side for a minute, then transfer the crepe to a plate set in a warm oven. Continue with the remaining batter.

Serve with: a good jam; strawberries and ricotta; salted butter and honeycomb; soft scrambled eggs; smoked salmon and garlicky spinach; butter and cinnamon sugar.

These crepes will only be as delicious as your chestnut flour. When shopping, try to look for a flour that advertises itself as slow cured and stone milled. I buy mine from Breadtree Farms, an impressive and admirable agroforestry project working to give chestnuts their rightful place back in the American pantry.

If you have an appetite for more than a delicious breakfast and want to learn more about how chestnuts can forge more sustainable foodways in the Northeast and beyond, read on here.

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Hello! I’m here to apologize and to show off. The apology is for my unplanned writing hiatus. The brag is about this cake—a soft, saturated, seasonal marvel. If anything has the redeeming power to make up for months of lost time, it’s a light, vanilla scented chiffon layered with tangy strawberry jam and barely sweetened mascarpone cream. Consider it both a consolation prize and a confident comeback.

The chiffon recipe is borrowed (then bastardized) from one of my favorite bakers, Sarah Owens. Most of what I’ve learned about whole-grain baking, and now primarily gluten-free baking, is thanks to Sarah - whether it be from one of her three books, her Patreon, or her cooking workshops. Her original recipe was resilient enough to accommodate my usual tweaks: trading the wheat for a gluten free grain, and substituting cane sugar for something a bit less refined. The recipe is just as adaptable as it is reliable, allowing you to mix and match grains, making use of whatever dregs you have stashed in your pantry, with little textural consequence. My favorite relies on toasted oat flour, which you can either buy from Anson Mills, or make at home by toasting rolled oats in a hot oven and then blitzing them to flour in a high-speed blender. The rustic, nutty flavor of the toasted whole grain gives a lovely robustness to the cake, bringing a fullness of flavor and a toothsome bite. Another favorite combination is almond and sweet rice flours, which provide for a crumb that is at once delicate and pleasantly chewy. I’ve also had great success using basmati rice flour, brown rice flour, buckwheat flour, and millet.

The filling, in this case, is a strawberry jam; the season’s juiciest berries, cooked down with just enough maple syrup to bring the fruit’s inherent sweetness into clarity, and then a generous splash of vinegar as a reminder that a good strawberry should be sweet and tart. Some people strive to keep jam rather blonde, taking care not to allow any of the fruits’ sugars to caramelize past the setting point. I’m not so precious with mine—I do take care to make sure that no fruit ever scorches on the pan, but I don’t mind giving my jam a few extra minutes over heat to allow the flavors to deepen, providing for a more full-flavored, concentrated fruity expression.

If you can’t find fresh strawberries, this recipe is just as accommodating of frozen fruit—and I do hope you squirreled some away! If not, consider this an invitation to substitute whatever juicy, summer fruit you have available. I will provide a few tasty suggestions for fruit and flavor swaps, allowing this cake recipe to shape-shift to the whim of your ingredients.

The frosting is simple and perfect. Exceptional quality heavy cream and mascarpone are slowly whipped to soft ripples, before being gently sweetened with honey and seasoned with salt. A bit of bloomed gelatin poured in at this point helps to give the finished frosting a delectable buoyancy, giving the cream strength and structure. The set frosting is sturdy but delicate, tasting of little more than really delicious cream with the unmistakable richness of mascarpone. The best part, is that it’s truly easy to work with. It spreads like a dream, and has enough heft to hold its shape.

As the cake is being assembled, the chiffon itself gets saturated in a bay and vanilla maple soak. While not necessary, the soak acts as an added level of insurance, helping to ensure a moist and succulent cake.

Strawberry and Cream Cake

I have officially entered my cake era and this version, rich with mascarpone cream and dripping in jammy strawberries, has been dominating the rotation. Building a layer cake is no small feat, but it is a fun and rewarding one. Not to mention delicious! This recipe is really four recipes caked into one: a forgiving and reliable chiffon, a formula for making jam, a stable honey-kissed frosting, and an optional soak - for adding moisture and an extra nudge of flavor. While I do urge you to follow this recipe as is, even just once, I also want you to take these component parts and let your own palate lead the creative charge. I personally cannot wait to make a version layered with apricot jam, with an toasted almond flour sponge and maybe some kind of nutty crunch…

For the toasted oat chiffon

290 g toasted oat flour

265 g maple sugar

10 g baking powder (2 ½ teaspoons)

¾ teaspoon fine sea salt

145 g egg yolks (from about 8 large eggs)

80 ml milk of choice, room temperature

75 ml unrefined vegetable or nut oil, I use Algae Cooking Oil (use code VILDASASKIAGONZALEZ at checkout for 10% off)

1½ teaspoons vanilla extract, or 2 vanilla beans

290 g egg whites (from about 8 large eggs)

½ teaspoon cream of tartar (or 1 teaspoon lemon juice)

Preheat oven to 325°F. Line 2 half sheet trays with parchment paper, lightly grease the parchment paper with oil but do not grease the sides of the sheet trays.

In a medium mixing bowl, sift together the flour, 175 g of the maple sugar, baking powder, and salt. In a separate bowl, combine the egg yolks, milk, oil, and vanilla. Combine the wet and dry ingredients until no visible lumps remain.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, add the egg whites, remaining maple sugar, and cream of tartar or lemon juice. Beat on high speed for about 4 minutes, or until the whites are glossy and hold a stiff peak.

Gently fold the whipped egg white into the batter in thirds until fully combined, being careful not to deflate the meringue. Split the batter between the two prepared sheets trays. Use an offset spatula to evenly spread the batter.

Bake for 12-15 minutes, or until the top of the cakes are just barely golden. The chiffon should gently bounce back when prodded with your finger.

Set aside to cool.

For the jam

Note that this will yield more jam than you’ll need for the cake. If you’re taking the time, you might as well set yourself up with enough to eat on buttered toast, with pancakes, on porridge…

1,000 g hulled strawberries

400 g maple syrup

30 g lemon juice or a fruity vinegar, I particularly like Tart Vinegar

1 tablespoon cured sumac

1 teaspoon fine sea salt

Use your hands to squish the strawberries into a large dutch oven. This motion, while messy, gives a really lovely, organic texture to the jam that you can’t achieve by using a knife. Add the maple syrup, vinegar, and cured sumac and set the mixture aside to mingle at room temperature for at least 2 hours.

Gather your tools: you’ll need a medium bowl filled halfway with water, a fine mesh skimmer, a long silicone spatula, and a small plate waiting in the freezer.

