Mushroom Soup for Autumn

This is my updated mushroom soup- the flavor is MUSHROOM.
It's fairly simple and it doesn't take much time. It's the version of mushroom soup I've been using for several years now... one of those things you get to and think, "Ok, I don't need to look any further."
(It's like when you find or figure out your OFFICIAL crème brûlée recipe... I mean, I feel like it's a waste of your time and taste once you know what you want.)
It's also very easily vegan, actually- but I don't think anyone would know it.

There's a little shop at the farmer's market that only sells mushrooms, year round. Hen-of-the-woods, lion's mane, chanterelle, button, oyster, portabella, dried porcinis and morels, candy caps... and truffles- you can always count on finding fresh whole truffles there- in addition to the sliced, pasted, and infused oil versions.
But when it's fall and you're in the mood for something like this, it's a very convenient place- especially if you already find yourself over there.

You can use any mushroom you choose- I used a mix of brown and baby shiitakes here. Mixes make things a bit more interesting, and depending on the type of mushroom, can make the soup more meaty, savory, mushroomy, and robust in flavor.
White button are perfectly fine, of course. What you use is obviously a combination of what you like and what you can find at the time.
Just remember (depending on what you use) certain mushrooms need to be treated differently- fully grown shiitakes have woody stems that you wouldn't want to use. If they're tender though, go ahead and use them.

 

The only thing that's wanting with mushroom soup, in my opinion, is the color. That cement shade is great for a sweater, but sadly, not so much for food. So if you feel the need to add a bit of something for the eye before serving, please do.
See above.
(Charming, right?)

Mushroom Soup
serves 4-8 

1/4 c (60 ml) olive oil 
1/2 large yellow onion, large dice
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 lb. (454 g) mushrooms, cleaned and sliced, halved, or quartered depending on size
4 large garlic cloves, minced
8 oz (227 g) starchy potato (Russet, for instance), peeled and large-diced
3/4 (180 ml) cup white wine
5 cups (1.18 L) chicken broth, vegetable stock, or water- separated
1 T fresh minced oregano (no weight sorry, but visually 1/2 of a golf ball)
2 t fresh minced thyme leaves (again, no weight, but it's 2/3 of the above amount)

For serving:
sour cream
minced chives or parsley  



Heat the olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and a pinch of salt and saute until a bit golden at the edges. Add the mushrooms another pinch of salt and a few good grinds of pepper, and saute until the mushrooms begin to lose their juices. Add the garlic and stir through about 30 seconds, then add the potato and saute a few minutes until everything is thoroughly mixed and warmed through. 
Pour in the white wine and bring the mixture to a boil, then simmer a couple minutes before adding 4 cups (about 950 ml) of stock or water along with the oregano and thyme. Bring the mixture back up to a boil, then turn it down to a simmer and cook 10- 15 minutes, or until the potato is soft. 
Remove the pan from the heat and let cool slightly before using an immersion blender or blending thoroughly in batches- only filling 1/2 to 2/3 full (don't fill a blender with hot liquid as it expands and can explode into a mess...).
Pour each batch into another pan before moving onto the next round. 
If you want the soup a little thinner, depending on evaporation and how dense the potato made the soup, you can add some or all of the extra stock as you puree. 
Season to taste. 
Serve the soup hot.

Rosemary - Peach Salad

I house sat this summer, and several weeks ago I was locked in a chicken coop.
Twice. Within a couple days.
The first time the knot on the rope to open the door from inside had slipped and come undone.
Normal problem I'm sure, it'd eventually happen anyway.
Luckily, I was only in there about 10-15 minutes, looking around and wondering how I’d get out, before someone showed up who I could call to open the door for me. I was certainly grateful.
You see, chickens are ok company, but not my most favorite.
Anyway, I "fixed" the door so it wouldn't happen again.

Yes, I fixed it by not really paying complete attention and tying the rope to the wrong hole in the latch. The door shuts behind you, and... it doesn't matter how much you pull the rope.
(Uh-oh and a bit of internal panic.)
The second time it happened was a Saturday and nobody else was around so I had to figure something out by myself. 

