Weekly Dish

Is it Thanksgiving already? Are you sure? Well. I’d better get busy. It’s the first Thanksgiving for the little one, and I’d hate for her to look back through the Weekly Dish archives the year of her birth and see that I posted not one holiday recipe for her first food-obsessed holiday. Not that I’ll be cooking for her exactly, as her repertoire of food experiences includes only avocado, sweet potato, and banana so far. But I am planning to make a butternut squash pudding, reserving some of the roasted flesh for her to sample, so that counts for something. Her first Thanksgiving vegetable perhaps.

I guess with a baby around, it’s inevitable that a person becomes obsessed with firsts. Nearly everything is a first for Josie — just in the last month, she’s grown her first teeth, sat up by herself for the first time, tasted her first solid food. I know, I know, all of you who don’t have a baby are rolling your eyes right now. I know because I used to do the same thing — who wants to hear about someone else’s baby’s first teeth, anyway? It happens. Babies get teeth. And they have to sit up some time, so there inevitably must be a first time. Yawn. I swore I wouldn’t be one of those moms who oohed and aahed over her kid’s various universal — and therefore terribly mundane — developmental accomplishments to folks who could care less, so I won’t bore you with the details.

And yet. I have to just say that it is incredibly amazing to watch a tiny little person discover something utterly new. Do you remember the last time you discovered something really, truly new to you? It doesn’t happen that often in our adult lives, but for infants, virtually everything is a miraculous introduction to the world from a new vantage point. Even just the sound of her own voice takes on monumentally delightful proportions when she learns how to vary the pitch, volume, or use of spit to make new squeals, sputters, or growls.

Partly because of the sheer delight she takes in all things new and partly because I am particularly fond of the holidays, I am trying to make a special effort to establish celebratory traditions for our family this year. And, of course, a good deal of what makes a celebratory tradition in my definition of the term is food.

I know my posting this last year has been sporadic, but over the coming week, I hope to share with you the food I am making for Thanksgiving. (Maybe even every day, but I won’t make any promises.) Some recipes will be old, some will be new, some will be a combination. We are traveling to Mississippi to celebrate the holiday with our family, so I have plans to spend the next several days preparing my culinary contributions, recording them here as I go.

As I get my Thanksgiving dishes ready, of course I’ll need something to snack on as I cook. I’ve made this dip for a couple of years now around this time of year, and for whatever reason, I’m just now getting around to sharing it. Probably because it’s one of those things I seem to make at the last minute, when we need an appetizer to take to a Halloween party or a neighborhood art show or to a last-minute fall dinner with friends, and I never quite seem to get proportions written down or photos taken. Finally, though, I’ve tinkered with the recipe and taken exact measurements (and even a photo!). If you are buying canned pumpkin for a pie or some other Thanksgiving dish, I highly recommend saving one for this snack — it’s easy, tasty, and looks pretty on the table. Plus, it’s nicely suited to stand up equally well to a platter of carrot sticks and radish slices as it is just plain-Jane crackers. Or, if you’re feeling especially holiday-decadent, David likes it with the hottest variety of Zapp’s potato chips (but don’t you dare take that shiny metallic chip bag to Thanksgiving dinner; I do not want to be blamed for treading on what may be the most sacrosant of all food-related occasions, at least in this country. Turkey every, single year? That, my friends, is one heck of a stubborn tradition.)

So, here we go, kicking off Josie’s first-ever week-before Thanksgiving cooking extravaganza. She may not understand exactly what’s going on, and experts say that she won’t really remember. But just in case, I want the scents and sounds and sights of the holidays to be forever tinted with a joyful flurry of kitchen activity. From the very beginning.

Since I missed posting on her first Halloween, here’s a photo to make up for it. She was a happy pink leopard who growled at all the other trick-or-treaters. And we took this dip to the Gatewoods’, our dear friends, for a pre-trick-or-treating cook out. It was almost as big a hit as the pink leopard.

