The buttery-sweet smell of morning muffins, fresh from the oven. A lavishly frosted kid's birthday cake, awaiting its candles. A sticky spoonful of chocolate-chip cookie dough snuck from the bowl. What can be more comforting coming out of the kitchen than home-baked treats? Home Baked Comfort, Williams-Sonoma's latest addition into its line of comfort-food cookbooks, is very aptly named.

Written by longtime cookbook editor and Bay Area Bites contributor Kim Laidlaw, Home Baked Comfort jettisons the informative but anonymous tone typical to many Williams-Sonoma books for a warmer, more personal voice. Many of Laidlaw's recipes are inspired by family traditions or by cooking with friends, interspersed with photos and recipes from well-loved neighborhood bakeries, including our own Tartine.

There are also a few recipes from popular home baker-bloggers, like Deb Perelman of Smitten Kitchen and Aran Goyoaga of Cannelle et Vanille. The short interviews with the owners of local bakeries are pithy and funny, and the brightly charming photos of each spot made me want to run right out and get a Banana Puddin' cupcake at Sugar Mama's Bakeshop in Austin, Texas or a purple-studded, sugar-topped blueberry muffin at Huckleberry Cafe & Bakery in Santa Monica.

Beautifully photographed by baker Eric Wolfinger (who also photographed the striking Tartine Bread), the book looks both scrumptious and modern, neither cutesy-cozy nor bare-plate stark. Wolfinger, a baker himself, made every recipe he photographed, providing yet another round of useful recipe testing. Recipe pages without photographs are given a parchment-paper wash, a bit of visual interest presumably meant to evoke a family recipe scribbled on a time-yellowed slip of paper.

Nothing's too daunting; nothing requires much more than the usual home-kitchen setup of cake pans, pie pans, and baking sheets. (Do pick up some buttermilk, sour cream, and a microplane citrus zester before you start, however.) And, like the pictures, the recipes are flavorful and engaging; you could serve them at a bake sale or a dinner party and earn the same enraptured, nothing-but-crumbs-on-the-plate reaction. As an dedicated home baker myself, I caught up with Laidlaw at her home in Noe Valley on the eve of her book's release to find out how it all came together.

First of all, how did Laidlaw go from editor to writer? Last year, as part of her job as an editor at Weldon Owen, a San Francisco-based publisher which creates Williams-Sonoma's branded books in addition to other titles, Laidlaw was tasked with finding a writer/recipe developer for a planned home-baking book. (Full disclosure: As a freelance writer and editor, I have worked with Laidlaw and others at Weldon Owen professionally over the years.) The more she thought about the project, the more she realized, "This is what I do!" It wasn't just that she was a lifelong home baker; before becoming a full-time cookbook editor, she'd graduated from CCA's Baking and Pastry program, then worked as a baker at Oakland's La Farine bakery. She knew, having edited dozens of Williams-Sonoma cookbooks, just how important it was to produce the sort of meticulously tested, foolproof recipes that the brand was known for, and felt sure that she had both the baking and writing chops to do it.

But just being an employee didn't give her an automatic in; like any other potential author, she had to present a detailed proposal outlining her recipes, her approach, and why she'd be the best choice for the job. It worked, and with a pressing deadline looming, she got busy whipping up layer cakes and butterscotch puddings in her cramped home kitchen, where there was no Viking stove or Sub-Zero fridge, just the usual generic appliances of any apartment rental.

Writing the book happened to coincide with Laidlaw's pregnancy--which translated into a mostly ravenous appetite. Laidlaw laughed when asked about the rapturous headnotes describing each recipe. "I wrote it while I was pregnant! I would find myself eating half the batch of scones," in one sitting, and everything she made tasted like the best thing ever. Her husband, who had recently started a new job, earned instant popularity around the office as the guy with the recipe-testing wife; "crazy amounts" of tester cookies, brownies, cakes and more went with him to work almost daily.

Now, with the book just out, Laidlaw is still baking, only this time with her young daughter Poppy tucked in a carrier across her chest. "We bake together. She loves it!" Laidlaw said, and it's true: during my visit, Poppy was giggling and smiling, her eyes following her mother's deft movements as Laidlaw whisked together the batter for Pumpkin-Brandy Bread, (see recipe below) a specialty of her own mother's. The finished product, still hot out of the oven, wasn't overly boozy, but it did have a wonderfully grown-up whiff of brandy to it, making it perfect for afternoon tea, especially during the holidays. Her trick for cooking while parenting? "I cook everything in tiny steps, so I can stop anytime."

Some of her favorite recipes in the book are ones that come from her own family traditions, like the Christmas Breakfast Pie, something that she, her mother, and her brother make every Christmas, no matter where they are, and the Beer Rolls, originally made with just Bisquick and beer. "My brother and I thought that was so cool, baking with beer!" she said, which led her to develop a similar, from-scratch recipe that captured the appeal of the original.

She finds her inspiration in things she sees in bakeries, in restaurants, in flavor combinations she imagines. "I'm kind of a lemon freak. There's a crazy amount of citrus zest in the book, it's kind of obnoxious!" As for her favorite thing to bake, "definitely pies and galettes," although she especially admires bread bakers. "It's a real skill that can be kind of hard to do in a home kitchen. But it's so basic and satisfying." Flipping through the recipes, it's clear that Laidlaw has a taste for fruit; there are wonderful, not-too-sweet fruit desserts in every chapter. Pear Custard Tart (see recipe below), inspired by a old Julia Child recipe, comes out delectably elegant, and the vanilla-poached pears are good enough to eat on their own. Laidlaw prefers a hint of salt to too much sweetness, and few recipes seem overly gooey or rich.

It's an easy, appealing book, reflecting Laidlaw's own opinion, based in experience as both a professional and a home baker, that baking isn't that hard, and that its reputation as the stern, inflexible taskmistress of the kitchen is ill-deserved. Once you know the basic chemistry of baking and have a feel for how different baked goods work, you can mess around with your recipes, more than you might think.

"The whole point of the book is to get more people baking, get them to see that it's not so daunting, make it approachable and fun."

That said, are there common pitfalls that new bakers might avoid?
• "People overwork pastry and biscuit dough too much, then they get frustrated," when it doesn't turn out as flaky or fluffy as they hoped.
• In making quick breads, like muffins, that are raised with baking powder and/or baking soda, "some people mix the batter and then just let it sit," rather than getting it into the oven, pronto. Once the batter is mixed, the chemical leavening process starts, and so delaying the baking process can produce a flat result.
• And finally, people frequently overbake, paying more attention to the minutes specified in the recipe than to what their senses tell them about the finished product.