Place the dutch oven over a medium high heat and allow the strawberry mixture to come to a boil. Scum will rise to the surface, remove it by running the mess skimmer over the surface of the jam, then submerge the skimmer in the bowl of water to rinse it off. Continue this process until little to no scum remains.

As the jam cooks, your presence needs to be steadfast. Little tasks, like answering a text or washing a couple of dishes are fine, but jam making really isn’t suited for multitasking. Just remember what a generous miracle fruit is, and take pride in being its steward. Listen to some good music and commit yourself to the process.

Stir the pot every couple minutes, making sure to run the spatula along the entire bottom of the pot so that the fruit never scorches. At first it will look like a vat of hot strawberry soup, but over the course of about 20 minutes or so the sugars will concentrate, water will evaporate, and you’ll be left with a glossy, crimson red jam with suspended chunks of soft strawberries. Towards the final 5 minutes of cooking, you will want to stir the pot almost constantly. The final texture should feel thick but spoonable. To test for doneness, dollop a spoonful on the ice-cold plate from the freezer. Place it in the freezer for a minute, then remove and run your finger through the center. If a clean passageway forms, your jam is finished and will set beautifully. If it’s still a bit weepy, return to the heat for another few minutes.

Transfer to an airtight container in the fridge to chill and set.

For the frosting

8 oz (225 g) mascarpone cheese

16 oz (470 ml) heavy whipping cream

60 g mild honey

Pinch of fine sea salt

2 teaspoons powdered gelatin

Filtered water

In a small bowl, combine the powdered gelatin with 8 teaspoons of water. Set aside to bloom for 5 minutes. It will turn into a thick, solid piece of jello. Set the bowl of bloomed gelatin inside a slightly bigger bowl, and pour boiling water into the larger bowl. This will liquify the bloomed gelatin.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, add the cream and mascarpone. With the whisk attachment, beat on medium-low speed for about 8 minutes, until soft ripples begin to appear. Slow whipping helps to ensure a more stable cream. At this point, add the honey, salt, and liquified gelatin. Continue whipping on a medium-low speed until stiff peaks form. The cream should feel fluffy and thick. Transfer to an airtight container and set in the fridge to chill and set for at least 2 hours.

When set, remove the frosting from the fridge and check its consistency. If there’s lots of air pockets, use a spoon to gently press on the surface of the cream, helping to deflate the excess air.

For the soak

1/4 cup maple syrup

1/4 cup filtered water

2 bay leaves

2 spent vanilla beans

Combine all of the ingredients in a small saucepan and bring to a gentle boil. Reduce the heat to maintain a simmer for about 5 minutes. Take off the heat and allow to cool.

For assembling the cake

I’ve learned everything I know about assembling layer cakes from Natasha Pickowicz, both from her encyclopedically useful cookbook More Than Cake and from step by step videos like this one. If you’ve never built a layer cake, I recommend turning to either of these resources to become a bit more familiar with the process before diving in. While words are an unquestionably useful guide, I personally learn best from a combination of written word and visual cues.

To build the layer cake, you’ll begin by making four 9” diameter circles out of the two sheet trays of chiffon. I do this by tracing a 9” diameter circle over the cake with a sharp paring knife. I like to make sure I have two close to perfect rounds for the top and bottom layers of the cake, but for the remaining layers I’ll stitch any scrap pieces into circles. This process is forgiving, and also very satisfyingly arts and craft-sy.

Line a 9” spring-form cake pan with plastic wrap. Nestle in the most in-tact cake circle at the bottom - noting that this will be the top of the cake. Brush with 1-2 tablespoons of the cake soak. Add about ¼ cup of the jam to the first layer and evenly distribute with an offset spatula. Do the same with the frosting. Then repeat these steps: cake, soak, jam, frosting until you have three nice layers. Top with the last cake circle. Wrap with plastic wrap and place in the fridge.

Note that while the cake can be served straight away, it’s best when it’s had a chance to rest for at least 8 hours. Plan accordingly.

Gently remove the cake from the spring-form and flip it over. Remove the plastic wrap and frost the outside of the cake. The first layer of frosting is considered a crumb coat, think of it as a primer coat before you paint. Place the cake back in the fridge for at least 30 minutes, to give this layer of frosting time to set. Remove from the fridge and apply the final coat, smoothing out the edges with your offset spatula. Decorate with fresh strawberries, or any other seasonal adornments.

A note on the order of operations

This is no doubt an ambitious undertaking, but you can easily cut down on prep time by planning ahead and stacking tasks. Make the jam when you’re in an un-rushed headspace, ideally a day or two or even a week before you plan on making the cake. On baking day, begin by making the frosting, as it needs time to set in the fridge - this can also be done the day before. While the chiffon is baking, make the cake soak.

Cooking, and baking for that matter, are an orchestration of moving parts. With a clean kitchen and an organized set of priorities, it should feel more like dancing than chasing your own tail.

A few flavor suggestions

Lemon and vanilla bean rice flour sponge + raspberry jam + matcha soak + mascarpone cream

Almond and rice flour sponge + apricot noyaux jam + almond milk soak + candied sesame crunch + vanilla mascarpone cream

Cardamom and cacao sponge + bay and vanilla soak + tart cherry jam + dark chocolate ganache + mascarpone cream

A note of gratitude

In a world deeply over-saturated with ideas, its hard to claim one as truly your own. My work and creative world would look very dull without inspiration from others. Recipe writing and development in this age, at least in my opinion, is the amalgamation of techniques learned, borrowed and refined; of experiences had; of flavors tasted; of colors and textures and compositions; and of ideas! Both original and rehashed. I try not to let my ego get in the way, remembering that what ever brilliantly unique idea I birthed was probably born long before I realize. With this said, I do still value giving credit to my teachers, of which there are more than I can count, whose recipes, techniques, and influence have shaped the way I cook and bake.

Beyond the names already mentioned, a thank you goes to Arden Vail Sanchez, for teaching me the functional magic of setting whipped cream with gelatin, and to Jessica Koslow for writing the book that taught me everything I’ll ever need to know about making jam.

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Born out of a nostalgic craving for the golden crispy crunch of a classic chicken nugget, only without the desire to dredge and fry—these golden nuggets are simple to make, adaptable, inherently wholesome, and hard not to love.

Bite size pieces of boneless, skinless chicken breast are seasoned with salt and generously tossed in curry powder. The addition of a bit of starch (from whichever kind you might have on hand, arrowroot, tapioca, cornstarch…) helps a delicate crust form, giving each bite a chewy-crunchy satisfaction without the need for breading. The seasoned chicken gets fried in hot ghee until golden and tender, a process that takes less than 10 minutes of active cooking time.