Spiced Pumpkin Dip

This is a highly adaptable recipe, one in which the proportions can be varied widely. I have made it with twice as much cream cheese and half as much pumpkin, and vice versa, mostly depending on how much leftover pumpkin I had on hand. After several tries, this is my favorite ratio, both for flavor and texture, but if you have a crowd to feed with this dip, you can certainly increase the cream cheese to use a whole package. I also like it to have quite a punch in terms of spices, but if the amounts of paprika and cumin seem like a lot to you, start with one teaspoon of each and add as you see fit.

1 head of garlic
olive oil
1 15-ounce can pumpkin puree
4 ounces cream cheese
2 t. ground cumin
2 t. Hungarian paprika
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
2 t. coarse salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and set your cream cheese on the counter to soften. Slice off the top of the garlic head and remove the loosest layers of the papery skin (you don’t need to peel it entirely — just get rid of the stuff that comes off easily). Place the whole head on a square of aluminum foil and bring the edges up all around to make a little pouch. Before twisting the top to seal it closed, drizzle the garlic with a little olive oil (about a teaspoon). Roast for 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and open the foil pouch to let the garlic cool.

When cool enough to handle, squeeze the cloves from their skins into the bowl of a food processor. Add the remaining ingredients and process until very smooth. Taste for salt and spice — you may need to add a little extra. Sprinkle the finished dip with extra paprika for garnish. Serve with crudites, pita chips, or crackers. Or, if you’re feeling especially indulgent, Zapp’s potato chips.

That’s about the extent of what I had on hand one day last week when I set about trying to rustle up some sort of afternoon snack to tide me over until dinner.

It had been one of those proverbial days. Starting at about 3 a.m., Josie had decided to have a little party in her crib. She does this occasionally — wakes up happy and talking and usually puts herself back to sleep — and this particular middle-of-the-night affair sounded like it would be no different. But, what began with sweet-sounding coos gradually escalated to all-out screams. Not crying screams, mind you; the child was still gleefully happy. But we live in a very small two-bedroom house, and at 3 in the morning, that kind of volume carries quite an eye-opening kick. I was convinced that I would find at least two or three more babies in the bed with her contributing to the noise level when I walked into her room. Whatever she was so delighted about she was determined to share with her parents, and it took a joint effort of feeding, rocking, and walking around from the two of us to calm her down and get her to go back to sleep, only to be awakened by her again by 5:30. At this point, it was clear she was ready to be up for good.

From there, the day tumbled into the sort of managed chaos that life with an infant sometimes is: it happened to be Wednesday, when David is gone from 10 in the morning until 10 at night; Josie, after her early-morning performance spent the rest of the day in and out of the exhausted fussing that always follows an out-of-the-ordinary night; and I spent the entire day grading one student’s paper. Josie took no naps to speak of, and when I finally put a grade at the end of the essay response I had been composing since 7 that morning, it felt like quite an accomplishment.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around, she and I were both tired and cranky, and, since she had needed more attention than usual, I could barely remember what I’d had to eat and was starving. The prospect of waiting until David returned for dinner seemed unimaginable, but I still needed something to get me through the next few hours until Josie would (hopefully) go to bed.

When it comes to dinner, I am good at planning, mostly because I’ve been in the habit for so long now. As those of you who remember my marker board posts know, I make a meal plan on Saturday mornings after we get home from the Farmer’s Market, we go to the grocery store for whatever else we need, and the marker board on the side of the fridge tells me what to make every night for the rest of the week. Before I had Josie, the rest of our eating just sort of happened; I kept cereal or oatmeal for breakfast, and we’d either have leftovers or grab something on campus for lunch. Snacks weren’t on my radar at all, save a piece of fruit here and there or the occasional bag of potato chips David would sometimes bring home.

Providing all of the nutrients for a whole other being has, predictably, changed my appetite, and if I thought I was hungry when I was pregnant, that was nothing compared to what my body demands now that I am nursing. It’s not that I eat that much more, in terms of quantity, but I certainly have to eat more often, which translates into having more food choices on hand. Some weeks I do better about remembering to think about snacks than others, but we’re in a seasonal fruit lull right now, which is my usual between-meal sustenance when there’s nothing else. I am also, of course, trying to be conscious of the nutritive value of everything I consume; making the most of my calorie intake was obviously important when I was growing Josie inside my body, but now that I can actually watch her little body become healthy and strong, I am even more aware of how significant the food I take in really is. That may sound stressful, but it isn’t something I spend a lot of time worrying about, I just try to make good food decisions.