I found a stick on the dirt floor of the coop, and I was able to get it through a gap in the door, and wiggling it into the hole of the latch, jimmying it at the right angle while slightly shaking the door so that the latch would release.

While I was working on this, I had the feeling of being a monkey in a film strip (these things seemingly ONLY in film strips, the kind you'd possibly watched in grade school, if we had some of the same early grade school experiences- projector, rolls of film pulled from tin cans, and pull-down screen... the whole shebang), while the voice-over would say, "We had previously thought man was the only animal having the use of tools."
And I was glad no one was there to watch.

Long story short, it ended up working (yay), and again I was only locked in there 10-15 minutes.
Next step, I want to learn how to pick locks. It's inspired.

Why tell this story?
There's really no good reason, other than about the same time I was trying to brainstorm different ways to use summer fruit.
Good story.

And so, this is a fabulous end-of-summer salad with a great combination of flavors.  It could be your starter, or you could possibly make into a light meal with a little tweaking.
I've served it six times for different dinners in the past few weeks, and I made it for my own dinner twice this week, along with open-faced BLTs (also great for summer if you find some good heirloom tomatoes and meaty bacon). Needless to say, I think it's quite alright.
And a safe bet.
No eggs required.

Rosemary - Peach Salad
(Vinaigrette for 4-5)

Vinaigrette:
1 T (15 ml) finely minced shallot
1 T (15 ml) Sherry vinegar
1/8 t kosher or sea salt (a nice pinch)
1/2 t fresh minced rosemary needles (visually, maybe a hazelnut-sized amount)
1 t (5 ml) honey
4 T (60 ml) extra virgin olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

proscuitto/speck (thinly sliced, about piece per person- depending on size)
greens (mixed, spring, baby spinach...) 
a ripe peach (1 large for 4 people)
thinly sliced green onion (optional, but nice)
minced parsley (ditto)
toasted sliced almonds (or pecans... not optional)
fresh basil leaves (also optional here, but a great addition- I promise, use if you have it)

Other possibilities: 
fresh mozzarella or burrata
cherry tomatoes
strawberries (maybe it sounds crazy, but I think a little bit would add some nice color and flavor here)


Preheat the oven to 400 F (204 C).
To make the vinaigrette,  combine the shallots, Sherry vinegar, and salt in a small jar or bowl.  Let sit 5 mintues, add the rosemary, and let sit another 5 minutes. To the sherry mixture, add the honey and mix well.  If making vinaigrette in a jar, add about 1/4 of the olive oil and shake the jar to blend. Add about 1/2 of the remaining olive oil and shake well. Add the last of the olive oil and shake again to combine. Add salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste and set aside.
(If using a bowl to make the vinaigrette, whisk in the olive oil in a slow stream...)

While the shallots sit in the vinegar, crisp the proscuitto. Carefully separate the proscuitto and place it on a sheet pan in a single layer, and cook in the preheated oven 5-8 minutes. It will darken and dry as it cooks, but will finish crisping after it has been removed from the oven to cool. Move the proscuitto on the pan a bit to make sure it's not stuck, then let cool completely.

To assemble salads, place a handful of greens on each plate or in bowls. Sprinkle with green onion and parsley (if using). Cut the peach into eighths and use 2/8 per person, slicing into bite-sized pieces and distributing them over the greens. Re-shake or whisk the vinaigrette (if necessary) and spoon over the salads. Crumble the proscuitto over the salads and top with sliced almonds. Sprinkle with a little chiffonade of basil, if using, and serve.

Honeyed Walnut Cake

Ok, so, this one was a bit difficult to name.
It's not a "cake" in the baked-and-eaten-with-a-cup-of-tea dessert-y, cake-y texture sense of the word.
I mean it more as a shape, a configuration, the tight togetherness of the ingredients.
While going through potential words in English to describe the form, they sounded so inelegant: brick, log, block, slab, chunk... bleh.
Sometimes the English language is decidedly lacking in charm.
Then I thought about other, more strictly fruit and nut confections- pressed date and almond, fig and walnut- and with a slight stretch, even panforte fits the bill. They're cakes. So cake it shall be.