It all comes down to not following recipes too rigidly.

"I want people to relax and enjoy it, be more flexible. Not all ingredients are the same, and things change depending on how cold, hot, or wet the day is. Just relax! I think it's the best thing you can do for somebody, to bake something for them."

Recipe: Pear-Custard Tart
The first recipe from Julia Child that I ever made was her French custard apple tart, which I still love to this day. This delicately flavored tart, filled with vanilla-poached pears and brandy-spiked custard and topped with sugary toasted almonds, is an ode to her and that memorable dessert.

Ingredients:
Flaky Pie Dough for single crust (see recipe below)

for the poached pears
3⁄4 cup (6 oz⁄185 g) Sugar
3 ripe but firm pears, preferably Bosc, peeled, quartered, and cored
Peel of 1 orange, removed in strips with a vegetable peeler
1⁄2 vanilla bean
1 large egg
1⁄4 cup (2 oz⁄60 g) sugar plus 1 tbsp
3 tbsp all-purpose flour
1⁄2 cup (4 fl oz⁄125 ml) heavy cream
1 tsp pure vanilla extract or 2 tbsp brandy (optional)
Pinch of kosher salt
1⁄4 cup (1 oz⁄30 g) sliced almonds, lightly toasted

makes one 10-inch (25-cm) tart

Instructions:
Prepare the flaky pie dough and chill as directed. (see recipe below)

To poach the pears, cut a circle of parchment paper that will fit in a medium saucepan. Cut a small circle in the middle of the parchment. In the saucepan, bring 3 cups (24 fl oz/750 ml) water and the sugar to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and add the pears and orange peel. Split the vanilla bean and scrape out the seeds with the back of a paring knife; add the pod and seeds to the saucepan. Lay the parchment in the saucepan to submerge the pears. Adjust the heat so that the liquid simmers gently and poach the pears until just tender, about 15 minutes. Let cool in the poaching liquid.

Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 400°F (200°C). On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough to a circle about 13 inches (33 cm) in diameter. Transfer the dough to a 10-inch (25-cm) tart pan with a removable bottom and ease into the pan. Trim away any excess dough. Line the tart shell with foil and fill with pie weights or dried beans. Bake until the crust is dried out and just starting to color a bit, about 20 minutes. Remove the foil and weights. Let cool. Reduce the oven temperature to 350°F (180°C).

Cut each pear quarter lengthwise into 4 slices, then lay most of the pear slices in the crust in an overlapping circle close to the rim. Use the remaining slices to fill the middle.

In a bowl, beat together the egg and the 1⁄4 cup sugar until thick and pale. Beat in the flour and then the cream, vanilla, if using, and salt. Pour evenly over the pears. Bake until the custard starts to puff up, about 10 minutes. Sprinkle the toasted almonds and remaining 1 tablespoon sugar over the top of the tart. Continue to bake until the custard is set and lightly browned, 15–20 minutes. Let cool on a wire rack until warm or room temperature before slicing and serving.

Baker's Note:
To turn this into an apple tart, gently sauté 3 peeled, cored, and sliced apples in 1 tablespoon butter until they just start to become tender. Spread evenly in the partially baked crust, pour over the custard, and proceed with the recipe from there.

Recipe: Flaky Pie Dough for Single Crust

Ingredients:
1 1⁄4 cups (61⁄2 oz⁄200 g) all-purpose flour
1⁄4 tsp kosher salt
1⁄2 tsp sugar (optional; omit if making a savory dish)
7 tbsp (31⁄2 oz⁄105 g) very cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
5 tbsp (3 fl oz⁄80 ml) ice water, plus more if needed

makes enough for one 9-inch (23-cm) pie or tart

Instructions:
In the bowl of a food processor, stir together the flour, salt, and sugar, if using.

Sprinkle the butter over the top and pulse for a few seconds, or just until the butter is slightly broken up into the flour but still in visible pieces.

Evenly sprinkle the water over the flour mixture, then process just until the mixture starts to come together.

Dump the dough into a large lock-top plastic bag, and press into a flat disk. Refrigerate the dough for 30 minutes or up to 1 day, or freeze for up to 1 month.

Recipe: Pumpkin Brandy Bread
Growing up, I remember my mom baking this bread in metal coffee cans and how I loved the funny round shape. This recipe calls for a lot of brandy, more than you might be comfortable with, but it is honestly the best pumpkin bread I have ever tasted. You can cut the brandy in half if you want.

Ingredients:
4 large eggs
2 cups (1 lb⁄500 g) granulated sugar
1 cup (7 oz⁄220 g) firmly packed light brown sugar
1 cup (8 fl oz⁄250 ml) canola oil
2⁄3 cup (5 fl oz⁄160 ml) brandy
1 can (15 oz⁄470 g) pumpkin puree
3 1⁄2 cups (171⁄2 oz⁄545 g) all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking soda
1 1⁄2 tbsp pumpkin pie spice
1 tsp kosher salt
1⁄2 cup (2 oz⁄60 g) chopped pecans or walnuts, lightly toasted (optional)

makes 2 loaves

Instructions:
Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 350°F (180°C). Generously butter two 9-by-5-inch (23-by-13-cm) loaf pans.

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and sugars. Add the oil, brandy, and pumpkin and whisk to combine. In another bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, pumpkin pie spice, and salt. Add to the pumpkin mixture along with the nuts, if using, and stir to combine.

Divide the batter between the prepared pans and bake until richly golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the center of a loaf comes out clean, about 50 minutes. Let cool slightly in the pans, then turn the loaves out onto a wire rack to cool.

Baker's Note:
Baked in smaller, individual-sized loaf pans, this decadent bread makes excellent mini gifts during the holidays. Divide the batter between the pans. The baking time might vary depending on the size of the pans. Once the baked loaves have cooled, wrap each one in colorful cellophane, tie a ribbon around it, and bring on the good cheer.

Recipes and Photos appears with permission from Home Baked Comfort. Photographs by Eric Wolfinger Copyright 2011 by Weldon Owen Inc. and Williams-Sonoma, Inc.

If there's one thing Bay Area backyard gardeners can count on at this time of year, it's kale. Our cool, typically damp winter weather is tailor-made for hearty winter greens, ones that can thrive through hard frosts, even snow. And though winter's rains may be passing us by, with a little irrigation, the crinkly kale, dino kale, red or white Russian kale should be growing like crazy in whatever pot, plot, or raised bed you've got planted.