Curry Spiced Chicken Nuggets

Greater than the sum of their parts, these chicken nuggets are better than they should be. The secret to their sumptuousness, beyond properly measuring the seasoning and not overcooking them, lies in the ghee. Ghee, for the unacquainted, is a superior cooking oil made by clarifying and caramelizing butter. It is in essence pure butter fat, gently scented by the amber colored milk solids that settle to the bottom of the pot when you make it, yielding an addictively sweet, almost caramel like flavor. It’s been celebrated for millennia for its nutritive profile and for its ability to carry and bolster flavor. Here, it adds the fatty richness that lean chicken breasts lack. It also helps to nudge the fullness of the curry powder’s flavor to life. It also, importantly, allows the chicken nuggets to sear at a moderately high temperature without burning, thanks to its impressively high smoke point.

Please feel free to take liberty with the seasoning of these nuggets (toss them in baharat, or maybe in a bit of cumin and smoked paprika), but please don’t opt for anything but ghee as your frying oil.

1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, preferably from a pasture raised bird, cut into 1 inch cubes

1.5 teaspoons of salt

2 teaspoons curry powder*

2 teaspoons cornstarch, arrowroot or tapioca starch

2 tablespoons or more of ghee

Toss everything but the ghee in a mixing bowl and use your hands to evenly coat the chicken in the salt, curry, and starch.

Heat a heavy bottomed frying pan over medium-high heat. When the pan is hot but not smoking, add the ghee and swirl the pan to coat it in fat. Once the ghee has fully melted, add the seasoned chicken to the pan. It’s better to cook these in batches than to crowd the pan, as the steam produced from crowding will prevent that gloriously golden sear we’re after. Proceed accordingly.

Cook the nuggets for 3-4 minutes, until golden but not charred, then flip and cook for another 2-3 minutes on the other side. Repeat with the remaining chicken, if cooking in batches, adding more ghee to the pan as needed. Remove them from the heat and let rest for a quick 5 minutes, just enough time to let the residual heat cook the chicken through while ensuring they’ll be as tender as can be.

If I’m making these as a part of a larger meal or as a component of meal prep, I often err on the side of barely undercooked, taking them off the heat right after the final crust has formed but before they’re all the way cooked through—this gives you a bit of flexibility and grace to reheat them to better time with the other finished components of your meal, to have them all hot and steamy if you’re cooking them in multiple batches, or to reheat them with ease if you’re preparing them for another day. If taking this approach, I’ll preheat the oven to 350°F before I begin cooking, and will pop the just-cooked nuggets on a sheet tray and bake for 5 minutes or less, just until they’re warmed through.

*I keep my pantry stocked with Diaspora Co.’s tandoori masala, and reach for it anytime a recipe calls for curry powder. Diaspora Co. sources the most vibrant, equitable, and flavorful spices I’ve tried—their products are reliably excellent, and this masala is no exception. I mention this not only because your pantry will be better for it, but because the masala’s third ingredient is salt. Different curry powders are seasoned with varying degrees of salt, some with none at all, some with quite a bit. Keep this in mind as you season your nuggets. This recipe was tested with a saltier curry powder, if yours is not then I advise a slightly heavier salting hand.

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I had very different plans for today’s recipe until last night’s oatmeal raisin cookie trial warranted the exact result I was after: crisp edges, a chewy center, with plump caramelized raisins in every bite. They are just sweet enough, with a subtle savory edge from a tablespoon of miso paste. It’s the kind of cookie you can bake on a whim, as many of the ingredients are household staples (at least in my kitchen) and the whole process takes 30 minutes from start to finish. It’s also the kind of cookie you can easily, almost justifiably eat too many of. Free of gluten and refined sugar, they feel like an ideal breakfast (or any time) cookie; something to savor alongside a warm milky beverage, or better yet: a cold glass of milk.

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

Each time I’ve made these cookies they’ve been devoured one after the other. Their subtle sweet and savory chew leaves you wanting more, as though one could never be enough. They fill the space of delectable treat and satiating snack in equal measure, though be careful to not let the healthful ingredient list woo you…they are still cookies. As with all baked goods, it’s essential to give these a proper moment to rest once they’ve come out of the oven. 15 minutes is enough if you’re feeling beside yourself, but give them even longer if you can find the strength to wait…you’ll be rewarded with a texture thats had a moment to settle in to itself.

150 g (1½ cups) rolled oats

80 g (½ packed cup) cassava flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon ground ginger

110 g (4 oz) unsalted butter

80 g (½ cup) maple sugar, pulverized in a high speed blender or spice grinder till very fine and powdery

2 tablespoons honey

1 tablespoon light miso paste

1 egg, beaten

75 g raisins

Preheat your oven to 400°F. Line two sheet trays with parchment paper.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the oats, cassava, baking powder and ginger.

In a small saucepan set over medium heat, heat the butter. First it will melt, and then it will come to life in a voracious simmer. Cook for 4-5 minutes, stirring occasionally and keeping a keen eye, until the butter has turned a light golden brown and begun to smell of caramel. Take it off the heat and stir in the maple sugar, honey, and miso paste. Set aside for 5 minutes to cool.

Pour the brown butter mixture into the dry ingredients, alongside the beaten egg and the raisins. Mix until everything has come together into a sticky and relatively stiff batter. I find my hands to be the best tool for this.

Roll the cookies into 12 balls, each a heaped tablespoon in size, and place them on the prepared sheet trays with at least 2 inches of space between them. Gently flatten each cookie with your palm. Tuck in any protruding raisins to help prevent them from scorching.

Bake, one tray at a time, for 10-12 minutes, or until the cookies are deeply golden. Remove from the oven, and gently press down on the center of each cookie with the back of a spoon to flatten them just a bit. Transfer to a wire rack to cool for at least 15 minutes.

Enjoy with a cold glass of milk, with your morning coffee, without inhibition…

Recipe adapted from Kitty Coles’ lovely book Make More With Less

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This miso and honey glaze has taken the crown as my current favorite way to prepare steelhead trout, a type of rainbow trout whose flesh is deep coral-pink with a flavor akin to great salmon, only more delicate, firm and sweet. I eat a lot of it, thanks to living too far from the ocean but conveniently close to an amazing fish farm.

Mix light miso, runny honey, a touch of neutral oil, and enough rice vinegar to harmonize into a loose paste, then generously rub it all over a fat slab of trout. Bake it quickly in a warm oven, then blast the baby under the broiler until it’s irresistibly blistered. Sticky, salty, barely sweet, with an addictive umami funk—the final product renders tender, just cooked meat and charred, chewy edges.

