Though I’ve had less time for cooking than I’d like, I’ve found that life is grand even when it’s not centered around the stove. Especially at this time of year, and especially in Vermont.

It’s been a while, so I’ll go back a bit. Tunbridge, VT: September 17th.

Christopher and I saw some very sweet cows, and a few prize-winning vegetables.

He rode Air Force One, and felt like the king of the green mountains. I had to look away, because the sight of his whirling chair made my stomach turn. There were lots of onlookers. I licked a candy apple and stared at a grass patch.

The next day, (my birthday) I saw these beautiful berries at the farmer’s market. We ate them with Greek yogurt and clover honey. I felt like the queen.

When we visited the lake a bit later, it was quite cold. That didn’t stop my mother from swimming. This photo was taken on October 11. She is braver than I am, although I think of myself as being quite brave.

This takes us to October 11th. Can you believe?! She swam on October 11?

We had to re-stoke the fire, and we ate warm cider donuts with vanilla ice cream.

Then the trees really started to turn. It gets more beautiful, still. Just wait until next week! Life gets better and better.

I also feel compelled on Sunday nights to squirrel away food for the week ahead. I like roasted vegetables and quinoa or Israeli couscous with herbs, leftover black bean soup and anything with Parrano cheese. Towards the end of the week, I pack almond butter and banana sandwiches on cinnamon-raisen Ezekiel bread. But, because Christopher and I make a ritual of roasting a small bird on Sunday night, I often have chicken salad in my Monday lunchbox.

This may be my favorite chicken salad recipe of all time. That says a lot because chicken salad is one of the tastiest dishes imaginable. Anyone who doesn’t like chicken salad is either a vegetarian or a liar. I’ve heard tell that some folks don’t like mayo. I’m not in that camp, but I can understand why you might be turned off by a glistening, jiggly food that’s made of eggs but can last in the pantry for years if unopened. That’s why this recipe is wonderful: it uses a scant cup of plain yogurt, which offers just enough zest and moisture to enhance the taste and texture of chicken.

This recipe is just right in the fall: apples are back, and warm spices taste best in cooler weather. Strafford Organic Creamery sells organic yogurt—-and milk, and ice cream—-which I consume daily. I love yogurt. I am probably the only person in America who exceeds the recommended three cups of dairy a day: I’m above-quota now that we’re in Vermont and Strafford ice cream is in the freezer. {I recently had a conversation with a gentleman who said that he would have Strafford ice cream if he were about to face the electric chair. “That’s the strangest thing,” I replied. “I’ve thought the same.”}

In any event, this salad takes just a few minutes to prepare and is a perfect lunch–it leaves me feeling sated, but not groggy. Fresh apples, tart, chewy cranberries and crunchy toasted walnuts make it special. I owe this recipe to my friend Louisa, who made a version of it over a weekend in July and had me eating chicken salad for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Curried Chicken Salad with Apples, Dried Cranberries & Walnuts

Combine 8oz pulled chicken (I combine light and dark meat from a roast chicken) and 1 c plain yogurt in a bowl with 2 teaspoons of curry powder. Add a pinch of salt, and a dash of pepper. Mix in 1/2 c toasted walnuts, 1/2 c dried cranberries (or dried cherries) and 2 medium-sized, chopped apples. Season with additional curry, salt or pepper, as desired.

My friends Molly and Phil have a faux-Thanksgiving every year at their home in Houston. About a dozen of us gather for this potluck affair the weekend before that wonderful Thursday, and each of us brings a dish or two, perhaps more than that, depending on how inspired we feel. I’ve never hosted on Thanksgiving day, so it’s nice to feel like I can take part in the best meal of the year—even if it comes a few days early.

What I love about Thanksgiving is that even if the guest list changes and the potluck dishes are a little different, a variation on the same flavors always comes out: the salty taste of stock and celery in stuffing; the rich taste of gravy over turkey and smooth creamy potatoes; the tart, sweet bites of cranberry chutney coupled with some version of roasted, creamed or spiced vegetable.