I had found something like this months back, and it was wonderful to nibble with a glass of red wine, or as dessert with a splash of Port. The problem being, ooh, it was pretty expensive.
I thought maybe I could make it myself for much cheaper.
There are four ingredients, just like the other one. Maybe it's not exact proportion or technique-wise, but it's really good and certainly not cost-prohibitive.
 

 

I'd recommend it for a wine and cheese party, with appetizers, or for after dinner as part of cheese based dessert board along with that Port, maybe some dark chocolate... go ahead and add fruit, too (though this by itself is perfectly fine).

You're going to use two amber liquids here- one more pale golden, the other a bit deeper- two syrups I'd be willing to bet many, if not most, people have on hand anyway.
Honey and maple syrup, but make it pure maple syrup, real maple syrup, not a thick corn syrup based concoction.
Personally, I think it's good both are included here. Honey alone can be intense at times, not my most favorite ingredient, but it does have it's place. 
The syrups are cooked to reduce a bit and become the cement holding the walnut bits together.
I didn't give a temperature for cooking the syrup... it's a small amount, and it would difficult to get an accurate reading on a thermometer, so in this case it's more sensorial than measurable and exact.

Of course the recipe can be halved for a smaller group, or if you prefer assurance it will disappear.

Test the size of your mould after you've broken up the toasted walnuts. You can use a ring mould, a metal cup measure, something rectangular if you've got it, if you're careful- a metal can with both ends cut out... perhaps even a wide-mouth jar (as long as you'd be able to remove the finised cake). Place the  nuts in the container you plan to use and shake things a bit so the walnuts fall into place, giving you a general idea how things will fit.

A friend had also suggested sprinkling the mould with sesame seeds to help combat the stickiness you may encounter upon serving (at least the bottom, which becomes the top when unmoulded).

I'm going to recommend doing this by weight, at the very least for the walnuts since their shape is so irregular...


Honeyed Walnut Cake 
(6-8 portions?) 

150 g whole walnuts (this comes to about 1 1/2 c in volume)
4 T honey (60 ml)
2 T maple syrup (30 ml)
1/4 t fine sea salt (small for weight, but my measure says 1.2 ml)

Toast the walnuts lightly in a preheated 325 F (163 C) oven 7-10 minutes.
Remove the pan from the oven, and when cool enough to handle, break the walnuts into pieces (I usually do this by hand as I think it gives a nice size with soft edges, just twisting each walnut. Then I rub handfuls of the walnuts a bit between my palms to remove any loose skin.)
Bring the honey, maple syrup, and salt to a simmer in a medium saucepan over medium, then reduce the heat a bit and cook 5 minutes, swirling the pan several times. You'll have to watch it, because the honey mixture can really bubble and expand.
(The syrup can quickly reduce and become stiff, so it's important not to overcook it, likewise it's important not to cook at too high a heat as the sugars can burn. You'll only know it it cooked too much for sure afterwards when the walnut cake is cool... it may be a crispier, stiffer confection to slice, but it's still very edible.)
Turn off the heat and stir the walnuts through for a couple minutes, to warm them again and make sure everything is coated nicely.
Have a mould at the ready, lined with lightly buttered or sprayed parchment or waxed paper. Spoon/pour the walnut mixture into the prepared mould. Fold over the edges of the paper so that everything is contained within the mould and press down so the nuts all find their place and are all tightly packed together.
Let cool completely- it may take a couple hours since it's so dense.
Unmould, unwrap, slice and enjoy with wine and cheese, etc., as an appetizer or a dessert. 

Nectarine-Brown Butter Tart

Need a summer fruit dessert?
I'm trying to write things down in a more or less solid place because I keep misplacing my notes...
I first made a version of brown butter nectarine last year (though maybe it was peach at the time), and I can't remember where I found the "jumping off point" recipe- so I can't give credit where credit may be due- but, there were changes made a few times if that makes anyone feel better about the situation.
However, it's also very much like the peach pie we used to have in the summer when I was growing up... which I'm realizing I haven't had in years... so there's that, too.
(For now it is what it is, but I hope to try the pastry out with an oat/rice/cornstarch blend in the near future.)

