I met the pair just before Christmas, when the weather was beginning to nip a bit. They came to Houston for an event that Recipe for Success was holding at a new restaurant called Canopy. The chef cooked recipes inspired by their book “In Late Winter We Ate Pears,” a chronicle of falling in love while following a hunger trail. I didn’t eat the food that night because I was helping to the event run smoothly, but I did sneak into the back, buy the cookbook, head home, and drink almost an entire bottle of wine while losing myself in a Mediterranean love affair.

I finished the book the next day and even managed to meet Caleb and Deidre for a drink at Anvil, a favorite bar that serves esoteric, antique cocktails, which—as it so happens—are one of Deidre’s specialties. The two-day whirlwind of book reading and author-meeting gave me a very clear sense of fate: Deidre and Caleb own one of the restaurants where Christopher and I flirted over pizza during weekends when we escaped the quiet Dartmouth campus and went to the (even quieter) town of Woodstock. Their restaurant, Osteria Pane e Salute is in the center of Woodstock—just a short walk from the church where we got married in October. Christopher and I spoke to Deidre about wine years ago while eating at the counter, though at the time I had no idea that cooking and growing food would become such serious habits of mine.

And then she reappeared, full of uncanny ties to my life. I first met she and Caleb amid sawdust and cherry pickers as restaurant workers tried desperately to get Canopy ready for the event that evening. Connections to food and gardening were unearthed, and I invited them to join me in the classroom that afternoon, where my co-teacher and I would be making pizza, pesto and tomato sauce with our students. After observing the garden and the classroom kitchen, Deidre spent some time deconstructing a recipe with a rather pouty 3rd grader while Caleb showed a group of 5th graders how to make the perfect dough: not too sticky, not too dry.

Later that night they disappeared into the bright lights of Canopy, while I snuck out through a dark back door after the last guests were seated. Don’t get me wrong: it exactly what I wanted to do. Somehow I knew that the book they’d written would make my own path clearer. I learned about their vineyard; their greenhouses; their own raised beds. I learned that they don’t grow certain things so that they can feature the produce of other local Vermont farmers. They keep Woodstock and its visitors warm and welcome year round—except when they head back to their own gastronomic homeland when winter becomes impossibly bleak.

There is a card on my desk that I bought for them at Christmastime that I keep meaning to send to commemorate our evening of retro drinks and everything that they have inspired me to remember. But I keep forgetting to send it. I’ve written more than one, in fact, since the Christmas card quickly became untimely. Instead of reaching out, I reach in: I’ve made almost a dozen recipes from their book and I dream of myself learning someday at their oven. I keep my fingers crossed that Christopher will go back to Dartmouth for business school, so that I can sneak away to Woodstock once again—going somewhere new and familiar all at the same time.

Which brings me back to tomato sauce. I always have a Ball jar full, waiting to be spread over all sorts of things in addition to pizza dough. I spoon it over baked yams, set it beside grilled fish or just dab some onto warm, buttered bread. Caleb and Deirdre have a wonderful recipe for wintertime pizza sauce, which I beef up with onions and serve as a full-blown tomato sauce perfect for pasta or as a thicker spread on pizza. It’s just right when you want something savory and “blessedly simple,” as Caleb describes. The sauce reminds me of the tastes of childhood, yet brings into relief all the delicious details of being an adult: the pleasure of watching garlic go gold; the glow of home-grown herbs on the countertop and the pride that comes from making something so good that people eat it straight from the jar, with a spoon.

Tomato Sauce

Inspired by “In Late Winter We Ate Pears”

1 15 oz can of crushed, concentrated plum tomatoes
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
3 T tomato paste
1 T red wine vinegar
1 bunch fresh Oregano, chopped or 1 T dried
2 pinches crushed red pepper flakes
¼ c olive oil + 2 T
s & p to taste

In a medium sized sauce pan, sauté onion in 2 T olive oil until golden—about 6 minutes.

Add garlic and sauté until light brown—about 3 minutes.

Meanwhile, mix remaining ingredients together in a separate bowl.

When onion and garlic are ready, add tomato mixture and allow liquid to bubble.

Lower the heat and cook until sauce has reduced somewhat—or thin it out with 1 c water and use for pizza sauce.