Since the bird gets done on Molly’s end, us guests have the opportunity to focus on the side dishes that make the table so colorful. I make the same thing every year: cranberry chutney, jalapeño cornbread and creamed spinach. I love how a smear of tangy chutney can cut the richness of the meal, perking it up a bit, too. I love the taste of cheddar cheese baked into bread, and I think I’ll keep these spicy cornbread muffins even when we move away from Texas. Finally, creamed spinach is my ultimate favorite. I would eat that for breakfast, lunch and dinner if I could. The taste of caramelized onions deep inside and the slight hint of nutmeg in cream sauce make this dish totally unforgettable.

The chutney recipe comes from a family tradition, passed down from my Grandmother’s kitchen. She found it in one of those Pillsbury advertisements, an entire little booklet of recipes dedicated to promoting the brand. The little palimpsest is nearly 50 years old, covered with splashes and encrusted crumbs spanning the decades. (Watch me make this for Christmas, too…) The cornbread was a more recent discovery for me, and I’ve made several batches since coming to Houston. I love the combination of sweet, crispy corn meal with sharp cheddar and a little bit of jalapeño kick. The recipe I used this year (from my last ever Gourmet) calls for real corn kernels, which lent a welcome texture to the golden bread.

And finally, my favorite, creamed spinach. This recipe comes from none other than the goddess of easy, elegant recipes, Ina Garten. I’m sure there are some foodies out there who assume that because her recipes are so straightforward, they’re not heavy on the culinary clout. Well I’m here to tell you that this is absolute malarkey, and that anybody who doesn’t have her books is missing out. I’ve never had a bum recipe from the Barefoot Contessa—which is more than I can say about virtually any other source out there. This creamed spinach recipe—actually a spinach gratin—comes from her book Parties, and is a no-fail crowd pleaser.

So that, friends, would be my contribution if you invited me over for a communally cooked Thanksgiving meal. I love the stuffing, the potatoes, the turkey and all that, but this trio of dishes is my idea of sides at their most complimentary. All told, whipping these up can be done in less than 2 hours, leaving you plenty of time to bake a pie… or roast a turkey… or, depending on your responsibilities, take a pre-dinner nap.

Cranberry Chutney

½ c apricot preserves
½ c firmly packed brown sugar
¼ tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp ginger
¼ tsp cloves
12 oz bag of fresh cranberries (thawed if frozen)
2 medium pears, peeled and cubed
1 medium apple, peeled and cubed
½ c raisins
½ c coarsely chopped, toasted walnuts

Combine the preserves, sugar and spices in a medium saucepan.

Bring mixture to a boil and cook until sugar dissolves, stirring occasionally.

Add cranberries, pear, apple and raisins and cook over medium hear for 25 minutes, or until mixture is thick and cranberries have all popped. (Stir occasionally.)

Take chutney off the heat and stir in walnuts. Cool slightly and store in glass jars, up to 3 weeks.

Cheddar and Jalapeño Corn Muffins

Nonstick cooking spray
5 T unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 c cornmeal—preferably stone ground
1 t salt
1 t baking powder
½ t baking soda
¾ c corn (thawed if frozen)
1 ¼ c well-shaken buttermilk
1 large egg
1 ¾ c grated, sharp Cheddar, plus ¼ c for garnish
1 jalapeño, finely chopped, with seeds

Preheat oven to 425 degrees, with rack in the middle. Coat muffin cups with spray.

Whisk together cornmeal, salt, baking powder and baking soda in a large bowl.

Whisk together corn, jalapeño, buttermilk, egg and melted butter in another bowl, then stir into flour mixture until just combined. Add 1 ¾ c cheese.

Divide batter among muffin cups and sprinkle with remaining cheese. Bake until puffed and golden, about 20 minutes.

Creamed Spinach (or Spinach Gratin)

4 T unsalted butter
4 c chopped, yellow onion (2 large)
¼ c flour
¼ t grated nutmeg
1 c heavy cream
2 c whole milk
3 lb frozen spinach, defrosted and chopped (5 10oz bags)
1 c freshly grated Parmesan cheese (for simple creamed spinach, only ½ c is needed)
1 T kosher salt
½ t freshly ground black pepper
½ c grated Gruyere cheese (for gratin only)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
(Only if making gratin—you will not need the stove for creamed spinach.)

