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.

Sometimes the only ambition you need is a heap of browning bananas.

Both Christopher and I recently both bought bunches, and the next thing I knew, our kitchen was overcome with the smell of very ripe fruit. I came home one afternoon and realized I had to put away (or put up) five bananas before the morning, or I might not get any at all. Another neglected foodstuff came quickly to mind. And so breakfast for the week was born.

And then breakfast for another week. And snacks. I made my latest batch into muffins, so they could be toted around or easily frozen. I haven’t had to save any yet, though. I think I’ll probably just make a batch of muffins every Sunday, and finish them off by Friday. Aside for the time this loaf is in the oven, it takes longer to wash the two bowls than to use them for mixing. And there’s not a single, regrettable item in the batter.  Unless you don’t like bananas or buckwheat.

Buckwheat Banana Bread

Makes 8 slices or 12 muffins

1/2 cup buckwheat flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup oats (toast lightly in a dry skillet until golden)
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 c toasted, chopped walnuts or pecans (plus extra for garnish) 
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 c birch sugar (or 1 c regular sugar)
5 ripe bananas, 4 mashed + 1 sliced for garnish
2 large eggs, whisked
1 c plain yogurt

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Pre-heat the oven to 350.

Mix the flours, oats, salt and spices in a medium-sized bowl.

Mix the mashed banana, sugar and yogurt in a large bowl.

Add the flour to the wet ingredients and stir gently to combine.

Pour the batter into a greased and floured bread pan.

Garnish with sliced bananas and nuts, and bake for 35-45 minutes.

(If you do these as muffins, bake only 20-25 minutes.)

Thank you, citrus, for gleaming through these gray winter months. I’ve got an appointment to have my teeth cleaned soon, and I’m sure my dentist will admonish me for my very much eroded enamel, but what can I say? A grapefruit a day keeps the blues away. It certainly has for me. Scurvy will wreak no havoc on this body—I’ve eaten at least two citrus fruits each day since Christmas, without fail. And when I’m working my way through a box of Clementines, that number jumps to at least four.

I love the way my hands smell after a meal punctuated by citrus: I feel instantly awake, clean, refreshed. Mostly I eat it plain, peeled and pulled apart, segment by segment. But sometimes, when I’m in the mood to light candles, buy flowers and treat myself right, I’ll prepare myself a proper platter, presented with care and perhaps a few herbs.

This dish was inspired once again by Mark Bittman, who I am coming to like, more and more, despite the absence of a carrot cake recipe in his tome, “How to Cook EVERYTHING.” (I’m sorry Mark, but a carrot cake is definitely SOMETHING. Note to self: Never write a cookbook that sets such high expectations.)  He wrote about a citrus salad a few weeks ago in the Times, and I thought it was a nice idea: a good start to a lunch that might include some fine Greek yogurt drizzled with honey and cinnamon—which is often how I take my grapefruit, actually. It also makes a fine dessert, finished with a hunk of gingered dark chocolate. But then again, doesn’t everything end well with gingered dark chocolate?

On a recent Saturday afternoon after the farmer’s market, I decided to try my own rendition of Bittman’s sweet salad, putting to use some beautiful Texas-grown grapefruits and oranges. I had dill lying about and some walnuts and honey, so I candied the nuts and sprinkled some fine sprigs across the top of the sliced salad for garnish. A bit of green really adds to the look and the sweet, salty crunch of the walnuts is well worth the effort it takes to dress them up a little.

There is something to be said for eating with the eyes: other than the occasional grapefruit and avocado salad, I’ve rarely taken the time ‘present’ a grapefruit to myself, but oh did its careful slices look lovely when pricked with the tines of a silver fork. The little ritual made my Saturday afternoon something special: farm-to-table at its prettiest and most diginified. Get it while winter lasts…

Citrus Salad with Candied Walnuts and Dill

Serves 1

1 grapefruit
1 orange (try this with clementines, blood oranges or tangerines, also)
¼ c chopped walnuts (hazelnuts could be good…)
2 T honey, divided
2 T olive oil, divided
1 t white or red wine vinegar
½ tsp salt
dill for garnish (mint would work well also)

Prepare the dressing:

Mix honey and vinegar in a small bowl. Whisk in olive oil in a slow stream, until emulsified. Set aside.