On the particular day I found that can of beans in my pantry, though, I have to tell you that I think I might have consumed almost anything I had found that was readily available to be eaten. We are not in the habit of buying pre-packaged junk food, and it’s a good thing, because if, somewhere in the depths of my kitchen shelves, I’d stumbled across a box of Hostess cupcakes, I might well have eaten the whole box in one sitting.

Instead, Josie and I marched out the back door, gathered enough basil for a quick batch of pesto, and I made some semblance of this bean dip, tossing a few other ingredients into the food processor in the precious few moments I had between feedings, diaper changes, and entertaining an off-schedule, fussy baby. Perhaps it was the sheer force of my growling stomach, or maybe it was the fact that Josie sat happily in her little green seat outside for a full 30 minutes while I ate and relaxed for the first time all day, or it’s possible that I was so grateful for a stretch of time to actually savor, rather than inhale, my food. Whatever the reason, if you’d asked me at that specific moment, I would have told you this dip was the best snack I’d ever tasted.

Since that day, I’ve made the dip twice more, taking the time to actually measure the quantities and photograph it, and, although, I can’t say that it tasted quite as good as it did on that first day (thankfully, I haven’t had another one of those days!) it’s provided many an afternoon of a healthful, filling snack, smeared on whole wheat crackers, or as a dip for carrots or radishes. We’ve also spread it on our sandwiches and used it as a quesadilla filling. I love the fact that it’s creaminess comes from something healthful and protein-laden, and I can see endless possibilities for what you could use to flavor the white bean base. For now, though, I’m planning to stick with my original impulse, at least until the basil sends out its last fragrant green leaves of the season.

This recipe certainly is not earth-shattering in its inventiveness, and I’m sure it’s not terribly original, but these are days of creative utilitarianism around our house, and in the capacity of healthy, hearty snack food, this is a dip that does its job.

At the end of the day this dip first made its way out of the pantry and into my stomach, Josie went peacefully to sleep, dinner somehow got made, and I eventually got to climb into my bed and close my eyes. And, as a happy surprise, when I laid my head on the pillow and asked myself the question all mothers of small children must ask at the end of harrowing days — “Now, what, exactly did I do today?” — this bean dip came to mind. A small victory, yes, but a tasty one. And just in case one of those days happens along your path in the near future, a victory I gladly pass along.

White Bean Pesto Dip

1 15-ounce can cannelini beans, drained
2 cloves garlic
2 T. prepared basil pesto
1 T. olive oil
Juice of half a lemon
1/2 t. sea salt

Pulse the garlic in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a steel blade. Add everything else and process until well-mixed but still chunky.

Right after Josie was born, friends in our life brought us food. An age-old expression of community, in many cultures, neighboring women gather around a new mother to tend to the household chores — cooking and cleaning while Mom gets to know her new baby. My mother and sister stayed a few days after Josie’s birth, and I was fortunate to have my husband here all the time — he too is on an academic schedule and so was off for the summer. Still, figuring out what to make for dinner was not exactly the first thing on our minds, so after my mom left, meals prepared by other hands were a huge help.

The first week, my Aunt Anne, who lives in Baton Rouge, brought a big pot of chicken and dumplings, which she calls love food. And they were: homey and warm and delicious, they fed us for nearly a week, and I swear, I could feel my body healing as I ate them. The next week, our friend Kathryn rallied the troops from our Sunday School class to provide meals.

When we lived in Jackson, as one of the only childless couples in a Sunday School class for young marrieds, we cooked a lot of food for new parents. I loved doing it: not only do you get to meet a need for someone, but you also get to go and hold a brand new baby. In fact, I often signed up to take food to people I didn’t know very well, and we met some of our best friends that way. What I didn’t know then is how important that service is: when you’re exhausted and physically recovering and emotionally focused on figuring out how to be parents, food cooked by someone else just tastes better. It becomes more than just physical sustenance; to be really cliche, it ministers to your soul.