You can use any stone fruit on this one, wonderful this time of year- as you choose or whatever is available to you. Make sure it's something ripe, though not overly so: nectarines, peaches, plums, apricots--- even cherries.
No matter what, you want to use a type of fruit that is intense and slightly sweet and/or tart with a luscious heavier flesh, a body to it. No flimsy fruit.
And I'd advise to always pick up a bit of extra fruit, a bit more than what is called for- just in case, you never know.
I don’t say this to brag, but the fruit here in California is fantastic... no matter what it happens to be... not that you actually have to DO anything to it, but I'm very grateful I can use it so easily.

Making this tart is not a difficult project, but you'll need to allot some time- though in my opinion it’s well worth it. The longest stint for this recipe would be chilling the brown butter filling before moving on to tart assemblage... at which point it's a very thick but still somewhat spreadable creme (referring to texture here, not content).

Look at the flecks of browned butter and vanilla in there:

You must give yourself time for this one (i.e. start it in the morning if you want to serve it in the evening, OR start it a day ahead and don't spend precious time waiting). Otherwise, if you choose not to wait, things can get a bit messy.

After baking, the filling of the tart will be puffed, browned, and slightly wobbly. But you leave it to cool and then chill. The filling settles and sets to a consistency somewhere between custardy and fudgy so it can be sliced with nice sharp edges.  

It may not be the most drop-dead gorgeous dessert you've ever seen- vibrant color suffers with the heat of baking- and it's a tad rustic... but it tastes pretty nice!
Not too sweet, but caramel-y and sweet-tart fruity with a shortbread-like crust.
It's even great for breakfast (if you do that sort of thing) with some damn fine coffee. Black.

 

You will need an 8 inch tart pan with removable bottom for this...

Nectarine - Brown Butter Tart
Serves 6-8

1/2 c (1 stick, 113 g) unsalted butter
1/2 vanilla bean (OR 1/2 t vanilla bean paste or a teaspoon of vanilla extract)
2/3 c (134 g) sugar
1 1/2 T (13 g) flour
1 extra large egg
a pinch of salt

5 T unsalted butter (71 g), at cool room temperature
3 T (24 g) powdered (confectioner's) sugar
1c plus 2 T (108 g) flour
1/4 t (scant 2 g) salt
1 egg yolk

2-3 ripe nectarines (or peaches, maybe 3-4 plums, 4-6 apricots, a bunch of cherries...)


To make the brown butter filling, melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat along with the scraped seeds from the vanilla pod or vanilla paste (throw the empty pod into the butter, for extra flavor). Continue heating until the milk solids begin to brown and become nutty. It'll take maybe 10 mintues- be careful because it may sputter a bit, and it can burn close to the end- so watch it!
While the butter browns, whisk the sugar and flour together in a bowl, then add the egg and whisk to combine (as well as the vanilla extract if you're using it).
When the butter is finished, remove the pan from the heat, fish out the vanilla pod or strain as you pour the warm browned butter and any toasty solids into the bowl with the sugar mixture. Mix well and leave to cool about 20 minutes before covering and chilling in the fridge at least 6 hours.

To make the pastry, blend the butter with the sugar, flour, and salt in a medium-sized bowl until you have a crumbly mass (you can use your hands for this). Add the egg yolk and work it in until you have a uniform dough- though you don't want to over work it (gently, just until it comes together). If it's not coming together very easily- err on the side of caution and undermix in this case- you can add just a sprinkle of water to help get the job done.
Bring the dough together, smash it into a thick disc, wrap in plastic or waxed paper and refrigerate at least an hour to rest.