Prepare the walnuts:

Place 1 T olive oil and 1 T honey in a sauté pan until hot.

Add walnuts and stir to coat.

Cook until brown, (this happens quickly) then remove from heat and set aside.

Prepare the salad:

Gently slice the rinds from the citrus fruits, and carefully slice into ¼” segments.

Arrange on a plate and drizzle with dressing.

Sprinkle with herbs and nuts and serve immediately.

This recipe is the one I make when I need to make an impression. Since carrot cake seems relatively innocuous, nobody thinks you’re being a show-off. Plus, it’s so easy, you literally can’t ruin it. I’ll explain…

I once made this cake for a faux-Thanksgiving and accidentally used flour in lieu of half of the confectioner’s sugar called for in the recipe, (never mix-up your Mason jars) but even so, people ate it up. Not just to be polite, although I think it went down a little easier since so much wine had been imbibed.

Another time, I made this for a real Thanksgiving dinner at my in-laws house. Needless to say, I neglected to flour the greased pan, and ended up removing the cake in chunks. Even so, it was incredible: nothing like a thick cream cheese frosting to layer into your dough and glue things right up.

What I’m saying is that this cake simply can’t be ruined, even if you commit the most egregious of cooking errors. And when you do it right, it’s mind-blowing.

I recently had a Sunday afternoon to spend with my friend Katelyn, and we decided to make this in a more diminutive form–the kind that’s easily shared and wins you lots of friends and fans. Every crumb of our cupcakes seemed suspended in air, or perhaps a lattice-work of carrot and coconut shreds. There was the occasional walnut to add texture and the slight tartness of the cream cheese did wonders for off-setting the sweetness of the caramelized batter.

The recipe below is copied almost exactly from Saveur, although I like to add 1/4 c of maple syrup to the batter and sprinkle toasted coconut on top of the finished product (usually 1/2 cup will do). When I do this as a full-sized cake, I bake 2 rounds, double the frosting and make a layer cake with walnuts along the sides and coconut on top.

Carrot Cake (Cupcakes)

Makes 24

BATTER:

Nonstick cooking spray
2 cups sugar
1 1⁄2 cups canola oil
3 eggs
2 cups flour
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. fine salt
1  8-oz. can crushed pineapple, undrained
1  7-oz. bag shredded sweetened coconut
1 cup finely chopped walnuts
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 large carrots, trimmed and finely shredded (about 2 cups)

ICING:

3 cups confectioners’ sugar
3⁄4 lb. cream cheese, softened
8 tbsp. salted butter, softened
1⁄2 tsp. vanilla extract

CAKE: Preheat oven to 350°.

Fill 12 cupcake tins with liners. (You’ll do this twice.)

Put sugar, oil, and eggs into a large bowl and whisk until well combined.

Add flour, cinnamon, baking soda, and salt and stir with a wooden spoon until just mixed together into a batter.

Add pineapple with juice, coconut, walnuts, vanilla, and carrots and gently fold together until combined.

Transfer batter to prepared pan, smooth top with a rubber spatula, and bake until deep golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean, 50–55 minutes. Set cake aside to let cool completely.

ICING: Put sugar, cream cheese, butter, and vanilla into a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer until fluffy, 4–5 minutes.

Generously frost each cupcake (once cooled) and sprinkle the top with toasted coconut.

Chocolate Chip Cookies with Nuts and Oats

• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup butter, (2 sticks) softened
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 large egg
• 2 c semi-sweet chocolate chips or chunks
• 1 cup chopped walnuts
• 1/2 c raw oats

___

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Combine flour, baking soda and salt in small bowl.

Beat butter, sugars and vanilla extract in large bowl until creamy.

Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Gently add flour mixture, stirring until just combined.

Fold in chocolate, nuts and oats.

Drop by rounded tablespoon onto ungreased baking sheets, pressing each ball flat for a crispier cookie.

BAKE for 9 to 11 minutes or until golden brown. Cool on baking sheets for 2 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely.

There were always sounds, inside and out. Either the floorboards creaked and settled, or the wind moved through the trees and made their branches scratch together like eerie, quiet chimes. The house is inhabited by at least one ghost, though some report that there are several. Barefoot Charlie is there for sure. He owned the house just before my grandmother bought it and died without shoes, apparently. I saw him a few times when I was young, but he stopped appearing as I got older. He never makes any sounds.