I’ve served this fish in many settings and to many people, and can reliably be found post-dinner picking the burnt edges of trout off of the sheet pan, sopping up every caramelized morsel with my fingers. I advise you do the same.

Miso and Honey Broiled Trout

Ideal for a quick, nourishing weeknight meal, but equally suitable for the moments when you’re looking to impress. This dish is truly low-lift, the hardest work already accomplished by the quality of your ingredients—which I’ll always remind you are worth prioritizing.

One 1.75 pound side of steelhead trout or salmon, taken out of the fridge at least 30 minutes before cooking

Fine sea salt to season

¼ cup light miso paste

2 tablespoons runny honey

2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar

2 tablespoons neutral oil

Prepare a sheet pan with aluminum foil. This is important even if you boycott cooking with aluminum, unless you feel keen on setting parchment paper aflame in your oven. I’ve done it and wouldn’t recommend!

Pat the fish dry with a paper towel, then place it skin side down on the foil-lined sheet tray. Season judiciously with salt, aim for about ½ teaspoon. A light seasoning hand is important, as the miso brings quite a bit of salt.

Preheat your oven to 350°F.

Mix your glaze by combining the miso paste, honey, rice wine vinegar and oil in a small mixing bowl. Slather this all over the surface of the fish, trying your best to distribute it evenly.

Bake for 8 minutes, then transfer it to the highest rack under your broiler. Every oven is different, every broiler even more so—adjust the timing and best practice according to yours. If your broiler takes a while to preheat, remove the fish from the oven at the 8 minute mark as it does so. If you have a double oven set up, simply transfer the almost cooked fish from one oven to the next (what I do at home). If your broiler barely broils, consider only baking it for 5 minutes (or less) and broiling for the rest to help ensure the fish won’t overcook by the time its blistered all over. In my home oven, about 4 minutes under the broiler set on high does the trick.

Remove from the oven and let the fish rest for 5 minutes, then devour alongside brown rice and steamed greens generously drizzled with sesame oil.

A few additional notes

I’ve been meaning to try marinating the fish in the miso glaze for a few hours, to further tenderize and ideally render an even more delicious result, but instead find myself consistently beholden to the reliable ease of having dinner on the table in less than 30 with little forethought - which ultimately, is the magic of this recipe. If you find yourself with the time and curiosity, give it a go and let me know how it turns out.

Speaking of forethought, if you want this to be dinner with little notice and only have frozen fish on hand: take it out of the freezer and set it (still wrapped in its plastic) in a rimmed vessel large enough to hold it. Pour over hot but not scorching water to submerge. This process will defrost even a large filet of fish in an impressive 30 minutes.

And a couple of discount codes!

If you’d like to follow the footsteps of this recipe precisely, I highly recommend buying your trout from Hudson Valley Fisheries. They are a sustainable re-circulating aquaculture operation (meaning that no water goes to waste in the process of raising the fish) based in Hudson, NY, and produce a truly exceptional product. They also happen to ship nationally! For a 10% discount on your order, use the code VILDA (valid until February 28) at checkout.

I use this oil from Algae Cooking as the go to neutral oil in my household. It’s light and virtually tasteless with an impressively high-smoke point (535°F!), and is produced from micro-algae. It’s the first product of its kind from a still-young company; the price is a bit high, but I’d argue worth it. If you’ve been grappling with the current demonization of seed oils (Julia Sherman shared some concise and helpful thoughts on the matter here), or have similarly sensitive sourcing standards, I definitely recommend it. Use the code VILDASASKIAGONZALEZ at checkout for a 10% discount.

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Raspberry Fool with Buckwheat Shortbread

Soft peaks of whipped cream are fortified with the rich tang of full fat yogurt and just barely sweetened with a kiss of maple. The tangy whip is then layered into cups of your choosing with crushed raspberries. This recipe opts for frozen raspberries over fresh, making it season proof. Traditionally, the fruit used in a fool is smashed with a bit of sugar - here, we simply add a touch of maple syrup to the defrosted berries.

Each fool is served with a buckwheat shortbread. The cookies are tender and soft, each bite saturated with the sweetness of butter and the subtle earthy aroma of buckwheat. Not quite suited for dunking, as their structure is rather delicate. The cookie yields to your yearning spoon, and will effortlessly crumble into as many pieces as you need to texturally complete each bite. This recipe makes quite a bit more dough than you’ll need to accompany the fools. Lucky for you—the dough freezes brilliantly; extending a warm invitation for cookies in a snap.

Serves 4, scales easily, plus an eternity of cookie dough

For the fool

1 cup best quality cream

Fine sea salt

2/3 cup best quality full fat Greek yogurt

2 tablespoons maple syrup, divided

1 cup frozen raspberries, defrosted and juices reserved

Zest of one lemon

1-2 buckwheat shortbread per fool, recipe follows

Add the cream and a small pinch of salt to a large mixing bowl. Salt belongs in almost any sweet context, helping to clarify flavor. In this case, the smallest pinch goes a long way - but don’t forgo it! Using a large whisk and your strong muscles, whip the cream until soft peaks form. Hand whisking requires a bit more effort, but also helps to prevent the over-mixing that is easier to come by machine. Fold in the Greek yogurt and 1 tablespoon of maple syrup until thoroughly combined, being careful not to over-mix. The texture of the yogurt cream should feel luscious and thick, silky and decadent. Place it in the fridge for 10 minutes to chill.

Season the defrosted raspberries with the remaining tablespoon of maple syrup, the smallest pinch of salt, and lemon zest.

When you’re ready to serve, layer the yogurt cream, raspberries, and their sweetened juice into your favorite glass. Top with a buckwheat shortbread, ideally still warm from the oven.

For the buckwheat shortbread*

1 cup buckwheat flour

3/4 cup (105 grams) sorghum flour

1/2 cup (80 grams) sweet rice flour

1/2 cup (60 grams) tapioca starch

1 teaspoon fine sea salt

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

1 cup unsalted butter (225 grams), at room temperature

3/4 cup (120 grams) maple sugar, powdered in a spice grinder or blender

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

2 large egg yolks

In a small bowl, combine the flours, tapioca starch, sea salt and cardamom.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the softened butter, powdered maple sugar, and vanilla extract. Beat on medium speed until creamy and light, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl, then beat in the egg yolks. Add the dry ingredients and continue mixing on medium speed until thoroughly combined.