Shop the farmers' markets these days, and while the first, $8/lb sugar-snap peas may be starting to appear, the backbone of the veggie tables are dark-green, iron-rich greens: punchy mustard greens, mellow collards, rainbow-ribbed chard, plus green or burgundy beet tops, the gift of two-veg-in-one that comes free with every bunch of sweet roots.

So: time to love your greens. We served a lot of greens during my time cooking at the Headlands Center for the Arts, yet we were pretty content to do them the same way each time. A handful of minced shallot was flung into sizzling olive oil, chopped greens were added, then the whole was stirred and stirred until just wilted and tender. To finish, we tossed in a quick splash of sherry vinegar or a couple of lemons, sliced into eighths and crushed a little to release the juice and aromatic oils. I do mine at home much the same way, with slivered garlic instead of shallots, and a healthy shake of red pepper flakes for a little burn. Nice with rice and tofu, nice with polenta and sausage, nice leftover cold out of the pan, eaten with your fingers while doing the dishes.

Now, though, during greens' moment in the sun, dinner is not enough. Greens need to find a home at every meal. A lot of farm mornings began with eggs and kale, as we counted down the weeks until the potato harvest. I love green eggs and ham, made from emerald-green minced nettles sauteed and stirred into scrambled eggs with a bit of proscuitto draped on top. And, then, for lunch, there are kale chips, kale Caesar salad, pasta with kale, Portuguese caldo verde with kale, potatoes, and linguica sausage, kale every way.

But have you thought about a kale sandwich? I did, this past weekend, when I was making breakfast and lunch for a staff and board members' retreat, 25 people needing muffins and sandwiches to help them forget that a sunny, beautiful beach was just five minutes' walk away from where they were trapped around a darkened conference table with spreadsheets and PowerPoint. My solution? Quinoa-almond-citrus salad, lentil-beet-mint salad, chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies, apple-cherry cider, turkey sandwiches, and the veggie crowning glory, kale sandwiches. Oh, you may laugh, but they were lively, colorful stacks that turned out to be much more than the sum of their vitamin-packed parts. The elements? Sauteed greens and onions piled on whole-wheat focaccia dabbed with Dijon mustard, layered with thin slices of roasted winter squash, topped with Weirauch Farm and Creamery's Tomme Fraiche or creamy Doubloon cheese, and finished with a smear of tart-tangy plum chutney or punchy arugula pesto.

It takes a while to make a sandwich when you're making everything from bread to pesto from scratch. So, while homemade focaccia is always the best, feel free to substitute any good bread of choice, from Acme's herb slab to the sesame loaf baked by Morell's Bread (pictured here). The chutney, luckily, I'd made earlier in the summer, to rescue a batch of less-than-stellar jam. Boring, slightly-too-sweet stone-fruit jam, it turns out, can make a very successful base for chutney, once it's jazzed up and cooked down with cider vinegar, chopped onions, and plenty of aromatic spices. If you don't have a pantry full of chutney on hand, I'd recommend any of Alison McQuade's excellent, small-batch chutneys, sold under the name McQuade's Celtic Chutney. Or, you can retrieve that slightly shriveled, almost-wilted bunch of arugula from down in the vegetable drawer and buzz it together with a couple tablespoons of walnuts or pine nuts, a couple cloves of garlic, salt to taste, the juice of a lemon, a splash of water and a few tablespoons of olive oil. Puree until smooth, and taste. It will probably taste too tannic from the walnuts, too sharp from the arugula, and leave you wishing for summer's fragrant basil.

No worry, though: a solution is at hand. Crumble in a moist, creamy-mild Doubloon cheese, made by Weirauch Farm and Creamery in Petaluma. Instantly, the spread is tamed, its punch tempered with creaminess. When you're picking up your Doubloons, get another one, this one rolled in herbes de Provence, along with a wedge of their springy, buttery Tomme Fraiche.

Now, onto your squash. Butternut, kabocha, pumpkin, whatever hard-shelled winter squash you've had languishing on the counter since your last CSA box. Not acorn, though; too pasty and stringy. You want dense, sweet and nutty for this. Peel and seed your squash, and slice the flesh into thin half-moons. Oil lightly, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and roast at 400F until tender.

While the squash is roasting, slice up an onion, red or yellow. In a wide pan, saute it in olive oil until tangled and translucent. You can let it go farther and get browned here and there, halfway to caramelization. Keep some texture, though; you want recognizable loops, not onion jam. Wash but don't dry your greens, which don't have to be kale but should be some mixture of sturdy greens, rather than something weepingly delicate like spinach. I used a mixture of collards, mustard, and beet tops, but any tough-ish greens will do. Shred your greens and toss them into the hot pan full of onions. Stir and season with salt and pepper until greens are wilted and just tender. Take a bite; you shouldn't feel like you're chewing on a raincoat, but they shouldn't be boiled to mush, either. Pull off the stove and let cool.

Now, the assemblage. Slice your focaccia horizontally, if using; otherwise, slice your bread. Spread chutney or pesto on the inside of one piece. Add a few pieces of Tomme Fraiche, or crumble on a tablespoon or so of Doubloon. On the second slice of bread, spread a dab of Dijon mustard. Pile on some greens and onions. Layer on some slices of roasted squash, as if you're laying out a row of cards in solitaire. Put the halves together with a firm but gentle squish. Enjoy!

As a vegan, it’s easy to eat A LOT of soy. Actually, these days, it’s easy to eat a lot of soy even if you’re an omnivore. It’s in so many things.

A popular source of protein for vegans and vegetarians is, of course, tofu. And while I love tofu and all varieties of it, I am trying to be very conscious of the amount of soy I take in. I know the topic of the health and environmental impacts of soy is controversial and people stand on opposite sides of the issue (and a lot depends on the form of soy in question). But I don't like to overdo anything, and I say, “better safe than sorry.” Plus, I love a culinary challenge and welcome as many ways to take in my protein as possible.

I have become kind of obsessed with hemp seeds lately. They contain all essential amino acids and fatty acids, and are therefore a complete source of protein. In addition, hemp is not a common allergen, like soy or nuts. And, most importantly, they are delicious. They have a nutty, creamy taste. I put spoonfuls on my coconut yogurt in the morning. I make fresh hemp milk. So, I figured, why not make some hemp tofu? Hey, the Italians already do it commercially!

hemp seeds

I got inspiration for this recipe from a few sources, mainly from a forum member on Post Punk Kitchen, named “vegimator” who makes tofu out of pumpkin and hemp seeds, and from a Finnish blog named Mammi who calls the finished product "hefu." I took their advice, combined it with my knowledge of tofu-making, and started experimenting.