Melt butter in a heavy bottomed sauté pan over medium heat. Add onions and sauté until translucent, about 15 minutes.

Add the flour and nutmeg and stir constantly for another 2 minutes.

Add cream and milk and cook until thickened, about 10 minutes.

Extract as much liquid as possible from the spinach (I do this by cutting a hole in the side of the package and squeezing it over the sink) and add spinach to the sauce.

Add ½ c of the Parmesan cheese and mix well, seasoning with salt and pepper.

To make gratin: Transfer spinach to a baking dish and sprinkle the remaining ½ cup Parmesan and the Gruyere on top. Bake for 20 minutes until hot and bubbly.

It’s still in the upper 80s here in Houston and this is hardest time for me in Texas. July is tough, too, but at least then I know what to expect. I’ve been here for four falls now, but even if I stayed here forever, I’d always ache a bit in October. I’m thinking of what it’s like where I’m from. Right now, the geese fly, the air turns smoky and the red leaves pinwheel onto crackling grass. It will get cooler here in a month or two, but that happens fast. The leaves fall all at once, and the cold rain comes. I look forward to rubber boots and woolen sweaters, but I wish I could light a fire today and feel electrified by the air.

So I pretend. Last night I baked some butternut squash and apples with cinnamon, closed my eyes and imagined the sound of a distant gaggle honk. But the gentle hum of the AC kicked in and ended my reverie. No matter. I can still get McIntosh apples and beautiful golden squash, though not at the farmer’s market. That said, the local arugula is mighty fine, and the Houston honey was just right to dress it. The best part about this meal was that I had enough light to photograph it before it hit the table… back home, it was already dark.

Roasted Butternut Squash with Apples, Arugula and Honey Mustard Vinaigrette

Serves 4

(Please excuse the commentary…)

2 apples, sliced about ½” thick–I like McIntosh

2 c butternut squash, sliced about ½“

1 t cinnamon

4 c arugula

2 T olive oil, plus more for roasting vegetables

1 t mustard

2 t local honey

3 t apple cider vinegar

¼ c roasted nuts or pumpkin seeds

salt and pepper

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Toss squash in a bit of olive oil and place on baking sheet, leaving space between each slice. Sprinkle with salt and cinnamon.

(You may have to bake squash in batches: I prefer my squash slightly crisp, and if you load too many pieces onto a baking sheet at once, they steam.)

Roast at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes.

(I don’t pre-heat the oven when I’m roasting vegetables.)

Flip squash and add apples to the oven, sprinkling with cinnamon.

Roast an additional 15 minutes, checking squash occasionally.

(It can be hard to cut squash, so if your slices aren’t all the same size, some will roast faster than others. Check on the squash regularly and remove any cooked slices.)

In the meantime, place mustard, honey and vinegar in a small bowl and blend.

Whisk in olive oil until emulsified.

Just before serving, toss arugula with dressing.

Arrange squash and apples over salad, sprinkle with nuts and serve.

Anyway, it was an extraordinary day indeed, a little bit misty—at times downright wet—but full of fall colors and rooms with many happy friends. And despite how terrified I’d been of our dance, Christopher actually pulled it off gallantly, lifting and twisting me, train, veil and all. And then, when it was all finished, my husband and I flew to California and did what we most love, and what we hope to do for the rest of our lives: we hiked, we slept, we ate and we drank—lots and lots of wine.

The trip was planned around those things, really. We love to climb mountains (or at the very least large hills) and we haven’t been able to do much of that since moving to a place as flat as a slab of glass. Nor were we able to sleep much before the actually nuptials, or get as full or drunk as we pleased… well at least I couldn’t, with the prospect of a white gown both exciting me and weighing mightily on my conscience.

And then all of a sudden, in just one short day, all of those pressures were lifted and there were just the two of us, flying high, due West. We spent our first night of honeymooning in San Francisco, where we rented a very cheesy convertible and wound ourselves down CA 1 to Big Sur. A few days later, we wound ourselves back up to St. Helena—Napa’s more dignified cousin—where we stayed for a few days. Our last weekend was spent trudging up San Francisco hills again, and now here we are, back in Houston, nestled among many unopened boxes full of very nice things from very kind folks. Our kitchen will be a much grander place from now on.