It started, as with all great holiday seasons, on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Giving myself over to a solid month and a half of revelry was not even a question and I smiled from ear to ear at the sound of that first POP. This year, I drank my weight in champagne. I can’t seem to get enough of the stuff, a predilection that was born about a year ago, when boxes of congratulatory bottles started rolling our way. Worried that our house would be buried in booze before the wedding even arrived, Christopher and I began slugging back the bubbly, a drink I had formerly considered outré on any night other than December 31. Well 2009 really was a year of changes. And I rang it out just as I’d rung it in: with a very effervescent belly.

New Year’s Day ended on a high, if slightly indulgent note, punctuated by my ordering (with embarrassing gusto) “S’mortinis!” Let me just tell you, the S’mortini is a toxic way to end an evening—or start a year for that matter. Cream, chocolate liquour, vodka and a Godiva swizzle stick are topped with toasted marshmallows floating about… not exactly health—or dignity—in a glass.

Saturday marked my final indulgence: all-I-could-eat General Tso’s and dumplings finished off with dozens of chocolates, Dots and Tootsie Roll Pops that had been smashed out of a piñata. Our friend James, in town from New York, had a craving to visit his boyhood again and we obliged by hanging a rainbow donkey in the threshold. We stuffed it greatly with candy—some of which I pilfered through a hole in the Ass. After the ceremonial smashing, the floor was littered with candy wrappers, the confetti falling mostly at my feet.

Well, one massive, pickled belly-aching body later, there I was, standing at the grocery store on Sunday morning, deciding that all of those January health nuts have something right after all… at least for a month or so. So here I am, grinning in a whole new way, two day deep in soup. I’ve had at least 8 cups by now. The stuff is better than any swill I swallowed from November to January 5.

Believe it or not, I’ve already finished the batch. I made it just two days ago and have been the only one to touch the stuff, yet merely a single bowl remains. If my skin turns orange, I shall wear it proudly as an all-body badge of righteousness and good health.

Cleansing aside, this is a delicious soup: it is entirely vegetarian, but could easily be supplemented with some pork salt or Parmesan. It is a thick, sage-y brew, full of bright spots of tomato and smooth Cannelini beans. I had it for dinner last night with some salmon and wished I’d invited someone over to share in my merriment.

Butternut Squash and Sage Soup

Adapted from Gourmet

Serves 6

1 large butternut squash, cut into ½” cubes
1 clove of garlic, minced
1-2 T sage, chopped (or to taste)
1 medium onion, diced
1 15 oz can of Cannellini beans
1 small can of whole tomatoes, chopped
1 Qt vegetable (or chicken) broth
2 T olive oil
S & P
Toasted pumpkin seeds (for garnish)
Parmesan (for garnish)

Heat olive oil in a large, heavy bottomed soup pot.

Add onion and cook over medium until translucent, about 10 to 15 minutes.

Add garlic and cook until slightly brown, about 4 minutes.

Deglaze pot with tomato juice from can then add squash, sage, tomatoes and broth.

Bring soup to a boil then turn down heat and simmer for thirty minutes or until squash is soft and broth has reduced somewhat.

To thicken soup, smash cubes of squash against the sides of the pot.

At this point soup can be refrigerated for up to 3 days. Reheat soup and add beans about 15 minutes before serving.

Garnish with sage and, toasted pumpkin seeds or Parmesan.

Before things get too quaint, I have to confess: sometimes my house makes me crazy. Lupe has a knack for finding our dirtiest clothes—mostly socks and some other unmentionables—and dragging them with her around the living room while we’re gone. Her habit is part retaliatory, part intoxication. I imagine the little dog shaking my socks in her jowls, inhaling the scent of my toes and cursing me for going away again.

She also rips up mail and leaves a confetti trail of bills from the mail slot, across the dining room and through the kitchen. The number of socks and papers she shreds is invariably proportional to the amount of time she is left at home without us. On the rare occasion that I can’t get back for a few extra hours, I hold my breath at the threshold and pray she hasn’t found the wedding photos.

Well, on Saturday we got distracted by Christmas shopping and pub-crawling and when we came back, the living room was riddled with hazmats. Nothing like a hole in my favorite woolen socks, tiny pieces of The Weekend Journal and shards of a recyclable plastic to make me adore coming home again. Especially when guests are set to arrive in less than 2 hours.