This recipe yields a more crumbly tofu than soy tofu. Soy tofu is usually made after straining liquid from the pulp (or okara). I tried this technique with hemp and not enough solids were left in the strained out liquid to coagulate. Using the milk as is, straight from the blender, did work (and a Vitamix helps create a very smooth milk). Hemp tofu is great seared, for a scramble, or a stir-fry, if you don’t mind having rustic, non-cube chunks. Or do what I did: simply drizzle with some sweet soy sauce (equal parts soy sauce and sugar, simmered until thickened) and sprinkle with nori strips. The sweet soy sauce and nori goes great with the creaminess and earthiness of the hemp!

Hemp Tofu (or "hemp-fu" or "hefu")

Total Time: 1 hour
Yield: a few blocks, depending on size of tofu mold

Ingredients
2 cups shelled hemp seeds
4 cups water
1 1/2 teaspoons powdered nigari (available at Rainbow Grocery), which will be dissolved in 1 additional cup of water (Note: I have seen recipes for hemp tofu where a coagulant is not even used, so feel free to skip this part. Although, you may get a more crumbly result.)

Instructions

1. Blend hemp seeds with water for one minute at high speed (I used a Vitamix) to make hemp milk.
2. Put hemp milk in a pot and, partially cover it and bring to a boil. You'll start to seeing curds forming.



3. When it reaches a low boil, turn the heat down to medium-low and boil the milk for four minutes, stirring constantly to make sure it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pot.

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4. Meanwhile, dissolve the nigari in a cup of warm water.



5. Remove the pot from the stove, wait until the temperature reaches 155F. Add half the nigari solution and stir briskly for a few seconds. Wait until the liquid stops moving. Then add the rest of the nigari solution and gently stir a few times. Let sit 15 minutes.



6. Place a cheesecloth over a colander and strain the curds out.



7. Take an amount of curd that will fit in your press (this recipe makes a good bit of curd), place in another piece of cheesecloth and twist to get ALL of the liquid out. If it’s too hot to squeeze, you can try squeezing with tongs.



8. Place the ball of curd, still in the cloth, into a tofu press/mold, and press the curd down. Stack a few bottles or cans on top as a weight. [I bought a cheap wooden press for four dollars at Daiso in Japantown, but I think I’m going to invest in a TofuXpress so that I don’t have to worry about stacking cans on the press.]




9. Let the press stay for 30 minutes. Then unmold the hemp tofu and enjoy!

So, like other food preservationists and kitchen tinkerers, I love to dry things -- fruit slices, fruit leather, cheese, beef jerky, etc. In the heat of summer the sun does the work for me. But the other ten months of the year in Northern California, however, I usually rely on my oven on a low setting, door slightly ajar to release moisture, to do the job. And while effective, each bite contains the residual taste of enviro-guilt that comes from leaving the oven on and the heat blowing upward for several hours. The results are excellent, but I cannot help but be haunted by the fossil fuel energy loss necessary for a homemade Fruit Roll-Up.

Certainly I could buy a food dehydrator (and I still may), but my gas oven runs therms, plug-in dryers run watts, and I’m not science-geeky enough to know if they are truly more energy efficient. Plus, I thought, I already own a large piece of heating equipment that dries sopping wet clothing in record speed (also fueled by gas), that spins with convection-like capability.

The Newton’s apple (orange?) that struck me with the idea was a perfectly shriveled piece of orange peel found at the bottom of the clean laundry basket. Had I been sitting on (and ignoring) the world’s best food dehydrator next to the washing machine and not taking advantage of its power? Is it possible to more efficiently dry fruit, vegetables, and meat in the high-heat, high-motion clothes dryer in one round of Permanent Press? Sadly, at least in my scientific exploration, the answer is no.

I quickly sliced a navel orange into 1/8-inch slices. My hope was that a regular high heat setting would yield chewy, moist results. I didn’t want the fruit to touch the walls of the dryer directly, as I feared a future of sticky laundry as I scraped orange sauce from the inside of the machine’s barrel. I thought fabric assistance would help wick moisture and hold the fruit in place, so I grabbed a clean cotton dishtowel. Oh, and a knee sock. Everything’s better with knee socks.

I laid a dishtowel out into a rectangle shape and then arranged two rows of orange slices horizontally across the middle. I folded up the bottom and folded down the top, making sure fruit was tucked into towel completely. Then I folded one encased row over another to sandwich both rows of oranges together.

I used rubber bands to cinch the sides of the towels together and to keep the fruit from falling out. I had first tried this with clothespins, but they banged around too much and some of them broke. Safety pins work, too.

Then -- my genius move -- I cut the toe from an old knee sock (don’t worry, I’ll still wear it!) and wiggled the sock down like a tube over the entire length of the towel and fruit to secure it. Note that I first tried this with a polyester sock, a fiber known for keeping moisture in. Rookie error! Go with all cotton.

I moved the whole fruit-towel-sock contraption to a mesh laundry bag. If my experiment worked, my hope was that I could put several batches of fruit into the laundry bag and dry them all at once.

After 70 minutes on Permanent Press, the good news is that I managed to contain the fruit and I didn’t have to clean the machine. The bad news, however, is that the fruit was still very, very wet. I tried one more cycle but then gave up, because after two hours, it wasn’t drying nearly as quickly as it does in the oven. If you try a different method and you have any success, please let me know!

In the interim, I’ll go back to drying fruit the old-fashioned way in the oven (OK, modern old-fashioned, because true old-fashioned would be drying it over a fire).  Here’s how I usually do it.

Chewy Dried Orange Slices

Time: About 3 hours

Despite my continuous protests, my mother mails me Honeybell oranges from Florida every year. They cost her a fortune. Some of them always arrive moldy. They’re not organic. And, uh, I live in California where the oranges nearby are outrageously good. I feel bad just using them all for juice, so I dried them with just a touch of sugar to balance out the tanginess of the dried fruit. The finished results are far more complex than they appear: moist, sticky, and chewy, super tangy and super flavorful -- like a slice of the best marmalade or orange candy you’ve ever had. Eat them straight up, or use their jewel-like demeanor to stunningly top iced cookies, cupcakes, or cakes. Of course, you can also do this with navel oranges or any other sweet variety.