Dayspring is the kind of place where an alert ear triggers an even more sensitive imagination and can keep a person up until daylight. As a kid, I often lost sleep when the pitches of the house carried me through unexpected pathways of my own invention. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alive than on the nights when every shadow and every sound was endowed with its own spirit.

When we were young, my parents took Lily and me out to a nearby graveyard on autumn evenings leading up to Halloween. We sat on blankets surrounded by graves, some dating to the 17th century. My father invented stories about their inhabitants, his face lit strangely by a kerosene lamp. Those weekend nights were the most fun a kid could have, second only to their crowning event. To this day, Halloween is the only time of year I feel justified in stuffing myself with pure sugar. Tonight, it’s fudge.

Happy Halloween.

Dark Chocolate Fudge with Walnuts

Makes 12 pieces

2 c Semi-sweet chocolate chips

2oz unsweetened chocolate, chopped

140z of sweetened, condensed milk

2 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

1 c walnuts, toasted and chopped

__

Line an 8″ pan with waxed paper.

Place chocolate and condensed milk in a double boiler and stir until melted.

Remove from heat, stir in vanilla extract, and then walnuts.

Spread fudge into pan and refrigerate at least 2 hours.

Store, uncovered at room temperature.

I’ve spent too many years in the adolescent doldrums, where caring for myself was an afterthought, or worse, an admission of weakness. Not only did I regularly ignore feeling sick, I regularly made myself sick. My body was a thing to be used and worn-down—not a thing to be loved.

When I was little, my grandmother gave me chicken soup and grapefruits with brown sugar and honey-lemon cough drops whenever I was sick. My mother rubbed my tummy and sang me lullabies. And I started, bit by bit to remember that, when I felt too tired to walk out the door last weekend. I decided it was time to do right by me: so I bought lots of citrus, cooked up some soup and stuffed my pockets with Halls.

I wouldn’t have strayed from grandma’s triumvirate, except that by the third day of my cold, I was bored out of my mind and my soup supplies were low. I wanted something sweet, salty, filling and warm all at once—a manna served to me in a single, beautiful bowl. But all I seemed to have was a carton of crusty white rice and a half a gallon of soy milk. It turned out to be the best combination of limiting factors I could have asked for.

After the rice had reconstituted into a soft, gentle pudding, I sprinkled it with spices, doused it in honey and threw in some nuts for texture. I set the table with my wedding china and a silver spoon, lit some candles and got well again.

Maybe it was the fact that I ate nearly 3 cups of warm, milky rice in a single sitting. Maybe it was the fact that I put myself to sleep by rubbing my bulbous tummy and humming Tchaikovsky’s Peter and the Wolf. Or maybe it was the thought I had of the women who have cared for me, and the happy thought that I can be one of them. Either way, this bowl of rice was a way home.

Rice Pudding with Honey and Spices

Makes 4 servings

2 c cooked white rice

4 c soy milk (or cow’s milk, if you prefer)

1 T butter (optional)

½ c honey

1 t cinnamon (plus more for garnish)

½ t cardamom (plus more for garnish)

½ t salt

½ c raisins

½ c chopped walnuts

__

Place rice and milk in a saucepan and bring to a boil.

Decrease the heat and simmer about 10 to 15 minutes, until mixture thickens.

Add honey, spices (and butter) and stir to combine then turn off the heat.

Add raisins and continue stirring for a few minutes, until raisins plump.

Sprinkle with walnuts and additional spices just before serving.

I love gallettes for their versatility: it takes so little to make one delicious, and visual imperfections are their best attribute. Virtually any fruit will do, although with apples and pears one tends to opt for the straighter edge of a tartine. Still, I think this fall I may rebel and continue with my nut-encrusted, odd-shaped pastries. I feel most comfortable around the nutty and odd.

Figs would be great here, especially since the combination of figs and nuts is so unparalleled. Next time, I might use hazelnuts and drizzle the top with honey… or maybe I’ll dab fresh marscarpone into the cracks of the fruit, and let it melt a little just before serving. If I were absolutely wild, I’d leave the sugar out of the crust and create a pastry with prosciutto, burratta and arugula. But that would be another post altogether. Stay tuned, as my sanity is increasingly questionable. Have I mentioned I’m in law school?