In my world, cleaning up is no small feat. Once it starts, it tends to go until the bitter end—I’m talking bags set aside for Goodwill; a closet arranged by hue and alphabetized bookshelves. I can’t let myself get to tidying too often. Instead I devise ruses to keep my mania at bay—in this case, it came in the form of a savory crostata.

Christopher and our dear friend Peter (who came all the way from New York to pick up Lupe’s pieces) helped clear the wreckage while I got to the kneading and freezing. I always forget how many times a cook has to cool pate brisee, but in the end it’s always worth the process. Plus the half an hour bouts when my dough ball rested in the fridge gave me perfect—and controlled—spurts at organizing before our guests arrived.

By the time the crostata was ready to bake, the house was positively shining. Candles were lit, the tree blinked its silvery lights, and champagne bubbles gave a serious lift to my spirits. But of all the fun we had, charades included, nothing made me happier than eating winter foods with my favorite folks—except of course, falling asleep with everyone on the couch with the hope of a snow cover in the morning… and leftover crostata topped with fried egg for breakfast.

Caramelized Onion and Goat Cheese Crostata

Serves 4 as a side dish

NOTE: This can be assembled ahead of time and baked off just before dinner.

Pate Brisee (see below)
2 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp balsamic vinegar
2 medium, white onions—or one large, sliced thin
1 c cherry tomatoes or ½ c sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil
½ c goat cheese at room temperature
¼ c shaved Pecorino or Parmesan
Sprig of parsley for garnish
1 egg, beaten
S & P to taste

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Melt butter in heavy bottomed skillet then add onions.

Cook on low heat, stirring regularly for about 30 minutes or until onions are tender and amber in color. Salt and taste towards the end. (If you prefer your onions very sweet, you can add a ¼ tsp brown sugar to help them along.)

In the meantime, put olive oil and balsamic vinegar in another heavy bottomed skillet over medium heat, adding tomatoes when warm.

Allow tomatoes to wilt and caramelize in the pan, stirring them occasionally for about fifteen minutes.  When they are fully deflated and the skins are peeling, turn off the heat.

(If you are using sundried tomatoes, simply warm them in a bit of vinegar.)

When tomatoes and onions are ready, remove pate brisee from refrigerator and roll out crostata until it is about 12” in diameter, lightly flouring the board and rolling pin. Don’t worry if it is not perfectly round—the edges will be folded to give it a ‘rustic’ look anyhow.

With the back of a spoon, spread the softened goat cheese along the dough, leaving about an inch and a half naked around the perimeter—this will be folded into a crust.

Spread caramelized onions evenly over the cheese, then place tomatoes on top. Sprinkle shaved Pecorino or Parmesan over the top and garnish with parsley.

Fold the edges of the dough over, creating a crust around the perimeter of the crostata.

Brush with egg wash and bake for 30 minutes.

Pate Brisee

(Double this recipe if you are making a pie)

1 ¼ c all purpose flour—use high quality stuff here. I like King Arthur.
¼ tsp salt
2 ½ tbsp sugar
6 tbsp (¾ stick) cold, unsalted butter cut into ½ inch pieces
¼ c ice water (you may not use it all)

In a food processor, stand mixer or with a vigorous fork, mix flour, salt and sugar.

Add the butter and pulse until mixture resembles small pearls.

Add the water, pulsing intermittently until the dough comes together. (You may have to add more water as you go to get the dough to form a smooth ball.)

Pat the dough into a disk, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to 1/8” thick.

Transfer it to a Silpat or parchment paper-lined baking sheet and refrigerate for 30 more minutes.

This soup is nothing to mess with. It is loaded with vitamins, antioxidants, immune-enhancers and most importantly, tons of flavor. If I were a germ, I’d scoot right out of my host body and prey upon someone else. So make sure your friends have batches on hand.

This particular carrot ginger soup came to me from the pages of Candle Café Cookbook, one of my favorite vegetarian cooking resources from one of my favorite vegetarian eating resources, the Candle Café in New York. I used to live around the corner and went there whenever I felt the urged to be elixed.