Ingredients
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 4 large Honeybell oranges
• 1 tsp. flaked sea salt (like Maldon)
• Crushed black pepper, to taste

Instructions
1. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees.
2. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper, and pour the sugar into a bowl or small plate.
3. Using a serrated knife, slice the rind and pith from the bottom and the top of the oranges. Stand the fruit straight up and cut off all of the skin -- first cut from top to bottom and then flip the orange over and slice from top to bottom again to remove it all. Thinly slice the well-peeled fruit into horizontal rounds about 1/8-inch thick and move them onto a clean dish towel in a single layer. Once all oranges have been cut, lay another clean towel on top and press on it gently to absorb some of the juice.
4. Dip one side of the orange into the sugar and place it onto the baking sheet sugar side down. Follow suit with all of the oranges until the tray is full -- it’s okay if the oranges touch one another, but don’t let them overlap.
5. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place them in the oven on a low rack, and leave the oven door ajar with a wooden spoon.
6. Check the oranges after about three hours. They should be tacky on top and may pool some syrup, but not fully dry. If not, check them every half hour for doneness.
7. Eat them warm or pack the oranges in a single layer separated by sheets of wax paper in an airtight container. Store refrigerated for several months.

Loyalties, divided! I'm a second-generation Jersey girl and the daughter of a dedicated New York Giants fan. Mostly when I think of my dad, I see him in a chair in the den, comfortably plowing through the Star-Ledger and the New York Times, section by section, smelling of Old Spice, coffee, and newsprint. But he was also a rabid sports fan, and basketball, horseracing, and football were his sports. He spent a lot of chilly winter afternoons huddled in the stands with me and my sisters, a blanket wrapped around our shoulders as he tried to explain what was going on between the wide-shouldered men scurrying like ants around the Astroturf. Yes, they were the New York Giants, but they played at the Meadowlands, on our turf, and everyone assumed that North Jersey, where we lived, was kind of a sixth borough of New York City anyway.

My sister Amy has come late to her birthright as a Giants fan. She doesn't have a lot of team fellowship out in Minnesota, where she lives; the recent triumph of the Giants over the Green Bay Packers was celebrated mostly for the whipping the Packers took, since any dedicated Minnesotan despises the Packers, longtime arch-rivals of the home-team Vikings. But she found a Giants jersey somewhere, and now she wears it around town in lonely pride. (She felt the same way when Obama won, four years ago. While Oakland erupted in cheers, cruising, and fireworks, her posh Minneapolis suburb tallied its Republican losses behind closed curtains.) "I hope you'll remember your roots!" she says about Sunday's game, only half-joking.

But I left New Jersey in 1990, settling in San Francisco for the next 12 years. Yes, there was a brief boomerang back to New York City for a few years in the mid-2000s, but I returned to Bernal Heights in 2008, full of a winter longing for backyard Meyer lemons and fresh Dungeness crab, convinced that this was my home. My girlfriend, a lifelong Californian and hometown-team fan of the Sharks, the 49ers, and the San Francisco Giants, swears by the five-year rule. After five years in a new place, she says, you have to leave old allegiances behind and adopt your new city's team as your own.

Mostly, I'll be rooting for the 49ers because I know everyone in the Bay Area will be super-excited if they win, and a Superbowl frenzy always gives a city a little lift, something to talk to strangers about in the supermarket check-out line. But I hope Eli Manning and the rest of the boys in blue give the Niners a good run, something worth munching through all those ads for Ram trucks and Coors Light.

Ah, yes, football and food. This year's 49ers are not the high-living Chardonnay-sippers of the Joe Montana era; in their blue-collar workshirts, they're following the working man's attitude of coach Jim Harbaugh. And Candlestick Park hardly offers the wine and sushi of AT&T Park, although there will be a clutch of local food trucks serving the tailgaters outside the park on Sunday (in Bud Light Plaza, naturally).

Never one to miss an East-vs.-West rivalry, food blog Serious Eats has a tongue-in-cheek scoreboard of NYC vs. SF eats, tallied in four quarters for burgers, sandwiches, pizza, and ice cream.

According to New York writer Ed Levine, NY bumps out SF in the burger category, thanks to a bunch of fancy-pants taverns and their dry-aged prime beef offerings; just hearing about the meaty glories of Marlowe, Zuni, Rosemunde's Tuesday special, and Joe's Cable Car doesn't sway a guy with Shake Shack in his backyard, apparently. There's a dual-city tie for sandwiches, with Bakesale Betty's fried chicken sammie scoring equal touchdowns with Katz's pastrami.

But wait, New York wins for "pizza diversity"? How can this be, when there's no mention made of San Francisco's great innovation, Indian pizza, the best meeting of East and West since Marco Polo brought back noodles from China? Sorry, New York, you may have an infinite number of greasy slice joints, but no one does garlicky, spicy, cilantro-y cauliflower on a cheesy crust like they do at the corner of Mission and Cortland.

We do get the edge for ice cream; even a Giants fan like Levine is forced to admit that "SF is one helluva ice cream town these days," thanks to Humphrey Slocumbe, Bi-Rite Creamery, Mr. & Mrs. Miscellaneous in Dogpatch, Three Twins, Ciao Bella, and Straus Creamery's excellent soft serve. And this in a place where the summer temperatures rarely cruise above 65 degrees--take that, you sweaty New Yorkers! His final foodie's score? New York wins burgers and pizza, San Francisco wins ice cream, and so New York nosh beats San Francisco eats by a single point.

For which I have one word for you, Mr. Levine: avocados. Ever tried to get a decent ripe avo in an NYC supermarket? Ever tried to find a saucer of guacamole for less than $12 in an NYC restaurant? I have, and you know what, New York City? Epic fail! Avocados grow on trees here, and it shows. Avocados, Meyer lemons, Casa Sanchez chips, Anchor Steam beer: Who's got it better than us? Nobody!

San Francisco 49ers Guacamole

Honestly, why would anyone settle for some questionable green goop in a tub when you can make your own in 10 minutes with nothing more than a bowl, a fork, and a few of our buttery, nutty California-grown avocados? If you want to go totally local, look for Bearss limes in the farmers' market. Green and lime-y when underripe, yellow and more lemony when ripe, makes a good locavore substitute for tropical-grown limes. This recipe is adapted from my kids' cookbook, Williams-Sonoma Fun Food: Kids in the Kitchen.

Photo by Stephane von Stephane

Prep Time: 10 minutes
Total Time: 10 minutes
Yield: 2 cups

Ingredients
2 scallions (green onions), chopped
3 ripe avocados, peeled and pitted
juice of 2 limes
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cumin
1 fresh jalapeno pepper, minced
5 or 6 sprigs of fresh cilantro

Preparation
1. In a medium bowl, mash the avocados roughly with a fork. I like my guac a little chunky, but if you like it smoother, just keep mashing. If you're making this in quantity, a flat, waffle-style potato masher is a good tool.