And, so, when Kathryn showed up with a simple grilled chicken salad right when my body was craving something green and fresh, and Felicia and Ed dropped off a homey casserole just in time to feed us for a whole weekend, and Sarah brought Italian food the day I had been dreaming of the perfect marinara (which hers was), I felt overwhelmed with love — all through the food I put into my body.

It was more than that, of course — all of these people are dear to us, and it is a wonderful thing to hand over your newborn baby to a friend and watch as she holds the baby’s face close to hers to smell that new baby smell or kisses the top of your baby’s still-soft head or touches tiny fingers and tiny toes in awe of the miracle of new life.

In fact, one of our first friends to bring dinner is one we met through her new baby. Our first Sunday at a new church in a new city, nearly 2 years ago, we sat in front of a couple with a tiny little baby girl wrapped in a beautiful blanket. I will never forget that Sunday because as we walked to the front of this strange sanctuary for communion, I found myself standing right beside this woman and her baby. And I couldn’t take my eyes off of that little face — with the light streaming in from the stained glass windows, she looked like an angel. And, so after the service was over, the couple introduced themselves, and we exchanged phone numbers and, since then, Billy and Garland have become some of our dearest friends.

So, when Garland arrived with black bean quesadillas and a huge container of wonderful, fresh salsa, I wanted to cry — it was just our kind of food, which she knew, and it felt like the continuity in a great big circle of community. When their daughter, Wilhelmina, was a newborn and we were just beginning our friendship with them, David and I kept the baby a few times and cooked for them a few times, and tried to make sure they were occasionally getting out of the house without the little one in tow. Walking with them through the first year of Wilhelmina’s life prepared us for parenthood in ways we couldn’t have imagined at the time: we’ve watched them figure out what to feed her as she started on solid food, how to manage discipline and bedtime routines and, most recently, potty training. Since Josie has been here, they have loved us in so many tangible ways — we have their car seat and their infant swing and their batting gym and plastic bins full of Wilhelmina’s adorable clothes.

A couple of weeks ago, on a Sunday when the temperature had nearly reached 100 degrees, our air conditioner went out. Spoiled as we are by modern conveniences, being stuck in a small house with windows that are painted shut and a sweaty 3-month-old felt like a major catastrophe. After a couple of hours as the thermostat inside climbed towards the 90-degree mark, we called Billy to see if Josie and I could come over for a while to cool off. Garland was out of town, so Billy had Wilhelmina by himself, and Garland’s sister and her daughter were also staying at their house. In the midst of all of that, he persuaded us to come and stay until the air conditioner got fixed. He changed the sheets on their bed, set up a portable crib for Josie in their room, and insisted that we make ourselves at home.

That kindness is the sort that, even after you’ve known someone for a long time, still manages to be surprising and remarkable — perhaps because it is so rare in a culture of busyness and self-sufficiency. It is also the sort that gets communicated in the gifts of food. Long after Garland’s satisfying meal, I found myself thinking about it, especially the salsa. I’m sure partly because nursing a baby causes your body to crave good, fresh, real food. But also, I think, I also craved the care that went into making it: the thoughtfulness it took for Garland to know me well enough to know that I would love it.

And, so I’ve recreated it in a myriad of variations, depending on what I have on hand and what I’ve found at the farmer’s market. Each time I do, it tastes better — not as good as I remember hers tasting, but really good still — packed with fresh, clean flavors and a healthy dose of the sweet memory of kindness.

Exactly what friendship — and the food it brings — should taste like.

Peach Salsa

2 ripe peaches, diced
2 avocados, diced
1 bunch cilantro, rough chopped
2 hot peppers (I used hot banana peppers here, but I’ve also used jalapenos), finely chopped (I leave the seeds for spice, but if you’re sensitive to heat, remove them before chopping)
1 small cucumber, finely chopped
1/4 cup finely chopped red onion (about 1/4 of a medium one)
Juice of 1 lime
Sea salt, to taste

Toss together the peaches, avocados, peppers, cucumber, and onion. Squeeze the lime juice over and sprinkle with sea salt. Toss gently to combine. Serve with chips or quesadillas. I imagine it would also be a nice accompaniment to grilled fish or shrimp.