Have you ever felt so energized by a meal that it literally feels as though all of the nutrition you just ate went straight into your bloodstream? That is how I feel when I eat a great, vegetarian meal. That is how I feel when I eat at Candle Café… and now, that I how I feel when I make their recipes at home.

Imagine my excitement when I found that I could buy the Candle Café cookbook and get that fix whenever I pleased? Elated, that’s how… as though some wonderful adrenal force was coursing through my veins. Some people take drugs; I take carrot soup.

I could go on and on about the recipes in that cookbook. Unlike so many restaurants, which seem to have trouble paring their industrial sized recipes down to the scale of a domestic kitchen, the folks at Candle Café make it possible for you to actually recreate their meals. Hold on, I feel a rush coming on.

I garnished this soup with another recipe (adapted slightly) from the book—a miso tahini dipping sauce with shaved carrots and ginger. It balanced the sweetness of the carrot puree with its rich, salty sesame flavor. I added a cold dollop of it onto the warm soup, and I must say, the temperature contrast was really dynamic and heightened the complementary flavors. If you don’t want to get sick, but you do want to get high… make this soup.

Velvety Carrot and Ginger Soup

From Candle Café Cookbook

Serves 4-6

1 Tbsp olive oil
3 medium onions, peeled and chopped
5 cups of vegetable broth
6 large carrots, peeled and chopped
3 tablespoons finely grated fresh ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground coriander
pinch of cayenne
sea sat and freshly ground pepper, to taste

In a large, heavy bottomed stockpot, heat olive oil. Add onions and sauté for about 7 minutes, or until golden.

Add the broth, a cup of water, the carrots and 2 tbsp of ginger. Bring to a boil then reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, for about 20 minutes, or until carrots are tender.

Remove pot from heat and cool for about an hour (if you don’t have an hour, be sure to pure the soup in small batches to prevent heat-related blender accidents…)

Pure the soup in a food processor or blender. Add the remaining ginger, cinnamon and coriander and blend again until very smooth. Serve warm or cold with a dollop of miso tahini dipping sauce and chopped scallions or chives.

Miso Tahini Dipping Sauce

1 c sweet, white miso
1 c water
1 c grated carrot
1 tbsp grated fresh ginger
3 tbsp tahini

Pure miso and water in a blender or food processor. Whisk in tahini until incorporated. Mix in carrots and ginger. Store refrigerated up to 1 week.

Caramelized Onions:

Heat in a large skillet over medium-high heat until melted: 2 tablespoons of butter and 2 tablespoons of olive oil. * Add 3 pounds of yellow or white onions, thinly sliced. * Sprinkle with 1 teaspoon salt. * Stir constantly 15 minutes. * Reduce heat and continue cooking, stirring occasionally until onions are soft and brown, about 40 minutes. * If residue builds up in the pan, add ½ c dry white wine. * Stir and scrape brown bits. They will mix into the onions and make them richer and darker. * Season with salt and black pepper and grated parmesan.

Mushroom Ragout:

On low heat soak 1 oz dried mushrooms in small, covered saucepan in about 2 c of water. * Heat 1 tbsp olive oil in large saucepan over medium / high heat. * Add and cook one finely chopped onion, stirring until golden (6 minutes). * Remove the onion and set aside. Heat 1 tbsp olive oil in the same pan. * Add 1 pound of fresh mushrooms thickly sliced and cook until they release their juices. * Add back the onion along with 2 cloves of finely chopped garlic and 1 teaspoon fresh rosemary (or ¼ teaspoon dried rosemary). Cook until the mushrooms begin to brown, another 3-4 minutes. * Add 1 tbsp tomato paste and stir in, cooking another 2 minutes. * Add strained broth from your mushrooms. * Clean and chop dried mushrooms (removing any sand) and add to saucepan. * Reduce heat and gradually stir in another tablespoon of oil if desired. * Add 1 ½ teaspoons balsamic vinegar. * Garnish with shaved parmesan and chopped parsley.

You' ll find both of these recipes in The Joy of Cooking, though I adapted somewhat to use less butter. I also used mushroom juice instead of chicken or vegetable stock in the ragout, which I think gave it a richer flavor. Either way, these were both great next to and on top of a grilled steak. If you like your meat with starch, a baked potato would also be a perfect vehicle for either of these toppings.