Bake off as many cookies as your appetite desires - 10 is a good place to start, depending on how many mouths you’re feeding. Line a quarter sheet tray with parchment paper. Roll the dough into 10 uniform balls, each a heaped tablespoon large. Place the sheet tray in the fridge for 20 minutes to let the dough chill through. Transfer the remaining dough to a piece of parchment paper and roll it into a rounded log. The leftover dough will keep in the fridge for 3 to 5 days, or in the freezer for months.

Preheat your oven to 350°F. Bake the cookies for 10-12 minutes, gently cross-hatching them with a fork halfway through, until they’re just barely golden. Let the cookies cool briefly, then devour like a fool.

*Adapted from Cannelle et Vanille Bakes Simple

The question preceding dinner is usually: what on Earth will we eat now? The dish below is one answer to this question.

Fork smashed celeriac

Celeriac looks like the troll of the root vegetable kingdom; if you purchase them from a farmer, they’re likely to be knobby with tangled wisps of hair covered in a light dusting of dirt. They’re large and imposing, but when you peel off the skin you’ll be struck by an earthy and herbaceous aroma. Less starchy than a potato, more substantial than a parsnip, their flavor is representative of exactly what they are: salty celery and a creamy root vegetable combined.

This is less a recipe and more a prescription for preparing the root simply. It’s as easy as peeling, chopping, and salt boiling the celeriac, before smashing the almost tender vegetable with the back of a fork. A generous dollop of crème fraiche is folded in to create a rustic mash, and a generous grind of black pepper finishes the dish.

2 medium celeriacs, peeled and chopped into bite size pieces

2 tablespoons of fine sea salt

1 fresh bay leaf

1/2 cup creme fraiche

Plenty of freshly ground black pepper

Flaky salt to season

Add the chopped celeriac, sea salt, and bay leaf to a medium saucepan. Cover with water by at least 2 inches, and bring to a boil. Maintain a gentle boil until the celeriac is tender and yielding, but not soft enough to turn to mush, about 15-20 minutes. Taste as it cooks until you find the sweet spot. Strain, discard the bay leaf, and add the cooked celeriac back to the saucepan. Smash the celeriac with a fork: you’re going for ragged pieces with softened edges, smashed not smooshed. Fold in the crème fraiche and season generously with pepper. Taste, and adjust with a pinch of flaky salt if necessary.

Serve with sausages and garlicky greens, for a bastardized rendition of bangers and mash.

A 5kg tub of tahini is today’s subject matter. Beyond the more predictable hummus and ubiquitous tahini sauce, there’s an unexpectedly glorious pot of nutty gold at the end of this rainbow. Imagine halva - a classic confection of tahini and sugar - had a lovechild with ice cream; the texture of this tahini semifreddo is dense and velvety. Richer than your classic scoop, a mouthful reminds you of a decadent mousse but with an icy chill. The beauty of this dessert, aside from its unbearable pleasure, is that it comes together with surprisingly little effort - and unlike making Summer’s creamy cold darling, you don’t need an ice cream machine.

As with all meaningfully delicious things, the quality of your ingredients matter. Even more-so the shorter the ingredient list becomes. In this case, we’re leaning heavily on the sweet milky flavor of soft peaks of whipped cream - please do make an effort to source the best you can. Your tahini should be pourable and luscious, with a penetrating nuttiness and only the smallest whisper of bitterness. Seed and Mill and Villa Jerada both offer a reliably delicious product. Maple sugar helps to coax the innate sweetness out of the toasty sesame, marrying its more assertive nature with the ethereal lightness of sweet cream. If maple sugar feels out of reach, you can easily substitute a sugar of your choosing - coconut sugar, panela, or jaggery are all great options if you’re seeking a depth of flavor, otherwise cane sugar is a sure bet.

Tahini Semifreddo

A whisk, a few mixing bowls, and the short list of ingredients listed below and you’re well on your way to making this show-stopping frozen dessert. Unlike ice cream, the texture of the semifreddo is ideal pulled straight from the freezer. I like to pour the semifreddo directly into the vessel I’ll be serving it in, and have found a small Weck jar to be the perfect candidate - beautiful enough to present on the table and with a convenient lid that allows you to stack as many servings as you find yourself inspired to make. Serve with something bright and tangy, like the season’s first strawberries, or double down on the decadence and drizzle over some melted dark chocolate.

This recipe yields 8 servings, but can easily be scaled up or down.

2 cups heavy cream

7 large egg yolks

1 cup maple sugar

2/3 cup tahini

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt

Begin by whipping the cream to medium peaks; you want the cream to be stiff enough to hold its shape, but not so stiff that it doesn’t feel light on your tongue. Refrigerate while you tackle the rest.

Bring a saucepan with a scant inch of water in it to a simmer. Combine the egg yolks, maple sugar, vanilla extract, and salt in a heat proof mixing bowl that fits snuggly on top of your saucepan - making sure that it’s bottom hovers a couple inches above the surface of the water. Set the bowl over the saucepan, and whisk constantly until the sugar and salt have dissolved and the yolks have taken on a paler color - about 2 minutes. Remove the bowl from the heat.

Transfer one third of the whipped cream to another large bowl and pour in the yolky mixture. Gently mix to combine, using a spatula to fold as opposed to whisk. Add another third of the cream to the bowl, and continue thoughtfully folding it in until combined. Fold in the remaining cream.

In efforts to not dirty every mixing bowl in your kitchen, pour the tahini into the now empty whipped cream bowl - and don’t fuss about it not being clean. Add a third of the yolky cream mixture to the tahini, and mix delicately and thoroughly until no streaks of tahini remain. Gently fold in another third of the cream mixture, and then proceed with the last of it.

Pour the mixture into 4 small jars or bowls, and place in the freezer to set - about 3 hours. If you’re not planning on consuming the semifreddo imminently, cover the jars or bowl with a lid and store in the freezer until your appetite strikes.

Recipe adapted from Zahav.

Before diving into today’s recipe, I want to extend the most heartfelt thank you for your continued patience and support. When I first started this Substack, I tried to coin its tagline as “a consistently inconsistent newsletter”. My default state is earnestly self aware, but my boyfriend warned that language wouldn’t sell. Alas, its been almost a year and I’ve overdelivered on my original pitch, and underdelivered on providing you with the onslaught of recipes that exist in my unpublished world. As with all things - it’s a work in progress, and while I’m not here to make lofty promises, please do know that my intention is to always share more regularly.