2. Mix in the lime juice, salt, and cumin. Add the chopped scallion and jalapeno. Taste for seasoning.

3. If not serving right away, press plastic wrap directly onto the surface of the mixture to cover and refrigerate. Taste for seasoning before serving, adding more salt or lime as needed.

4. Just before serving, pinch leaves off cilantro sprigs. Mix half the leaves into the guacamole, and sprinkle the rest on top. Serve with fresh raw vegetables and/or your favorite corn chips.

Healthy Butternut Squash Soup

There are times for luxurious butternut squash soup laced with brown butter and then there are times for a more austere version that doesn't involve homemade stock, a gaggle of aromatics, bouquet garni, and tedious straining. This isn't a knock on the former -- she's an elegant special occasion soup, and you can taste the extra fuss that goes into her. Sometimes though, you just want an everyday soup -- a practical gal that's into healthiness, nourishment, and minimum effort.

For times like these, I turn to my Healthy Butternut Squash Soup. Comforting, satisfying, zero-guilt goodness, step right up. Did I mention, it only requires 3 main ingredients? Butternut squash, onion, chicken (or vegetable) broth. How wholesome.

The recipe is simple. Cut up the butternut squash and onion, and roast until soft and delightfully caramelized. The roasting takes some time, but it's dead time -- just stick it in the oven, set a timer, and go do something else. Then, bring your broth to a simmer in a large pot, add the roasted veggies, and puree. That's it!

Finish with a drizzle of EVOO or spoonful of plain yogurt for a little extra panache. Serve with some tomato focaccia or garlicky bread sticks if you'd like. (I do.) Simple, good, healthy -- it's hard to eat this without feeling self-congratulatory.

Butternut Squash Soup and Tomato Focaccia

Healthy Butternut Squash Soup
Comforting, nourishing, zero-guilt goodness, using only 3 main ingredients. You just can't beat that.

Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 1 hour
Total Time: 1 hour 10 minutes

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients:

1 butternut squash
1 yellow onion
32 oz. chicken (or vegetable) broth
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

Preheat oven to 450 F.

Peel, de-seed, and dice the squash into roughly 1-inch cubes (doesn't need to be perfect).

Peel and dice the onion into roughly 1-inch pieces.

Place the squash and onion onto a foil-lined baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and season with a generous pinch of salt and pepper. Roast in oven for 45-50 minutes until squash is lightly golden and fork-tender.

In a large pot, bring the broth to a simmer. Add the roasted veggies. Puree using an immersion blender, regular blender, or food processor. (If using a regular blender or food processor, work in batches so that your container isn't full to the brim, and be careful not to burn yourself). Finish with a drizzle of EVOO or spoonful of plain yogurt if you'd like, and enjoy!

I’ll admit it: my kitchen obsessions aren’t hip. If they were, I’d have a cleaver slung on my hip, bacon smoking in the backyard, a burr grinder and Hario pour-over kettle on the counter for brewing my home-roasted coffee beans, kimchee fermenting stinkily on the porch next to a carboy of triple-hopped homemade ale. Meat, salt, booze, caffeine, and above all, funky slow rot: such is DIY hipness, 2012 style.

But the thing is, I’m a nice Jewish girl unmoved by bacon’s siren call. Beer is not my drink, madly bitter beer even less so. My nerves are easily unhinged by San Francisco’s high-octane third-wave coffee; what I need in the morning is not a tepid single mug brewed at tai-chi speed but a tall French press of good decaf poured three-to-one with hot milk. While I love fermented products in theory (and on my plate when I’m out of the house), uncontrolled bacterial action in my own kitchen unnerves me. I can taste mold at fifty paces; blue cheese and all its green-streaked brethren revolts me.

Instead, I have this thing for grain. For wheat, in particular, and how uncool is that, in this moment of all things gluten-free? I love windmills and grist mills run by water wheels. I’ll find any excuse to detour to a good bread bakery. Oven spring—when a previously sluggish loaf of dough suddenly leaps up to double its size during baking—strikes joy in my heart. I will never buy a bread machine, not so long as I have a bowl, my hands, and an oven.

It really does make a difference, getting fresh, good flour for your bread baking. Standard, brand-name paper-bagged whole wheat from the supermarket: fine, just fine. But fresh from the mill, especially if it’s from recently, locally grown grain: well, that’s going to make you some amazing bread.

I learned this first hand when I worked as an apprentice at the CASFS educational farm at UC Santa Cruz. We sowed a quarter-acre with three strains of heirloom wheat, chewed the milky kernels as they swelled, dried, and turned golden in the sun, scythed the stalks by hand then fed them into a noisy threshing machine. The result? Buckets of whole wheat berries, ground into flour and baked into the most alive bread I’ve ever made.

This fondness for mills started in childhood, with summertime visits to the Old Mill on Nantucket, whose sweeping sails dominated the low-slung island's horizon from any direction. In Minneapolis, I toured the excellent Mill City Museum, on the site of a formerly dilapidated flour mill, then brought home bags of heirloom wheat berries and freshly ground flour and polenta from the Mill City Farmers' Market. In Arkansas, I made dozens of biscuits from cornmeal ground at the War Eagle Grist Mill, a historic water-wheel mill that still produces dozens of flours (the mystique may have been upped by getting to drive there in a purple Lotus with the mill's current owner, now in her 70s). Through the Lee Brothers’ Boiled Peanuts catalog, I’ve special-ordered Guilford Mills’ remarkable grits, which are stone-ground in a North Carolina grist mill dating back to the 18th century.

And here, we are lucky enough to have the Bale Grist Mill, right next to the lovely, hike-worthy Bothe Napa State Park, tucked among the vineyards, oaks, and manzanitas, right off Highway 29 between Calistoga and St. Helena. The mill was fully restored a few years ago, and is open for milling tours most weekends, three dollars well spent.

If you were the kid (or grownup) who pored over David Macauley’s The New Way Things Work, this is the tour for you. Milling with a water wheel makes basic physics come to rattling life, energy and motion transformed through simple engineering into productivity. It’s also a delight for grammar and etymology geeks: little did I know how many common words and phrases--“nose to the grindstone,” “cockeyed,” “fair to middling”--derive from milling. You put your nose to the grindstone to sniff for ozone, the smell you get in the air after a lightning strike; the scent of it can mean that the two millstones have become unbalanced, knocking into each other and striking sparks from the friction. Fair to middling are the two central grades of flour to emerge from the bolter, bookended by fine and coarse; if you’re feeling “fair to middling,” you’re right in the middle, so-so.

