Cranberry orange relish by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books
The rich foods of Thanksgiving really benefit from a spoonful of cranberry on the plate, be it cooked whole berry sauce, the wiggly jelly cylinder of my childhood, or another favorite, chilled cranberry-orange relish. This is an old-fashioned favorite that's appeared in various incarnations on the Thanksgiving table through the years. Sometimes it's dressed up with pecans, which I don't particularly care for - I like the simple taste of tart cranberry, balanced with sugar and the zip of citrus.
The recipe is as easy as can be: an orange, a bag of cranberries and sugar, all tossed in the food processor and blitzed to bits. My problem has always been the bitterness of the orange - the peel and pith and sections are all tossed in together, and the bitter pith casts its shadow over the whole. My solution: eliminate the negative by zesting the orange, peeling away the pith and using the juicy orange sections in the relish.
Pith-less Orange-Cranberry Relish
1 medium seedless orange
1 (12 ounce) bag fresh whole cranberries
Pinch of salt
1/2 to 3/4 cup granulated sugar
1. Zest the orange. Cut the orange in half and peel off the pith - each half should come off in one piece. In a food processor, pour in cranberries. Add pith-less orange sections, pinch of salt and sugar. Start with the smaller amount of sugar and adjust upwards to taste. Process for about 15 seconds or until desired texture. Stir in orange zest. Store in covered container in refrigerator.
Elegant and eerie poached pears with chocolate drizzle. Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books
Americans eat 12 pounds of chocolate each year and as Halloween approaches, I think I'm already into my 13th pound of the stuff. I love chocolate in all its candy forms - Reese's peanut butter cups, M&M's, Hershey's miniatures - these go into the "approved for mommy" stack as I sort through my daughter's Halloween candy haul.
While I'm familiar with the sight and smell of chocolate in its processed form, the botanical form was a mystery until a recent visit to the Atlanta Botanical Garden's exhibit "Chocolate: From Seed to Sweet." Through a series of interactive outdoor exhibits, my girls and I learned the process from the bloom on the cacao tree to the chocolate bars in the girls' plastic orange pumpkins.
The Cacao Pod by the Atlanta Botanical Garden
Walking through the outdoor exhibition, we learned about the taxi-cab yellow seed pods of the cacao trees. The farmers harvest the seed pods, then grind them into chocolate liquor, which is then separated into cacao butter and powder. The exhibit stations are designed for children to roast, winnow, grind, mix and mold the cacao beans. And I learned this interesting fact - cacao ( (ca-COW) refers to the tree and beans inside the seed pods; cocoa refers to the byproducts of the coca bean - cocoa butter and cocoa powder. And here's another factoid - each cacao pod is about the size of a pineapple and holds enough seeds to make about seven milk chocolate or two dark chocolate bars.
That concentrated dark chocolate appears at my house each Halloween in the form of Hershey's Miniatures. When I was young, I gave away the Special Darks and gobbled up all the milk chocolate. These days, while I still have a taste for the milder milk chocolate, I have a hankering for dark chocolate, and Special Dark is the way to go.
Hershey's Miniatures chocolate by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books
When I weary of eating the chocolate straight, I make a luscious sauce that can be used in many ways - on ice cream, on spoons, on fingers, but is delightful on a perfectly poached pear. This is the very essence of a simple, elegant, seasonal dessert. A ripe pear, poached in a flavored syrup, caressed with chocolate. It's divine.
Pears by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books
Poached Pears
Take extra care when peeling the pears and be sure to trim the bottoms 1/4 of an inch so that they sit level on the plate.
2 quarts water
2 cups sugar
1 cup apple juice
1 cinnamon stick
3 slices lemon
6 pears such as Bartlett or Bosc, peeled, bottoms trimmed 1/4 inch
1. Place all ingredients, except for pears, in a large saucepan and bring to a boil. Gently place pears in liquid and reduce heat to a simmer. Let cook for 20 minutes. Remove pears from liquid and serve with chocolate sauce.