Two days before loading up our Penske truck and driving north, I made the irrational decision to host a Spring dinner in Savannah. 16 guests and 6 courses, each one meticulously prepared in a surrounding sea of moving boxes and chaos. The first course was my favorite—silky slices of maple sugar and dill cured trout served with toasty nut and seed crackers, miniature clouds of whipped cultured butter, and a showering of the finest spring flowers of all: chive blossoms. As a cook, I’m particularly enamored with making from scratch what is otherwise bought ready-made at the store. It’s a liberating discovery to find that so many prepared foods can also be prepared by you, with rather un-intimidating effort.

Today’s prompt is in equal parts simple and impressive: we’re going to cure a fat slab of steelhead trout (or salmon if that’s easier for you to come by).

Meltingly tender, proudly dill-y and just barely sweet, this cured steelhead trout is a home-made version of the gravlax you’re accustomed to piling on your bagel. Sugar and salt have a magical way of coaxing out moisture from their subject, helping to both concentrate the flavor of the fish and create an inhospitable environment for any unsavory bacteria to thrive. The synergy of their collaboration balances both the taste and texture of the fish; the salt deeply seasons, the sugar tempers the more austere salinity with a whisper of sweet. The inclusion of dill in this recipe feels obligatory, perhaps because my Swedish heritage prohibits my fantasy from venturing into a world of salmon (or trout for this matter) served without the company of the frilly herb.

I source steelhead trout from Hudson Valley Fisheries, an amazing sustainable recirculating aquaculture operation based in Hudson, New York. Their product is never short of excellent; coral pink flesh, yielding and flakey texture, clean and buttery taste, bright silver hued skin that crisps up a delight. The fillets easily cosplay as a side of salmon, hence why the two are interchangeable in this recipe.

Maple Sugar and Dill Cured Steelhead Trout

This recipe boasts an impressively short ingredient list. Beyond the fish itself, all you’ll need is maple sugar, herb salt, and dill. The phantom ingredient is inactive time, which you will need plenty of. The cured trout is divine served alongside buttery boiled potatoes, nutty crackers, soft scrambled eggs, or - of course - on a toasted bagel with cream cheese.

⅓ cup herb salt

¼ cup maple sugar

2 tablespoons finely chopped dill

One 1.5 lb fillet of steelhead trout or salmon

To make the cure, add the herb salt, maple sugar, and dill to a small bowl and mix well to combine.

Line a sheet tray with a piece of plastic wrap, large enough to generously wrap around your curing fish. Lay the trout, skin side down, on the plastic wrap. Scatter two thirds of the cure onto the flesh side, and rub it in to cover the entire surface area of the fish. Flip the fillet over, and distribute the remaining cure over the skin side. Tightly wrap the fish in the plastic wrap. Place a gentle weight, like a sturdy ceramic plate, on top of the wrapped fish; the weight helps provide for a denser finished product, which makes for an easier slicing experience. Tuck the curing fish in for the night by transferring the sheet tray to the fridge. Cure the fish for 3 days, flipping it every 12 hours or so to ensure an even distribution of the cure.

After 3 days, remove the cured trout from the plastic wrap and give it a gentle rinse under cool, filtered water. Rinsing the trout helps to remove any residual excess of salt from the fish, but please feel free to slice off a little nibble to see if its seasoned to your taste before proceeding with the rinse.

To slice the trout, place your non-dominant hand on the fish to keep it taught and steady. Using your dominant hand, thinly slice the fish by running your knife down in a parallel motion to your other hand. Note that a sharp knife is essential for a tactful slice. Layer the slices in a clean piece of plastic wrap, and wrap tightly to cover.

The cured trout will keep refrigerated for up to 5 days. It’s worth noting that I hastily stowed away all of the trim and imperfect slices in the freezer post-event and pre-move. I was on the phone with my mom a couple days ago and she mentioned how excited she was to have a “laxmacka” (Swedish for gravlax on an open faced sandwich). She had found the frozen stash, defrosted it, and made a series of delicious late night snacks. I can’t vouch for this method of elongating its life first hand, but I do trust my mama’s good taste.

Eggs are ubiquitously associated with breakfast food. Perhaps its their endless adaptability, or their economic appeal, or their nutritional reliability. Adding an egg can instantly nudge a dish into the satiating familiarity of breakfast time, especially when the menu calls for bitter greens. Such is the case for today’s salad: radicchio, an utterly questionable star for a morning meal, becomes perfectly palatable thanks to the inclusion of a golden, jammy egg. Butter toasted walnuts, a pickled shallot vinaigrette, and fresh parsley complete the meal.

On dressing radicchio

There’s a whole world of varieties of radicchio that range widely in color, texture, and pungency. What they all have in common is their unmistakeable bitterness. While different varieties certainly warrant different treatment, one fundamental tenet remains true among the whole family: radicchio’s assertive nature craves an equally assertive counterpart (read: a briney anchovy, pungent garlic, or in this case a pickled shallot) to temper the bitterness.

My general rule of thumb when dressing radicchio (unless I’ve got a particularly delicate variety on hand) is to dress the leaves more assertively than I would a tender leaf of lettuce. The sturdier the leaf, the more assertive you can be. You don’t want the leaves dripping, but make sure that the entire surface area of the vegetable is generously coated in whatever your choice vinaigrette might be.

As for the vinaigrette, you’ll find one of my personal favorites below - but beyond the recipe for this particular salad, the vinaigrette isn’t prescriptive. So long as you have good vinegar, good oil, and the right ratio between the two, you can easily make a worthy version of your own. When dressing lettuce, I often lean on the classic 1 to 4 ratio (of vinegar to oil) - this plus a grind of pepper and a pinch of salt makes a delightfully simple vinaigrette. When dressing radicchio, I tend towards a ratio of 1 to 3 (assertive is still our theme!). If garlic or shallots are being used, I always (regardless of if I’m dressing radicchio or not) let them steep in the vinegar of choice for at least 5 minutes. This softens the punch of a raw allium, providing a mellower flavor and more ease on your gut. Mustard, honey, smoked chili flakes, citrus zest, dried herbs… these are all welcome additions for directing the flavor of your vinaigrette; mix and match according to the other flavors you’re trying to harness. If making a radicchio salad with apples and hazelnuts - consider making your vinaigrette with minced shallots macerated in a high quality apple cider vinegar, whole grain mustard, a touch of honey, and a pinch of heat. If making a radicchio salad to serve as the balancing foil for a steak dinner, consider taking a simpler, more punchy approach by macerating micro-planed garlic in red wine vinegar, adding the smallest pinch of dried oregano, and maybe a dribble of a concentrated balsamic to round out the acidity.