Preheat the oven to 375 F (190 C). Lightly grease an 8" round tart pan with a removable bottom with butter or baking spray. Roll out the chilled dough between two sheets of plastic wrap or parchment paper so it will fit the pan (it'll be somewhere in the range of a few mm to 1/2 cm thick). Fit the pastry into the pan, pressing into the fluted sides, and cut off the excess with a knife. Freeze about 10 minutes (or if you're still waiting for the browned butter mixture to chill, you could place the prepared tart pan in the fridge for longer).
Prepare the fruit just before assembling. Halve and pit the fruit, and slice into thin pieces (a nectarine or peach- maybe into 12ths, an apricot- maybe 6ths... if using cherries, just pit and halve).
When ready to bake, remove the tart pan from the fridge and pour in the chilled brown butter filling. Smooth it as best you can, hitting the edges- though it doesn't have to be perfect as it will level itself out while baking. Arrange the fruit on top of the tart (I think concentric circles work pretty well) pressing the slices in gently.
Place the prepared tart on a sheet pan to accommodate any overflow and bake about 45 minutes

The tart is done when the edges of the pastry are a light golden brown and the filling is browned everywhere surrounding the fruit. The filling will be a bit wobbly. 
Place the tart on a rack and let cool to warm before placing it in the fridge to chill all the way through and set completely (this will take a couple hours).

Slice and serve the tart at a cool room temperature.

Ginger-Soy Rice Noodle Salad

I saw a rice noodle salad somewhere several days ago I thought looked pretty good, so I thought I'd try to put one together (mostly, I wanted one for lunch, and this is the outcome that worked fairly well).

As far as a meal like this goes, whether it's room temperature or cold, this type of dish can be nice light meal for a warm summer afternoon or evening- that's where I was going with it.
Or you could add shrimp, chicken, or beef to make it a little more robust.

For this recipe, things are left pretty open- it's mostly lists.
Amounts are to taste as the additions to each individual dish, though I'd say maybe 4-5 oz of noodles for 2-3 people, but anything extra is an easy meal the next day.
Vegetables can be raw, blanched, or given a quick saute.

 

(But whatever you do, as is quite often the case, the best part of the salad is the end since all the goodies that aren't tangled up with everything else fall to the bottom of the bowl to be captured at long last.) 
Quite honestly, after photographing I added a bigger mess of herbs, more vegetables, and I stirred in a bit more sauce before devouring.

A word of warning: the amount of dressing will certainly cover more than two salads- more like four or more. But that's ok.
If you're at all wary about any of the ingredients and the amounts, perhaps add what you like, let it sit to blend, then taste. The dressing by itself could potentially be whack-you-in-the-face strong to some, but when tossed with the bland noodles, it's great... I think I could eat it on lots of things so I'm perfectly fine with the leftovers (stored in a jar in the fridge). Again, go easy on certain ingredients and/or the amount you use when dressing the noodles it if you're at all concerned.
(And don't spill any fish sauce on yourself. A wonderful flavor in smaller doses, great as part of a whole, it's pretty rank by itself and if you spill you'll probably have to change your clothes.)

 

Ginger-Soy Rice Noodle Salad
(Dressing serves at least 4)
Rice noodles (whatever style you choose)

Ginger- Soy Dressing:
1 1/2 T freshly grated ginger
1/4 c (60 ml) tamari or soy sauce
2 t (10 ml) fish sauce
1 1/2 t (8 ml) sriracha (optional if you like a little heat)
1 T plus 1 t (16 g) sugar
2 garlic cloves, minced
Zest of 1/2 lime, plus 1 T (15 ml) juice 

Vegetable options:
cubed avocado
thinly sliced red pepper
sliced sugar snap peas
cucumber batons
grated or julienned carrots

Fresh herbs:
green onion
basil
cilantro
mint

To serve:
chopped peanuts
caramelized shallots
lime wedges
sriracha

Extras:
cooked shrimp, chicken, or beef



*As there are different types of rice noodles, make sure to cook them according to package instructions. Drain, shock under cool running water, drain well again, and set aside.

Stir together the dressing ingredients in a bowl and let sit at least 10 minutes while you prepare the rest of your salad ingredients. 

When ready to put salads together dressing noodles, add enough dressing to moisten and loosen the noodles, and toss well to distribute. 