In any event, the trip was primarily focused around food and drink: we ate at places too grand and wonderful to name, and we drank at as many vineyards as we could drive to without putting anybody at risk. A few places were real standouts though, especially those that sold bread or grew their own produce… dough and dirt really do have my heart.
Today, on this first day I’d like to pay homage to a little hipster haven called Tartine—600 Guerro St., San Francisco. Packed though it may have been with skinny jeans and canines-as-accessories, the apple tart we had was well worth the hour we waited to order. The fruit was sliced paper thin and laid over a crust that was expertly layered with crispy, sweet and soft dough, which cradled the slightly caramelized fruit. The sandwiches were something to marvel at as well: crunchy, thick crusts with soft, chewy centers, slightly crisped, heavily buttered and pressed generously with cheese. Best of all, we were given the letter “M” to identify our order… the first initial of my brand new name.

Oh, melancholy mealtime. Inevitably, one moment of every eating experience makes me sad, and it' s called THE END. I never want to stop. I spend the hours from sleep to waking dreaming about getting my teeth into breakfast. I prepare it with glee—even if it' s just a slice of toast and a cup of tea—and devour it, enraptured. I dread the final bite, the moment when I should push away from the table and get onto important things. A few minutes later I forget my troubles, awash with thoughts of lunch. I start planning my mid-day meal at about 8am and spend anywhere from four to five hours mulling over the upcoming thrill. Like all good things, it ends too quickly, and I' m left pondering a mid-afternoon snack, and the prospect of the biggest, most fulfilling gastronomical adventure of my day—dinner.

My recent musings have been largely affected by the weather: we' re pushing 100 degrees daily here in Houston, with 90 + percent humidity. Needless to say, it puts a damper on my desire for hot oatmeal or anything roasted in-house. But it hasn' t been all bad: the warmth inspired a delightfully easy cold cucumber and avocado soup, and recently prompted me to re-examine one of my favorite warm-weather dishes: slaw.

I first discovered the versatility of slaw about five years ago and have been playing with it since. I generally stay away from infusing my own with heaps of mayonnaise, although I do enjoy a good deli-made slaw from time to time. Slaw is something I believe should be eaten in great quantities. I can easily make a batch and polish it off on my own within a couple of days. That is what I like most about slaw: it is the kind of thing you don' t have to stop eating—especially when it is dressed in something elegant, unlike the typical unctuous gloss of mayo.

The slaw I stumbled upon most recently is truly exceptional, and I will probably keep a refrigerator stocked full until the heat abates. That way I can eat until my jaw tires of crunching and chewing, keeping cool all the while.

Please remember to play with this recipe as you see fit—adjusting the citrus, sugar or cream to suit your fancy. You might also whip some goat cheese to the dressing to make it a bit richer. It would go nicely with the toasted walnuts and apples. Or try adding a handful of dried currants or cherries.

Crunchy Slaw with Ginger and Apples

For dressing:

½ c olive oil
¼ c agave nectar or honey
¼ c heavy cream
juice of 1-2 lemons
¼ c apple cider vinegar
S & P to taste

For slaw:

1 finely shredded green cabbage
1 grated ginger root (use as much or as little as you like)
2 crisp, red apples
1 c toasted walnuts, chopped
½ c dried currants (optional)

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Mix apple cider vinegar, agave and lemon juice. Whisk in olive oil and cream. Set aside.

In the meantime, toss grated ginger and cabbage together in a large bowl. Grate apples over the bowl and toss with dressing. Add walnuts and dried fruit and toss a final time before serving.

Eat, eat, eat until you can' t eat no more.

The recipe I used came from Edible Nutmeg. The apples were from a neighbor' s orchard and were very tart Macintoshes. I worried that they would be too acidic for the cobbler, but they turned out perfectly—aided by a few extra spoonfuls of raw sugar.

Which reminds me: I started the process presuming that my parents would have both brown and white sugar in their pantry. No such luck. I had to use a big jar of raw sugar in lieu of each. It was so good that I will probably use raw sugar again when next I make this crust. The crust itself was tremendous and I will absolutely use it when I make the same tart with blackberries next weekend.