On toasting walnuts

Toasting nuts can easily be done with a sheet tray, a warm oven, and a timer (those nuts are too expensive for you to be so self assured) - but if you’re really after the sumptuous nature of a perfectly toasted nut, I recommend toasting them in a skillet set over low heat with a generous pat of butter. While this trick certainly isn’t necessary across the board, it provides especially impressive results when it comes to toasting walnuts. Walnuts are particularly astringent, and this astringency is often heightened from a trip to the oven. Toasting walnuts in a pan with the reinforcement of a protective layer of fat helps to counter that drying effect and ensures that the toasted nut has a succulent, luscious mouthfeel. This way of toasting requires more of your active attention, as you have to frequently toss the pan to ensure that the nuts toast evenly and most importantly - don’t burn. Once the walnuts are golden and aromatic, season them with a pinch of salt and a generous pinch of urfa chili flakes - then taste one to understand why I make the effort.

I buy red walnuts from Handy Farm (they ship!), mostly because I’m enamored by their beauty. If you’re going to go out of your way to acquire beautiful ingredients, take the time to prepare them in beautiful ways.

On boiling eggs

There are a couple of important things worth noting when it comes to boiling an egg. It’s generally recommended to boil eggs that have come to room temperature, in efforts to prevent the cold egg from exploding on contact with the boiling water. Considering that eggs are most often boiled (at least in my household) in the waking hours of the day, I often don’t have the patience or foresight to remove my eggs from the fridge in time. You can quickly bring cold eggs to room temperature by placing them in a bowl of warm water for 5 minutes, but if this too feels like an excess of effort - place the cold eggs in a mesh strainer and hold them just over the surface of the boiling water for 10 seconds. This quick hack helps the eggs to adjust to the dramatic shift in temperature that they’re about to endure. Next, no two eggs are exactly the same! Eggs vary greatly in size, especially if you’re sourcing them from a smaller farmer. Use your best judgment to determine how long they should boil—if they’re larger than average, cook for an extra 30 seconds; if they’re smaller than average, cook for 30 seconds less. Use this same judgment to adjust the cook time according to the ambient temperature of your egg - the colder the egg, the longer it’ll want to cook.

Beyond these little details, there is no definitively ‘right’ way to boil an egg. Multiple methods provide equally successful results, but here’s mine: bring a pot of water to a boil, then reduce the heat by a smidge to maintain a less ferocious boil. Transfer the cold eggs to a mesh strainer large enough to hold whatever quantity of eggs you’re boiling, then hover the eggs over the steaming pot of water to help counter the fridge’s chill. Gently lower the eggs into the water (if you’re boiling more than 6 eggs at a time, immediately place a lid on the pot once the eggs have been lowered in - this helps to account for the temperature drop from the volume of cold eggs and helps to quickly bring the water back to a boil), and then set a timer. 7 minutes will yield a jammy, fudgy yolk with cooked, just yielding whites - this is how I like my eggs. If you want a truly runny yolk (and barely set whites), cook the eggs for 6 minutes; if you want a hard boiled egg that hasn’t surrendered all of its buoyancy, cook the eggs for 10 minutes. While the eggs are boiling, prepare an ice bath in a bowl large enough to hold the eggs. Once your timer goes off, immediately transfer the eggs to the ice bath. This step not only quickly halts the cooking process, but also helps guarantee an easier peel.

On making this salad, for breakfast

For the mornings that warrant more texture, flavor, and nutrients than a pancake stack.

1 large head sturdy radicchio, varieties like chiogga, treviso, and verona are ideal

1 medium shallot, thinly sliced

Sea salt to season

1½ tablespoons sherry vinegar

¼ cup delicious extra virgin olive oil

½ teaspoon honey

Small pinch best chili flakes ever

⅓ cup red walnuts

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Generous pinch urfa chili

4 jammy eggs, cooked according to the directions listed above, seasoned with flaky salt

A handful of picked parsley leaves

Add the walnuts and butter to a small pan set over medium low heat. Let the butter melt and toss to coat the walnuts, then continue slowly toasting for just shy of 10 minutes total, tossing every minute or two to ensure even browning. Try your best to not welcome in too many distractions, as this method of toasting prefers your attention to be close to unwavering. When the nuts begin to smell deeply aromatic and look golden, season with a generous pinch each of salt and urfa chili. Taste a nut; it should taste delicious enough to threaten there being none left for your salad. Take off the heat and set aside to cool. I prefer to break the walnuts into pieces with my hands instead of chopping them with a knife, as it helps prevent your precious nuts from turning to crumbs.

In a bowl large enough to hold all of your salad greens, combine the shallots and a generous pinch of salt. Massage the salt into the shallots, encouraging them to surrender a bit of moisture, then add the sherry vinegar and poke around until all of the shallots are submerged in a puddle. Set aside to macerate for at least 5 minutes, but ideally 10 or more.

Meanwhile, wash, dry, and tear your radicchio into large, bite sized pieces.

Add the honey and smoked chili flakes to the vinegar soaked shallots, then pour in the olive oil in a steady stream as you whisk to emulsify. Give the vinaigrette a finger lick; it should taste luscious and piquant, with just enough sweetness from the honey to prevent your mouth from puckering. Add the prepped radicchio to the bowl and toss (with your hands, please) until each leaf is thoroughly slicked. Toss in the walnuts and parsley.

Cut the jammy, salt seasoned eggs into quarters lengthwise. Pile the salad high on plates and nestle in the eggs. Now devour!

This way of cooking greens made an imprint on me at least half a decade ago, in thanks in equal parts to the endless glut of collard greens available at markets here in the south from late November through March, and to Alaina Sullivan - a…

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In efforts to tame the flame of the aforementioned health hiccup, I’ve been precariously tip-toeing around any ingredients that fall into the grey space of being potentially inflammatory (read: gluten, refined sugar, nightshades, dairy, anything overly processed, and so on). As a rebellious person with a general disdain for restriction, my immediate instinct when told no is to crave the exact thing I can’t have - which in this specific instance, has been cake.

Days, then weeks, and now months of eating gluts of greens, bone broth, and deep water fish left a gaping hole of desire for the dense, sweet, fudgy nature of a really good chocolate cake. I largely ignored the craving, housing 100% cacao squares of chocolate as a salve, until an afternoon of flipping through the River Cafe Cookbook’s dessert chapter induced an aha moment. I’d been making lots of almond milk. Homemade almond milk is more lush and notably more delicious than its grocery store counterpart, but also leaves you with an impossible amount of residual pulp. Finding clever ways to utilize the pulp has always felt like a burdensome task that would eventually lead to inevitability of waste. The River Cafe’s recipe for chocolate torte relies on ground almonds, so I figured why not give the recipe a go using the spent almond pulp I’d been collecting in the back of the fridge.