But now is the time to get to this mill for a visit. As well-loved as the grist mill is, its future is uncertain, thanks to stringent cutbacks in California's parks budget. As detailed in a recent Napa Register article about local park closures, both Napa Bothe Park and the Bale Grist Mill could be closed to the public as early as February, unless two local park groups, the Napa County Regional Parks and Open Space District and the Napa Valley State Parks Association, get approval (and funding) to take over the parks from the state this spring. It's ironic, of course, that such a historical resource could shut down just as a groundswell of consumer interest in local grains and grain products is rising.

For the moment, the Bale Grist Mill sells polenta, cornmeal, spelt, buckwheat, rye, and whole-wheat flours, all ground in the mill. Although, for liability reasons, the flours are marked "not for human consumption," the millers are scrupulous about cleanliness and sanitation during the milling and storage process. Any grain or flour touched or spilled during the milling process goes into a big bag marked "sweeps." A local farmer picks all the sweeps once a week, a welcome addition to his pigs' daily mash. Using both raw wheat kernels (wheat berries) and the mill's coarse, bran-rich bread flour, I made a dense, almost scone-like whole grain loaf inspired by the recipe for "Holly's Whole Wheat Bread" in Romney Steele's book My Nepenthe.

Wheat Berry Bread with Fruit and Nuts
Adjust the combination of dried fruit, seeds, and nuts depending on what's in your pantry, and what you like best. Dried persimmons, often available at Bay Area farmers' markets at this time of year, add bright color and a pleasant sweet chewiness to the finished bread.

Yield: 2 loaves
Prep Time: 90 minutes, plus 3 hours' rising time
Cook Time: 45 to 60 minutes
Total Time: 2 hours, 15 to 30 minutes, plus 3 hours' rising time

Ingredients:
1/2 cup whole raw wheat or spelt berries
3 cups water
1 1/2 cups whole milk
3 tablespoons butter
1/3 cup honey
1 package (2 1/2 tsp) active dry yeast, or 1 oz fresh (cake) yeast
5 1/2 cups whole-wheat flour, plus more for the work surface
2 tbsp ground flax seed (optional)
2 teaspoons salt
1 cup raisins, dried cranberries, or chopped dried apricots or persimmons, soaked in hot water to cover for 10 minutes if very dry or wizened
1/4 cup unsalted sunflower or pumpkin seeds, plus 2 tablespoons for sprinkling, lightly toasted
1/2 cup hazelnuts, pecans, or walnuts, lightly toasted and roughly chopped

Preparation:
1. Cover wheat berries with 3 cups water in a medium saucepan. Over medium heat, bring to simmer. Reduce heat, cover, and cook gently for 1 hour, until berries have softened and are tender to the bite but not mushy. They will absorb most of the water; drain any excess in a colander. (Step 1 can be done up to 4 days before you make your bread; store cooked and drained wheat berries in the refrigerator until needed.)

2. In a medium saucepan, heat milk until just beginning to bubble around the edges. Add butter, honey, and salt. Stir to dissolve, then let cool until tepid.

3. In a large bowl, sprinkle or crumble yeast over 1/4 cup lukewarm water. Let stand for a few minutes, then whisk vigorously to dissolve any remaining yeast. Beat in the milk mixture and 5 cups of the flour, mixing to form a soft dough. Stir in wheat berries, raisins or other dried fruit, 1/4 cup of sunflower or pumpkin seeds, and nuts.

4. Sprinkle flour over your counter or work table. Scoop the dough onto the work surface and knead for about 6 minutes, adding more flour (up to an additional 1/2 cup) in increments to keep dough from getting too sticky. Various errant mix-ins will try to push their way to freedom by popping out of the dough as you knead. Don’t let them get away with this; push them back into the dough and continue kneading until dough feels elastic and smooth.

5. Wash and butter your large bowl. Put the dough back into it, turning it over to coat with butter. Cover with a clean damp kitchen towel. Let rise in a warm place for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or in a cool place for 3 hours.

6. Deflate the dough by sinking a fist into it. Divide in half and shape into two loaves. Grease two 8"-by-5" loaf pans. Put shaped dough into pans, cover with damp towel, and let rise again for another 45 to 60 minutes, until loaves have doubled in bulk.

7. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Brush the top of each loaf with milk and sprinkle with sunflower seeds. Bake loaves for 45 to 50 minutes, until well-browned. Let cool in pans for 15 minutes, then remove from pans and continue cooling on a rack.

Chef Jacques Pépin demonstrates how to make haddock steaks in rice paper with a shallot and soy sauce. This video clip is a web-exclusive that was taped during the filming of Jacques' series Essential Pépin.

The ten most popular posts published on Bay Area Bites in 2011 revealed a year of Occupy protests, parking lot raps, food truck gatherings, vegan and carnivorous comfort food, online cooking school, the opening of the first local deaf-owned restaurant, and food blogger success tips as well as professional hardships.

1. Vegan Almond Milk Ice Cream: 3 Recipes by Denise Santoro Lincoln
"I made three types of ice cream and, no surprise to many vegans out there but sort of a surprise to me, they were all amazingly good, exceeding my expectations on every level. My ten-year old daughter Maddie even exclaimed about the chocolate version 'This is better than store-bought ice cream! It's my favorite!' I have to agree. My three flavors were almond, strawberry and chocolate. All are vegan. The first two were delightful but the chocolate was really special, and all are cholesterol and fat free."

2. Aida Mollenkamp’s Top 11 Spots for Bay Area Foodies by Elaine Wu
"The host and co-creator of the television show 'FoodCrafters' and 'Ask Aida,' attended Cornell University and then the esteemed Le Cordon Bleu in Paris where she studied culinary AND pastry arts. Aida ended up in San Francisco when she became one of the editors of the online food magazine, CHOW. Currently, she’s working on her first cookbook, tentatively titled, 'Keys to the Kitchen,' due out in 2012. Here are Aida's top Bay Area spots for food fiends like herself (that aren’t restaurants)."

3. Cooking Lessons in Real Time: Google+ Cooking School by Jenny Oh
"People are using the 'Hangouts' feature of Google+, Google's new sharing project, in creative ways. Learn about a real-time video cooking school that uses this collaborative tool."

4. Bay Area Fried Chicken Guide by Stephanie Hua
"A guide to the best fried chicken in the Bay Area, and a recipe for an Asian-style fried chicken that's clean and simple, with a dynamite crispy thin crust."

5. It’s Gettin’ Real in the Whole Foods Parking Lot by Sarah Henry
"Whole Foods Parking Lot, the mock rage-rap that went viral this week, is the work of homeboy DJDave, also known as David Wittman. Find out why he wrote about quinoa, kale, and cayenne pepper in this catchy homage to hip hop that is cracking people up across the country."