Plum and Walnut Galette

Loosely Inspired by Martha Stewart

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1.5 tablespoons sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces, plus 1 T

2 tablespoons ice water

1 egg yolk, lightly beaten plus 1 large egg (divided)

2 tablespoons turbinado sugar, divided (plus more for sprinkling)

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

¾ c finely chopped walnuts

5 pitted plums, sliced about ¼ inch thick

__

For the Pâte Sucrée

Combine dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl.

Using a pastry blender or 2 knives, cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse meal.

(This can also be done in a food processor, if you prefer, although I like the control of working by hand.)

Add ice water, a bit at a time, and slowly add egg yolks until the dough just holds together, but doesn’t get sticky.

If the dough is still crumbly, add a drop more water.

Form dough into a ball, being careful not to over-work.

Wrap dough in plastic and press with your palms to create a flat disk. (The size doesn’t matter yet.)

Refrigerate at least 1 hour.

__

For the Galette

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Line a baking sheet with a Silpat or parchment paper.

Sprinkle a lightly floured work surface with 1 tablespoon turbinado sugar.

Roll out dough to a 12 inch disk, about ¼ -inch thick.

Transfer dough to prepared baking sheet and refrigerate until ready to use, up to 1 hour.

In a small bowl, mix together 1 tablespoon flour, 1 tablespoon sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and walnuts, setting aside a bit of the mixture for the top of the galette.

In a large bowl gently toss together plums and remaining tablespoon of sugar. Sprinkle the flour mixture over plums; gently toss until evenly coated.

Spread spice and nut mixture over dough, leaving a 2-inch border around.

Arrange plums on top, maintaining a 2-inch border.

Fold remaining dough over plum mixture, overlapping and creasing dough ever inch or so. Gently squeeze overlaps together as you go.

In a small bowl, beat together egg with 1 teaspoon water.

Brush edges of dough with egg mixture, and sprinkle with turbinado sugar.

Bake until crust is golden brown and juices are bubbling, about 45 minutes.

Transfer the baking sheet to a wire rack to cool. Serve warm or at room temperature, with or without vanilla ice cream.

When I ate mine, (the rest were sent to Christopher’s office) I paired it with Earl Grey in the afternoon. It was dignified and much more elegant than the bowl of oats I eat every morning. That said, the humble gruel sustains me for hours: this snack had me drooling for more in minutes. These bars are heaven on earth. Have I mentioned how much I like the saying, “The kingdom of God is within” ? When I ate my jammy-nutty-buttery tea-time dessert, I was filled with something holy.

It’s not just the flavor that makes these remarkable, it’s the way they react to the teeth. As you bite, this is what you feel: a crunch from the walnuts, followed by the enduring chewiness of baked jam. As you chew, your mouth is filled with the commingling of melting butter crust and dissolving fruit. It’s a tactile paradise. Something worth getting up for, or the perfect way to punctuate the doldrums between lunch and dinner. Just make sure to give most of them away, or you’ll end up eating every last crumb, and nobody wants a stomach ache in the morning. Or in the afternoon.

Borrowed from Gourmet, may it rest in peace.

Makes 12 bars.

• 1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) cold unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon pieces
• 2 large egg yolks
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1/2 cup berry jam or preserves, such as Bonne Maman Four Fruits Preserve
• 3/4 cup chopped walnuts (3 oz)

__

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 425°F. Butter a 9-inch square baking pan and line with 1 sheet of foil, leaving a 2-inch overhang on 2 opposite sides, then butter foil.

Blend flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt in a food processor.

Add butter and pulse until mixture crumbles and has pearl-sized lumps.

Add yolks and vanilla and pulse quickly, just until dough clumps, about 30 seconds.

Press 3/4 of dough evenly onto bottom of pan, then spread with jam.

Crumble remaining dough over preserves and press down so dough is evenly distributed. Sprinkle with walnuts.

Bake until top is golden brown and jam bubbles up the sides, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Place pan on a rack to cool. Lift from pan by grasping both ends of foil.

Cut into 12 bars and lift bars off foil with a spatula.

At first, things seemed to go from bad to worse, the day we commemorated Jesus in the tomb. It sounds trivial by comparison, but I cut my index finger rather badly while sulking and slicing a lemon (although if I were to turn lemons into lemonade over this one, I’d say I learned a damned good lesson: never use a sharp knife if you’re feeling sour / pondering God).