Place noodles in bowl (or bowls) and add vegetables and herbs as desired.
Top with peanuts and shallots, and add extra dressing, lime, or sriracha if you wish.

Blood Orange Marmalade and Four Citrus Marmalade

 

This weekend I wanted to make use of blood oranges before they disappeared, so I made a bit of marmalade. Some will be given away, but the rest will be stashed.

One thing about jams and marmalades: you'll never be able to make the same batch twice. That's nature, that's variation...  some fruits may be sweeter, or juicier, some more tart, some more pithy and bitter. Things will never be exactly the same. In some ways that's too bad, but in other ways it keeps things interesting.

Marmalade is great for eating on toast, with yogurt, or even to serve with a pork roast or maybe turkey (save to doctor cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving?)- in my opinion marmalade is a nice thing to have around.

There are two recipes here, one is basically blood orange (with a bit of lemon), and the other includes four types of citrus.  I did some experimentation with amounts and techniques, and I didn't want to lose what I'd done- notes were taken, recipes were written, and now they're posted.

In the photo with two jars of marmalade, you can see a difference in color. The blood orange is obviously the more red one, and the four citrus is more orange.

When I made the blood orange marmalade, I did not end up soaking the peels. It would have made the marmalade less bitter, so it's a good tip for marmalade if you prefer less of that bitterness. 
So: after slicing, soak the orange peels for a few hours if you prefer (see the Four Citrus Marmalade recipe below for the how-to on that).

In slicing, you can make the pieces of fruit as thick or thin as you like. Use a mandoline if you would like your oranges very thinly sliced, or perhaps a food processor for the sake of speed.  I think mine were between 1 and 3 mm, obviously not exact... but they're hand cut, so we'll call it "rustic" in this instance.

And I'm sorry, but I didn't actually take into account the yield of marmalade in each batch. It'll vary a bit depending on how long it's cooked and allowed to reduce...
However, I'm going to guess two quarts with the blood orange, but it's less with the four citrus.



Blood Orange Marmalade
makes about 2 quarts

3 1/2 lb. (1580 g) blood oranges
2 c (480 ml) water
2/3 c (120 ml) fresh Eureka lemon juice 
3 c (675 g) sugar


Place a small plate in the freezer.
Start a large pot of water to boil and place jars and lids in it to sterilize. 

Wash the oranges well and cut off the ends to expose the inside. Cut the oranges into quarters and slices the ends of each quarter to remove a bit of extra pith. Thinly slice the oranges, removing any large seeds. Add the pieces of orange as well as any orange juice to a large pot. 
Add the water, lemon juice, and sugar to the pot and stir the mixture to combine. Bring the oranges to a boil over medium heat, then reduce to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the peels are cooked, the juice in the  marmalade is reduced and it passes a gel test.  To test, pull the plate out of the freezer and and place a bit of the cooked marmalade on it. Place the plate back into the freezer for a few minutes to cool it quickly, then check the consistency by pushing it with a finger to see if it wrinkles or is generally thick enough for you.  
This takes about an hour and a half (90 minutes).

Drain the hot jars one by one and ladle hot marmalade into them to about a centimeter or 1/2 inch from the top. Wipe the rims and threads with a clean, damp towel, and screw the hot lids on. 
At this point I may place the finished jars back into the boiling water for a few minutes to help sterilize further as well as clean the jars of sticky marmalade on the outside. 

Leave the jars on a counter to cool to warm, then refrigerate (I don't fully/officially can them, so the fridge in lieu of the pantry is a safety step). 
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Four Citrus Marmalade

2 lb.  (about 900 g) Cara cara navel oranges
1 lb. (about 450 g) blood oranges 
2 Eureka lemons, juiced
1 Meyer lemon
1 1/2 c (360 ml) cold water
2 2/3 c (400 g) sugar


Place a small plate in the freezer.
Start a large pot of water to boil and place jars and lids in it to sterilize.
Wash the citrus well. Juice the navel oranges and slice the peels. Juice the blood oranges and slice 3 of the peels. 
Reserve the juices and place the sliced peels into a large pot of cold water. Let soak 3 hours, then remove the soaked peels to a large pot. Add the reserved orange juices, as well as the lemon juice and the sliced Meyer lemon, the water, and sugar.