A Flourless Chocolate Torte

I made a few more tweaks: substituting the cane sugar for maple sugar, and adding a few aromatic spices to the mix. The resulting cake was lovely - rich, incredibly moist, and just decadent enough. It’s the type of cake that feels just as appropriate to eat for breakfast as it does dessert. It also makes the process of making almond milk feel much more worthwhile; the incentive is twofold, providing an inbuilt plan to mitigate waste, alongside the pleasure of eating chocolate cake with a glass of milk. The torte is delicious on its own, but begs for a pool of soft whipped cream (or, of course, a glass of chilled almond milk) to accompany.

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I’ve unexpectedly spent almost a month in France now, hopping between bigger cities in the sweaty south and smaller towns a bit further up north. Along for the ride have been my now three wheeled suitcase and a cardboard crate filled with miscellaneous pantry items accumulated along the way. French olive oil, Banyuls vinegar, baby onions and garlic, dried mushrooms, anchovies, lentils, honey, and SO much rice - a bounty ensured by my proximity to the Camargue, a coastal regional of southern France known for its pink flamingos, wild white horses, sea salt, and of course, its superior rice. Every little grocery store here is stocked with the stuff - black rice, red rice, brown rice, short-grain, long-grain, even rice cakes.

Cooking while traveling demands restraint and resourcefulness and a willingness to laugh it off - strange kitchens, janky tools, inevitable mishaps, itinerant timelines that make accumulating more than exactly what you need excessive. Fortunately, a good, simple meal is only ever reliant on good, simple ingredients, and even a dull knife and a cheap, aluminum pot can help to coax the disparate parts you’ve collected into a luxurious whole. And when it comes to a reliable place to start, a bag of rice is great insurance for any unsure beginning.

Morel Mushroom Risotto

No dish I’ve cooked on this trip embodies a truer spirit of making good use of a well stocked cardboard crate of a pantry than this risotto: there’s the glut of rice, the alliums, the expiring butter who needed to travel 5 hours north without refrigeration turned shelf-stable ghee, the herbs (bay, rosemary, sage, thyme) pilfered from the streets of Arles, and the dried morels - who offer so much of themselves to this dish; their dense, nutty meat, but also an instantly flavorful broth after indulging in a good, long rehydrating soak.

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I love butter. I also love cheese. And as a proper little Swedish girl, I’ve always loved them together. No level of scrutiny (by way of past and present boyfriends, who claim it’s excessive to butter your cheese) will ever convince me that the generous presence of both is superfluous. Butter is the glue; it holds us together and nourishes any dry crevices with the sweetness of its nature. It’s the lubrication that wets our palate and leaves us wanting more. It bridges the gap, and lets both the bread and cheese belong to each other with devotion.

I mention all of this because I want you, too, to enjoy a life of “and” over “or”. You deserve more than dry crackers and butter-less bread. But also, because my excessive consumption of ostfrallor (the Swedish word for a little bread bun filled with butter and cheese) reminded me of a much more iconic combination of the duo.

Enter: Alpine style cheese served in a puddle of brown butter, showered with a handful of toasted hazelnuts to marry the nutty spectrum of delight. I ate a version of this dish for the first time at a little wine bar pop-up in Sweden (coincidentally?) a few years ago and will never forget it. Not even in my most clever moments would I have thought to serve cheese, not just with butter, but in a warm puddle of it’s browned counterpart. I’ve modified the dish over the years, most notably with the unbearably delicious addition of kumquats dripping in coriander scented honey.

Alpine Cheese and Brown Butter with Toasted Hazelnuts and Honey & Coriander Soaked Kumquat

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Introducing heat, especially in the case of fruit, often brings out more of their sweetness; a char caramelizes the sugars, a slow cook coaxes out a perfumey softness. Both are suitable methods for picking up the slack of a peach who showed up tired.

If you ever find yourself with a glut of lackluster peaches, know that you can nudge them back to greatness with a few simple techniques. If mealy, cook them down into a compote. If hard and flavorless, poach them with a vanilla bean and a splash of vermouth. If their sweetness isn’t striking, roast on a bed of peach leaves to concentrate the flavor. If their brightness doesn’t leave you wanting more, season with a small pinch of sugar and a squeeze of lemon. If they’re texturally sound, but otherwise mediocre - give them a deep char and make this panzanella.

A panzanella is a stale bread salad. Day old bread is torn to bite size pieces, and then toasted into chewy, crunchy croutons that briefly soak up the juices of whatever else you choose to construct your salad with. Hand in hand with good breadcrumbs, a panzanella is my preferred use for a rejected loaf of sourdough bread. The ideal level of stale is a loaf that’s a day or two old, but you can make a worthy panzanella even if your forgotten loaf has turned to brick - simply pour a thin stream of water onto your hardened loaf and pop it into a preheated oven for 10-15 minutes; the resulting steam will nudge it back to life.

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My culturally juxtaposed relationship to rice pudding is that I’m also from Sweden, a country that has its own Christmas tradition of serving it. This version (actually of Danish origin, is called ‘risalamande’, which translates to ‘rice with almonds’) folds peaks of whipped cream into a sweetened chilled rice porridge and is traditionally served with a cherry compote and an almond hidden somewhere in its cloud-like abyss.

Texturally this is one of few foods that is irrefutably perfect eaten straight out of the fridge; it’s ethereally light and perfectly spoonable. The addition of a barely sweetened fruit compote balances the decadence with a delicate hit of brightness; enough to make this dish just as acceptable to serve for breakfast as it is dessert. 

I would also be remiss if I didn’t give a proper nod to one of my favorite childhood snacks, Risifrutti. In the dairy aisle of most Swedish grocery stores - in the same section that you’d find snackable yogurts - is a perfectly sized container of rice pudding with a side caddy of raspberry jam waiting to be folded in. I loved the balance of the tart, sweet raspberries with the cold, creamy pudding, and only recently came to realize that the dish I’m now encouraging you to make is likely the result of my nostalgic relationship to its commodified grocery store counterpart. 

Rice Pudding with a Very Peachy Compote

I urge you to seek out the best dairy, best rice, and best fruit you can find, as it will only make your pudding more delicious. High quality dairy tastes like grass and sunshine, in a way that conventional dairy never will. Reach for whatever fruit is in season by you, and think critically about how to make it’s flavor shine; cook strawberries down with a small splash of red vermouth, season blueberries with a hit of cardamom and lemon zest, or in this case - make a peach taste like even more of itself by adding a peach leaf to the stewing pot. 

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