After dinner—which I ate with my left hand elevated—I sulked around some more, thinking about light, Pascal things like losing my religion, and wayward Catholic priests. Fortunately, my mother suggested coloring eggs, a no-fail pagan remedy to life’s bigger questions. Honestly, the eggs really did cheer me up: nothing like a bunch of adults sitting around staining their cuticles and the smell of vinegar wafting from old, color filled tea cups, even on a day when no bells ring. Plus, my eggs turned out the spiffiest, with all of that wax running everywhere. Am I revealing my childhood personality here?

By the time I finished abut ten eggs, my finger seemed on the up and up and I thought I could possibly lift my mood to even higher levels—the way a real Catholic girl might feel about the ascension of Christ. Sadly, the only thing I really could envision rising that night was the dough of a sour cream coffee cake, and so I started with my mise en place.

Foolish, cut up, heretic that I was, I set out all of my flour, sugar, butter, vanilla, salt, cinnamon and sour cream before considering the possibility that Mom, in her zest to cheer me, had boiled every single egg in the house. I looked around as a hot, itchy panic set in: there they were, 18 colored, useless eggs, squatting in a nest of plastic grass, their insides hardened and congealed.

And so, there would be no coffee cake. I began to wonder—would there be any place on Easter morning where a person could buy a pair of eggs? Or would all of the egg sellers be wearing pastels and singing hyms? All of the stores in town had announced their intended closure in little hand-made signs taped across front doors and bulletin boards.  I lay awake that night, wondering if miracles really could happen. And when I awoke, as if he came to me in a dream, I remembered the one Muslim in Washington, Connecticut, who owns a convenience store. I drove there in pajamas and with bated breath until I saw the light: blue and red neon lights that proclaimed OPEN! So, at 7am I got to raise some dough after all and read the paper, too.

This recipe is so good, it tastes like sin. Or redemption, depending on how you tend to your gastronomical guilt. Mine is pretty laced with the lessons I learned in CCD, and with the constantly reoccurring phrase my father uses for things that are shockingly tasty, “This is so good, it should be outlawed.” I always know I’ve done right by him when villainy of the federal government is invoked. So I felt that familiar ambivalence: guilt, excitement, guilt. You can take the girl out of church, but you can never take church out of the girl.

No matter how you feel about Uncle Sam or Jesus, this cake will set differences aside—unless of course you are on a diet, in which case, please avoid my kitchen at Easter. After a heady meal of Polish sausage, Explorateur cheese, many hardboiled eggs, spiced nuts and a butter lamb—spinach, asparagus and quinoa were thrown in for good measure—we moved on to the cake. And as I took my first bite, I knew the day was holy. (Just look at these eggs!)

I got this recipe from an online personality named Jan Taylor. She posted it to All Recipes.com, and I owe every last morsel of genius to her work, except that I threw in a little extra brilliance, if I do say so myself, by doubling her crumble topping so that the ribbon through the middle of the dough was twice as thick and the crown of streusel was even more crisp and proud. I also added a cup of walnuts to the top, which really was extraordinary. I may try subbing out some of the sugar in the batter and replacing it with maple syrup, but that would be a coffee cake for another holy day—perhaps Christmas morning?

Sour Cream Coffee Cake

Serves 9

1 c butter
2 c white sugar
2 eggs
1 c sour cream
½ tsp vanilla extract
2 c all purpose flour
1 t baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
½ c all purpose flour
1 c packed brown sugar
4 T melted butter
1 T ground cinnamon
1 c chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350.

Butter and flour a 9 x 9 inch cake pan.

In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar. (I like to do this in a stand mixer and let it whip a while so that the consistency is extremely light and airy.)

Mix in eggs, one at a time, then stir in sour cream and vanilla. (Once again, I let my mixer to a lot of heavy lifting here.)

Very gently, stir in 2 c flour, baking powder and salt and spread half of batter into pan.

Prepare the topping: combine ½ c flour with brown sugar and cinnamon.

Melt butter and pour into flour and sugar mix, teasing with a fork so that some large crumbles remain intact.

Spread ½ of filling evenly over dough then carefully cover streusel with remaining batter then top with leftover filling and walnuts.

Bake for 30 minutes, then rotate and tent with aluminum foil. Bake another 20 and remove foil for a remaining 10 minutes in the oven.

Let cool slightly and serve.