The recipe is actually for a blackberry cobbler, from Dawn Bruckner at La Belle Aurore in Niantic, CT: www.labellaurorebistro.com
4-5 c fruit (apples or blackberries, or a mix of any!), cut, peeled, picked over and rinsed (I peeled, cored and cut each apples into 1 inch half moons.) * 2 tbsp fresh lemon juice * 1/3 c sugar (raw works great) * 2/3 c flour * ¾ c brown sugar (again, I recommend raw) * ½ c old-fashioned rolled oats * 1 tsp cinnamon * ½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg * 6 tbsp cold butter, cut into bits * ¾ c coarsely chopped pecans, walnuts or almonds.

In a 9 x 13 ( 3 Q) baking dish, toss fruit with lemon juice and 1/3 c sugar. In another bowl, mix all the dry ingredients. Using your fingers, pastry blender or two forks, incorporate butter until mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in nuts. Sprinkle evenly over the fruit. (I also sprinkled more cinnamon, nutmeg and raw sugar on top for added sweetness, flavor and garnish.) Bake at 350 for about 40 minutes or until done and the top is golden. Serve warm, late at night with vanilla ice cream.

Every bite I take of this loaf makes my taste buds jump for joy. This gingerbread is dense, spicy and has chunks of crystallized ginger that feel like angels dancing on my tongue. The apple and banana used to emulsify and sweeten make the center of this cake-ish bread dewy and smooth.
A few days ago I found myself pondering another version of the great zucchini bread experiment, a task that left me feeling confident in the possibilities of baking without white flour, sugar or oil. I began to think of what wonderful combinations to mix into my steadfast and wholesome batter. I ventured that the consistency of apples and zucchini, once drained of juices and baked, would be rather the same. I like baked apples.

So I grated up 3 peeled Braeburns in place of the zucchini. Earlier that day I' d read a virtually impossible gingersnap recipe in Martha Stewart Living. Since the directions were inconceivable for anyone sans a sous-chef, I opted to copy her flavor choices while forgoing her instructions.

[ASIDE: Martha, if you are reading this, please soften the tone of your writing. When you say to your readership, “After mastering scrambled eggs, roast chicken, and mashed potatoes, many a young homemaker [in the 1950s] set her sights on the dessert as an extraordinarily easy yet seemingly extravagant means to impress guests—and a surefire way to a man' s heart.”It is really quite belittling. Not only because I have recently mastered those arts, but also because the recipes you provide for these so called “extraordinarily easy”concoctions are often five pages long, involving unidentifiable tools, techniques and ingredients.]

What really sealed the deal on my ginger bread was the little sack of crystallized ginger I had crouching in my cupboard, waiting to pack a spicy punch. There was also an ounce or so of the fresh variety sitting on my windowsill. In addition, I had a bag of unsweetened dried apples and cranberries, plus a couple of winking lemons who have been trying to seduce me into using them for something. (Too often I forget my lemons and they shrivel in bitter disappointment on the fruit rack.) There was definitely a baking party just waiting to get started in my cake pan.
Here' s how it went:

*1c spelt flour, plus ½ c soy flour* 1 tsp baking soda* 1 tsp baking powder* ½ tsp cinnamon, ½ tsp ground ginger all whisked.* In a separate bowl, 2 large eggs (pre-beaten)* 1 medium banana, mashed with my hands (which equaled ½ c)* 1 tsp. vanilla* ½ c unsweetened apple sauce plus ¼ c local honey* ½ tsp salt mixed thoroughly together. Also, 2c grated apple (juice squeezed out); ½ c chopped, crystallized ginger* 1 tbsp grated fresh ginger* 2 tbsp lemon juice, 2 tsp lemon zest, and ¾ c dried apple / cranberry all mixed together * Mix wet and dry ingredients, then add the fruit, ginger, lemon and dried fruit combination with a few quick strokes.* Greased pan, at 350 degrees approx. 35 minutes—give or take.

This bread pairs very well with lapsang souchong tea in the morning, and goes nicely with vanilla yogurt as a snack. It complements everything, actually… even grapefruit. Only one thin slice remains and tomorrow, this gingerbread will seem like a fleeting dream.