*Ivonne and Lis are hosting the second annual Festa al Fresco; this salsa would be the perfect thing to take to an outdoor gathering. But, I’ll have to warn you, here in Louisiana, a virtual patio party is the only kind I’d be willing to attend: it is still way, way too hot to spend more than the time it takes to get from front door to car outdoors. But, if I were in Toronto…that would be a different story.

Well, if the answer is yes, then you have preparations to make, don’t you? While I can’t help with what you should wear, if you happen to have minimal time to whip up something festive to set on the food table, I can share this recipe.

The story of this dip is fairly representative of the way things happen in my kitchen, especially when the food is actually for an event (and not just for us to eat).

First, I spend entirely too much time deciding what to bring. Next, I spend the day of the party doing everything except preparing the dish I’m supposed to bring. Or even deciding what to bring. Then, at the last minute, I run into the kitchen, have an idea, send David dashing to the store, and he comes back with a collection of ingredients that I use to improvise a recipe I should probably be following exactly (since I’ve never made it before and I’m serving it to lots of people).

In this particular case, the idea came from The Barefoot Contessa. I originally planned to make Ina’s sundried tomato dip to take to our department holiday party on Friday. (In this case, “originally planned” means “decided on an hour before the party would start”). I sent David to the store, but I forgot to ask him to bring home cream cheese, and well, the dip is entirely based on cream cheese. And the recipe called for mayonnaise, the sight of which I cannot tolerate these days (so there is none in my fridge). So, I dug through what I did have, and the resulting sour cream, feta cheese, and sundried tomato dip was much better than I can imagine a cream cheese and mayonnaise version tasting.

One key to the flavor of the dip is salt, and how much you use will depend on a few things: first, how salty the feta is; second, what you’re planning to serve with the dip; and third, you’re preference for saltiness. David bought no-salt Zapp’s potato chips, and we had French feta cheese, which tends to be less salty than the American stuff (at least in my grocer’s cheese case) so I added a good bit of sea salt to the dip. With saltier chips and a stronger feta, the dip could have been way too salty. The cayenne pepper also gives it a nice kick, but again, you don’t want the spiciness to be overpowering. My best suggestion is to start with a palmful of salt and a pinch of pepper and then taste the final product with a chip or vegetable you’ll be using for serving; season until it tastes like you might stand there and eat the whole bowl before you leave for the party. (Then, stop, put it in a serving container and wrap tightly with plastic wrap! Hurry, you still have to get dressed!)

This recipe made enough to take in my chip and dip plate to the department party on Friday and to take over to my neighbor this afternoon for her holiday party tonight. Not bad for 10 minutes worth of preparation.

Sundried Tomato and Feta Dip

1 5-ounce jar of sundried tomatoes, packed in oil, drained
2-3 ounces feta cheese
1 cup sour cream
3 green onions, white and green parts, sliced
Sea salt, to taste
A pinch or two of cayenne pepper

In the bowl of a food processor, pulse the tomatoes a few times until coarsely chopped. Add the cheese, sour cream, green onions, salt and pepper. Pulse a few more times until thoroughly combined. Garnish with a sprinkle of green onions. Have a great time at the party!

One lone sweet farmer — Buddy Miller — sells figs regularly at my local Saturday market. I see him every Saturday from late July/early August until his trees stop producing (probably any Saturday now) and I buy as many different kinds of figs as he has.

In their book on cooking with aphrodesiacs, here’s what Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge have to say about figs in the chapter on the fruit: “If you’ve never had a fig before, it will not — cannot– taste, smell, look, or feel as you imagined it would — because a ripe fig tastes sweeter than any dried nugget of trail-mix fig, and a plump one smells gentler than any hyper-syruped canned version. . . .When its juice runs over your tongue, you are drinking pure, unadulterated sensuality.”

It was only a few years ago that I first tasted for myself what they’re talking about. My taste buds still have not recovered; they often crave the sublime sweetness of these gorgeous little gems at the most random times. Last summer I tucked a few away in a freezer bag, and come January, when a craving hit, I was oh so glad. My freezer stash this summer has already begun.