Poached Pear by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books
Chocolate Sauce
24 Special Dark miniatures, unwrapped
4 ounces heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
Pinch salt
1. In a microwave safe bowl, place chocolate and cream. Zap for 1 minute at 50% power. Remove from oven, whisk and then return to oven. Zap for 1 minute more at 50% power. Remove from oven, stir with whisk. Repeat in microwave if necessary, but it should be fine at this point. Add vanilla and pinch of salt. Whisk until smooth and garnish poached pears.
Poached Pear with Chocolate Sauce by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books
My daughters decided to help, so the plates took a turn from elegant to eerie. (Reminds me of what would happen would happen if Norman Bates and Vampira had a child who grew up to be a pastry chef.)
Text and images copyright 2010, Lucy Mercer, with the exception of the first picture, provided by the Atlanta Botanical Garden.
Thanks to the Atlanta Botanical Garden for information on the chocolate exhibit.
There's an old Guy Clark song about home-grown tomatoes that is stuck in my head.
"Homegrown tomatoes, homegrown tomatoes,
What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes?
Only two things that money can't buy -
That's true love & homegrown tomatoes."
Back when the world was young, I was a gardener and like many gardeners, I prayed for summer rains, juicy homegrown tomatoes and raised garden beds. A few years of vegetable gardening on my hands and knees, combined with successive drought years, cured me of these grand illusions and I got a CSA subscription instead. For those who don’t about a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) subscription, it’s kind of like the best of the farmer’s market packed up just for you each week - including homely home-grown tomatoes - without all the work.
My biggest and best garden was the summer that I was expecting my first daughter and the nesting urge manifested in the garden - I planted 30 pepper plants, 60 tomato plants, countless cucumbers and zucchini, corn, green beans, pumpkins, watermelon. There was just one little problem - my due date was July 21, right at the height of harvest. When friends and family came to our house to visit the baby, we instructed them to go into the garden and take everything they wanted - ripe tomatoes - Big Boy, Better Boy, Green Zebra, cherry tomatoes, yellow pear tomatoes; cukes and zukes as big as Louisville Sluggers; bell peppers; jalapanos; scotch bonnets. Everything went somewhere else - as new parents, we were too discombobulated adjusting to a baby to deal with a vegetable garden, too.
In the intervening years, I've played around with a garden, but not too seriously. Until last year, Georgia was in a severe drought and growing vegetables with water restrictions wasn't really viable. This summer, I’m a gardener again. In a spot by the house that gets full sun and blistering heat, my husband built raised beds in a structure that he calls the Ultimate Garden Tub - three sections, each containing a tub filled with soil, and irrigation to boot. My husband is the kind of guy you can give a box of toothpicks to and he’ll create a scale replica of the Taj Mahal. In the spirit of the second part of the mantra “reduce, reuse, recycle” he took three Harvest Gold hexagonal concrete bathtubs and built a surround for them, adding irrigation and posts for a trellis (that's phase II).
The raised beds limit my seedling-shopping splurges, which is a good thing. Here are the tomato and pepper plants - we’re looking at another few weeks ‘til harvest.
One of the glories of summer tomatoes, homegrown or farmer's market, is using the fruit in a light tomato pasta. Chopped beefsteak tomatoes, creamy Fontina cheese and basil from the herb bed are tossed with warm pasta. One pot and one bowl, light cooking and housekeeping.
Spaghetti with Summer Sauce
I adapted this recipe from a clipping from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution in the summer of 1995, three years before the summer of Laura. I know the year because of the Alka-Seltzer coupon on the back that expired 7-16-95. I used three beefsteak tomatoes in this recipe - they totaled 2 1/4 pounds.
3 large, ripe tomatoes, cut into rough chunks
8 ounces fontina, cubed
½ cup rough-chopped basil, plus more for garnish
3 cloves garlic, minced
½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 pound spaghetti
1 to 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar, or to taste
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1. In a large shallow bowl, combine the tomatoes, fontina, basil, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper. Put this together an hour before you plan to eat and set aside at room temperature.
2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the pasta 8 to 10 minutes, until al dente. Drain the pasta and toss with the sauce. Season with salt, pepper, red wine vinegar and additional basil. Serve at once, sprinkled with grated Parmesan cheese.