Bring the mixture to a boil over medium heat, then reduce to a simmer over low. Stir occasionally, until the peels are cooked, the juice in the marmalade is reduced and it passes a gel test. To test, pull the plate out of the freezer and and place a bit of the cooked marmalade on it. Place the plate back into the freezer for a few minutes to cool it quickly, then check the consistency by pushing it with a finger to see if it wrinkles or is generally thick enough for you.   
This will take at least an hour, perhaps an hour and a half (90 minutes).

Drain the hot jars one by one and ladle hot marmalade into them to about a centimeter or 1/2 inch from the top. Wipe the rims and threads with a clean, damp towel, and screw the hot lids on. 
At this point I may place the finished jars back into the boiling water for a few minutes to help sterilize further as well as clean the jars of sticky marmalade on the outside. 

Leave the jars on a counter to cool to warm, then refrigerate (I don't fully/officially can them, so the fridge in lieu of the pantry is a safety step). 
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Meyer Lemon Marmalade

The first I knew of Meyer lemons was more than 20 years ago. My older sister, who was in college in California, would periodically send boxes of them to the rest of the family in Missouri. I don't remember what we did with them, but I do remember thinking them very different than basic lemons. Perhaps even exotic.
(Now she's in Virginia, where they admittedly don't have much in the way of citrus groves, and I'm in California.)

Meyer lemons are more subtle though distinct in flavor, with a more perfume-y quality (maybe a tad grassy) than the zingy Eureka variety we normally associate with lemony-ness.  The Meyer variety, a mandarin orange and lemon hybrid, is pretty common in California.  In addition to being less acidic, Meyer lemons are generally juicier, their skin is thinner, and the segments and juice are a deeper yellow.

I was staying at a very kind and helpful friend's a for few days while she was out of town. She has a Meyer lemon tree in the back that was practically dripping with lemons, as well as a full drawer of them in the fridge, and I was encouraged me to "make some yummy things."
So along with the requisite curd, a dinner main, and some baby cakes (those last two which I HOPE to photograph and post soon), I made a batch of marmalade.
There was some quiet Saturday time in front of me, it was drizzly, and I wasn't going to go on a long exploratory walk. 

But before I got started, I also did a bit of foraging in the yard for the herbs- so interestingly, much of what was used came from right there.

It's sweet, sour, and bitter... sunny, with a tinge of a resinous herbal flavor.
The herbs, of course, are not a requirement, though I would encourage the bundle of seeds because there's pectin in seeds, which obviously will help thicken (though technically lemons in general are high in pectin and would help thicken ANY batch of jam). It can get to the thickness of something more like membrillo.

One little tip: to facilitate *actual* thin slices of lemon, you may want to use a mandoline. 
Next time I make this, I may try adding more mandarin juice- 2/3 to 1 cup maybe.

With butter on toast for breakfast, or maybe something more dense like a bagel along with cream cheese, thinly spread onto a crêpe with a dollop of whipped cream- ditto with poundcake, or as part of a cheese board (to go along with a chèvre or a triple crème brie). Versatility.


Meyer Lemon Marmalade
(makes about 4 cups)

1 3/4 lb. (about 810 g) Meyer Lemons
juice of 2 mandarin oranges (about 1/3 c or 60 ml)
2 c (453 g) sugar
1 c (250 ml) water
1 sprig of lavender
1 sprig of rosemary