A fig is a perfect fruit, in my opinion. The simplest of pleasures, figs win out for their blissful unfussiness. This fruit doesn’t need to be peeled, has no inedible seeds, and contains no pits or other obstructions to fool with. Some varieties are exactly bite-sized; most can be eaten in no more than two delicate bites. A tiny stem makes a good handle with which to hold your fig, and it tastes best eaten ripe and alone, or, on special occasions with the slightest dribble of cream. But it’s versatile also: the fig pairs well with cheese and wine, or cooks up to a mighty fine dessert or dinner.

I mostly eat mine straight from the fridge soon after they’ve been purchased. Occasionally, though, I’ll feel creative and want to dress them up. This appetizer is so simple, but it’s a great little before-dinner treat to serve to guests (especially if they’ve never had fresh figs before). Black Mission figs work really well for this preparation; they’re larger and firmer than some of the smaller, sweeter varieties. The filling tastes even better if you have time to mix it up the night before, but at least allow it to refrigerate for a couple of hours to let the flavors mingle. I like to serve these with a crisp Riesling, and if you’re going heavy on the hors d’oeuvres, shards of prosciutto and blue cheese on crostini.

In fact, these appetizers would make a great contribution to an al fresco dinner party, perhaps the La Festa Fresco that Ivonne and Lis are throwing? Stop in and see what other fresh, local outdoorsy foods other people made on September 5, when the round-up will be posted.

Creamy Stuffed Figs

4 ounces cream cheese, softened
4 strips bacon
1 T. chives, chopped, with a few reserved for garnish,
1/2 cup almonds or pecans
Cracked black pepper and Kosher salt, to taste
8 fresh figs

To prepare the filling, set the cream cheese in a small bowl to soften. Cook the bacon and set aside to cool. Then, toast the nuts (please, please do NOT skip this step — the toasted nuts add a lot of depth to the flavor of the filling) in a dry skillet or in a 350-degree oven for 6-8 minutes. When the bacon and nuts are cool enough to handle, coarsely chop, and add them to the cream cheese. Mix in the chives and seasonings. Refrigerate for at least a few hours.

To prepare the figs, first wash and pat dry. Remove the stems. With a small, sharp knife, carefully cut cross-wise into the top of each fig, as if you were quartering it, but making sure not to cut all the way through. Stuff each fig with about a tablespoon of the cream cheese mixture (or as much as the fig can hold and still stand up straight). You can refrigerate them again until ready to serve if you need to.

–Adapted from Intercourses by Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge

Well, if you have a log or two of goat cheese, herbs, olive oil, and some crackers, you can throw this together and look like you planned it all along.

My cousin had a party not too long ago, and her sister-in-law served something similar to this (and that, my non-southern friends is how recipes travel down here: my sister said she had such and such at a party and got the recipe from so and so, who got it from her aunt and so on…).

It was so pretty, I resolved to assemble it (it seems unfair to call this cooking) the next time we had people over. And so I did.

Besides how easy it is to do, the other great thing about this appetizer is that it can be assembled beforehand (and I think it tastes better after the herby flavor has had time to soak in). Just pull it out of the fridge up to an hour before you expect guests so it can soften, and you’re set. It’s the perfect thing to have with wine while you’re finishing up dinner.

What you need:
A long, thin, dish with a lip at the edges
Goat cheese (I used 2 4-ounce logs)
Good olive oil
Kosher or sea salt
Cracked black pepper
An assortment of herbs (I used lemon basil, rosemary, and Cuban oregano)
Crackers (We love the rosemary-olive oil Triscuits)

Up to a day before you want to serve it: Form the goat cheese into a long, thin log shape, and puncture the top with a fork several times. Drizzle with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt, black pepper, and minced herbs. Cover and refrigerate.

An hour before serving: Uncover and lay sprigs of fresh herbs all around the cheese. Drizzle the whole plate with more olive oil, salt, pepper, and finish by sprinkling with more minced herbs.

We are not wine connoisseurs, but if you’re looking for an inexpensive and mellow red wine, Foxy compliments the herbed goat cheese quite nicely.