6. Deaf-Owned Mozzeria Shows Signs of Great Pizza Coming to the Mission by Anna Mindess
"Mozzeria, a new deaf-owned Italian restaurant, will bring wood fired pizza to the Mission. Owners Melody and Russell Stein have imported a 5000-pound Stefano Ferrara oven from Napoli and will serve pizza, pasta and small plates in their cozy new eatery -- where both deaf and hearing patrons can dine comfortably in a mix of vintage and modern styles."

7. So You Want to be a Successful Food Blogger? Here’s How. by Sarah Henry
"Food blogs are a dime a dozen in cyberspace. Find out how to stand out from the pack."

8. Occupy Oakland General Strike and the Whole Foods Incident by Wendy Goodfriend
"I was taking photos to cover the Occupy movement's General Strike in Oakland for KQED News on 11/2/11. I followed a few smaller contingents to document their marches including the education protest at the University of California and the Anti-Capitalist March. Here is my perspective on the situation that occurred at the Oakland Whole Foods during the Anti-Capitalist March. I have also included a couple of graphic videos by others to reveal some of the activities that took place."

9. Will Write For Food, Payment Preferable by Sarah Henry
"Food for thought: Many online outlets offer writers no or token compensation for their time and talents, including many websites that run food coverage. Find out why you should care."

10. Off the Grid and Bites on Broadway: Food Trucks To Debut in East Bay by Sarah Henry
"Two food truck events, Off the Grid and Bites on Broadway, debut soon in the East Bay. Find out how these street eat meet ups intend to reflect the flavor of the communities they serve -- and who's cooking."

Where does inspiration come from? I don't know what Beethoven would say, but for me, inspiration pops up out of the blue when I'm writing recipes. Of course, during recipe creation, like for any creative work, the brain is always humming away, rummaging through sense memories, taste memories, old cookbooks, dishes tasted a dozen years ago and filed away under "try to reproduce," descriptions from novels, bits of poetry, mental snapshots, things learned in first-job kitchens 20 years ago.

One morning, I was gathering the ingredients to cater a lunch for a women's leadership seminar at the Oakland Center for Spiritual Living. Some of the attendees were vegetarian, others dairy-free. I'd planned some nice ladies'-lunch items--the chicken salad with curry and mango chutney I'd made by the bucketful at a fancy deli in the mid-80s, a vegan quinoa-adzuki bean salad I'd created for this column last year--when the sunny day suddenly turned chilly and overcast. Soup weather, my mother would call it, and so tomato soup, with its cozy, home-from-school associations, seemed like a natural fit. But it wasn't summer, and the fresh tomatoes available were mealy, Mexican, and overpriced. How could I make a canned-tomato soup that didn't taste like marinara sauce, or worse, have that unmistakable tinny flavor to it?

Roasting the tomatoes in plenty of olive oil concentrated their flavor, and warming, India-meets-North African spices like coriander, mustard seed, and cumin took them out of the pizza-sauce realm. Instead of cream, a rich slug of coconut milk would balance out the tomatoes' acidity, as would a drizzle of honey at the end. But what wintery thing would give the soup some heft? Some sweetness and ballast? I was driving around Lakeshore, looking for parking, when the solution suddenly turned on in my head, just like the proverbial light bulb: sweet potatoes! Perfect color, perfect earthy sweetness, and the starch, once pureed, would turn the soup to velvet.

These roadside bursts of brilliance don't always pan out, but thankfully, this one did, and the soup turned out to be the star of the luncheon. In fact, I could have skipped both salads, left behind the fruit and cookies and just ladled out big bowls of soup, breadsticks on the side, to make everyone very, very happy.

So, why this soup for New Year's Day? Well, it's a good pantry soup. Canned tomatoes, chicken stock, sweet potatoes...you probably have all these around from the holidays' cooking sprees. The spices can be rearranged depending on your taste and what's in the pantry. It's good for you, a welcome, spice-bright visitation of veggies after all those rich and indulgent holiday meals. You can easily make it vegan by using vegetable stock and leaving out the honey (or substituting agave or brown-rice syrup).

It's easy to throw together, and it doesn't take long, and the recipe's easily doubled or tripled, should you have a lot of friends and family on the couch. And it's good for sipping any time of day, whether as a warm-up after a brisk walk or while wallowing in that all-day Downton Abbey marathon. Plus, what better way to start the New Year than with a burst of inspiration?

Sweet Potato-Coconut Soup

Yield: 6-8 servings
Prep Time: 25 minutes, plus 45 minutes roasting time
Cook Time: 45 minutes
Total Time: 1 hour, 10 minutes, plus 45 minutes roasting time

Ingredients:
1 28-oz can plum tomatoes, preferably organic
5 tbsp olive oil, divided
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 large yellow onion, peeled and chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 tsp mustard seeds
1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds
1/2 tsp cumin seeds
pinch cayenne, or to taste
pinch cinnamon or 1 cinnamon stick
1 tbsp grated fresh ginger
grated rind and juice of 1 small orange or tangerine
2 medium sweet potatoes, chopped
4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 13.5 oz can coconut milk
1 tbsp honey, or to taste (agave syrup can be substituted for a vegan version)

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Drain tomatoes, saving liquid. Halve tomatoes and spread out in a single layer in a non-reactive baking pan. Drizzle with 2 tablespoons olive oil and sprinkle generously with salt and pepper. Roast for 45 minutes, until tomatoes have shrunk slightly and begun to brown. Remove from oven and set aside.

2. In a small, heavy pan (cast iron is ideal) over medium heat, toast mustard, coriander, and cumin seeds until mustard seeds start to pop and spices smell fragrant.

3. In a deep, heavy-bottomed soup pot, heat remaining 3 tablespoon olive oil. Add onions and saute, stirring frequently, until onions are softened and translucent. Add garlic and toasted spices, and cook, stirring, for another minute.

4. Add cayenne, cinnamon, ginger, rind and juice, sweet potato chunks, and roasted tomatoes. Add reserved tomato liquid and broth. Bring to a gentle simmer, reduce heat, and partially cover. Cook for 45 minutes, or until potatoes are very soft.

5. Add coconut milk and honey to taste. Taste for seasoning; add salt if needed. Remove cinnamon stick, if using. Let cool for a few minutes, then puree until smooth using an immersion (stick) blender. If using a regular blender, let cool for another 10 minutes before pureeing.

6. Taste for seasoning, and add honey or salt as needed. Serve hot.