Place a small plate in the freezer.
Cut both ends from the the lemons, quarter them lengthwise, and slice thinly. When you get very close to the ends where slicing becomes difficult, if a bit pithy you can slice out the bit of inside and discard the skin and pith if you choose. Remove seeds from the lemons and set aside. Combine the sliced lemons (and any juice you get from cutting), mandarin juice, and water in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, and skimming any foam that rises to the top. Combine the lavender, rosemary, and about 1 T of the lemon seeds (visually about 1/2 of a ping-pong ball) in a few layers of cheesecloth and tie tightly. Set aside.
After the first 30 minutes of cooking the marmalade mixture, add the prepared cheesecloth bundle. Continue simmering, and occasionally stirring gently about 20-30 minutes more.
Test the thickness of the jam to see how it sets by placing a spoonful of the hot liquid marmalade onto the frozen plate. Let it cool a couple minutes, and then run a finger through it to see if the "divided" jam stays separated. If it flows back to cover the space you just cleared, it should cook longer (unless you prefer it a bit runny). If the jam looks like a good set consistency, spoon into hot, sterilized jars and cover with hot lids.
Let the jars cool a bit, then refrigerate.

Roasted Beet and Carrot Soup

I'd been meaning to get this post up for quite a while, more than a year, so finally... here it is.
During my (generally) bi-monthly Saturday walk to the farmers' market yesterday, I had hoped to find what I needed. I was in luck.

I'm grateful to have such a great place close enough to walk (or have a mini-trek). In addition to finding an organic booth of vegetables with all roots $2 per pound (yippee), I found some wonderful pears, blood oranges, and huge passion fruit (which I will be eating in my yogurt for breakfast).
I grabbed bleu cheese for the pears and crème fraîche for the soup from Cowgirl Creamery (!!!), and I was completely set.

The recipe is based on other beet soups, though this is rigged to my own preferences.
I think the ginger and lime are what really make it- bite and zing - and I think both need to be present.
Additionally, a bit of crème fraîche stirred into a bowl adds a nice creamy smoothness and a touch of nutty tang.
With all the roots, it's great for winter or spring- even though it's  a cold soup (it then follows that it also works as a summer starter).
Well... I serve it cold. But warm is an option.
Plus, it's an absolutely fantastic shade of magenta.
And other than the obvious visual, if you're not a beet person there's a good chance you might not even know there are beets by taste alone.

Of course, you can halve the recipe, but if you're serving fewer people I'd recommend making all of it and putting half aside in the freezer for someday down the line (it's like money in the bank).

(P.S. It's a vegetarian soup, but it becomes vegan without the crème fraîche.)


Roasted Beet and Carrot Soup
serves 8-10 as a starter

2 lbs. (a scant kilo) red beets
3/4 lb. (about 340 g) carrots
salt
freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup (60 ml) olive oil
10 cups (2.36 L) vegetable broth
8 sprigs of parsley
3-4 inches of ginger, divided into one 2 inch and one 1-2 inch portion
1 large yellow onion, diced
6 large cloves of garlic, minced

To serve:
lime wedges
crème fraîche or sour cream


Preheat the oven to 425 F (218 C).
Peel the beets and carrots and slice them into 1-2 inch pieces. Toss with about half the olive oil on a rimmed sheet pan and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Roast the vegetables until they're soft and browned a bit, flipping/stirring once or twice, about 40 minutes.

Meanwhile, pour the vegetable broth into a large pot. Peel the larger piece of ginger root with a spoon and slice it thinly. Place the sliced ginger in the broth along with the parsley.  Bring up to a boil, then reduce to a low simmer for 10 minutes. Turn off the heat, cover, and let the vegetable broth infuse.

While the vegetables are roasting and the stock is simmering, warm the rest of the olive oil in a pan over medium heat. Add the onion and sprinkle with a bit of salt.  Saute until softened and translucent, with a bit of caramelization. Add the garlic and warm through about minute, until you can smell it. Set the pan aside to wait for the vegetables in the oven to finish.

Finely grate the second piece of ginger and set aside.

When the vegetables are done, strain the parsley and ginger slices from the broth. Add the onion and garlic, as well as the roasted beets and carrots and the freshly grated ginger (if you're concerned about the amount, perhaps start with less and see what you prefer). Bring to a gentle simmer, and cook everything together about 10 minutes. 

Puree the soup in batches in a blender until smooth. After the soup is completely pureed, adjust the seasonings, adding salt and pepper to taste (or more ginger while it's still hot if you so desire).

Serve warm with crème fraîche and lime wedges, or chill several hours and serve cold (with the same accompaniments).