Wicked Tasty Harvest

Creamy Green Soup

by April Paffrath

My daughter's lunch: Creamy Green Soup and tiny carrots.

Summer food is amazing. When our Siena Farms CSA shares started the other week, our dinners were transformed. There’s just a world of difference between food from the average store and food from the farm. With a CSA share, you never know exactly what you’ll get, but you do have an idea, based on the growing season. Right now, lettuces are amazing and sweet, radishes are vibrant and spicy, beets are tender and lovely, and the deep greens—oh, the greens! I swear that Siena Farms grows their radishes and beets for the greens more than for the roots. The beet and radishes themselves are stellar, but the greens are perfect.

There are plenty of greens to eat all week long. That can be a windfall, or it can be overwhelming if you’ve had a busy week, if you’ve gone out a lot, or you’re just done already with the greens sautéed in garlic and oil. Some weeks last year, on the eve of our next CSA share pick-up, I would look in the fridge and see that we hadn’t eaten as many greens as I thought we would have. With another share of Boston’s best on the way, you could be looking at a domino effect of mounting greens. No one wants that because it can lead to waste, which is pointless.

But I have a solution, and it’s so tasty.

It’s so tasty, in fact, that my 4-year-old asks (no, begs) for more helpings. It’s green soup. Well, a sort of crema de verduras, if we’re going to be specific about the origins of the idea. When we travel in Spain, one of our many favorite dishes is a velouté of green vegetables and greens. It’s a smooth and wonderful soup, easy to eat, and so packed with delicious flavors.

This soup is fantastic because it’s fast, it’s bright and appealing, it uses up any greens that are threatening to go bad, and you really taste the intricate flavors of the greens. And for you parents out there, it’s way easier for our daughter to eat this soup than it is for her to chew on greens forever (and with little kid teeth, it really can be forever).

I use whatever greens I have. Actually, it works with all kinds of vegetables, but I find this soup absolutely shines with greens. For this week’s soup, I used a medium bunch of beet greens, a large bunch of brightly colored Swiss chard, and a salad spinner packed full of arugula. I de-stalked the beet greens and the Swiss chard, to avoid overly fibrous soup. Separately, the Swiss chard stalks met with a fine chop and sauté, which was sweet and wonderful. (Swiss chard is quite sweet, actually, and I think it worked perfectly with the spicy arugula and the earthy beet greens.) Don’t be afraid to try different combinations, and don’t forget about lettuce. Lettuce is actually a soup standard from our grandparents’ days. It's underused beyond salad these days, but so fantastic.

I’ve made this soup before with broccoli rabe, escarole, pepper cress, and so much more. It’s so easy to wing it. It’s important to use a LOT of greens to the volume of stock for a soup that just sings out with flavor and punch. No one wants insipid soup. No one. It’s also important to let this go in a blender for quite a long time—you want the greens to break up thoroughly. We strained the final version, but you don’t have to if the greens are young enough, your blender is powerful enough, and it’s not too thready when you taste it.

Creamy velouté of deep greens

• olive oil
• 1 medium onion, chopped (I always keep some pre-chopped in the freezer)
• 1 qt of stock (i use vegetable stock, but a chicken would be nice, too.)
• 1 med bunch of beet greens, de-stalked
• 1 large bunch of Swiss chard leaves, de-stalked
• 1 big bunch of arugula—fill up a large salad spinner and that’s a good amount
• whole milk
• salt

1. Sauté onion in olive oil until just turning translucent, about 5 minutes
2. Add in the stock and heat to a boil
3. Add the thoroughly washed and prepped greens, and put the lid on the pan. I had to work to get all the greens in the pan—they shrink as they wilt, but initially, it takes a little maneuvering.
4. Stir, or prod the greens down into the stock, so they wilt.
5. Let them wilt and simmer for 3-5 minutes.
6. Turn off the heat and then put the soup into the blender. You’ll need to do a couple of batches. (Hot soup in a blender can be very dangerous, so don’t fill the blender container very high or you could be looking at a hot explosion. That turns a quick dinner like this one into a long, painful, and messy one.)
7. Turn up the blender and watch as the leaves break down into smaller and smaller pieces. You want it as smooth as it can get in your blender.
8. Optional: When it’s all blended, you can pour the soup through a medium mesh strainer (don’t go too fine, or chinois, or it won’t work well). Use a spatula or spoon to help it strain thoroughly. Depending on the tenderness of the greens, you might not need to do this—you can just serve with a hearty bread. I like to do it, even though it removes some of the fiber. Plenty remains and I think when you freeze or refrigerate leftovers, it retains its smooth consistency if it’s been strained. 
9. Return the soup to the pan and add a cup of whole milk (or yogurt, or half and half) and heat gently, but do not allow it to come to the boil. (To paraphrase a friend of mine, when we make this for the family, we use whole milk. When we make this for company, we use something richer.)

I pour leftovers into pyrex bowls and place them on a tray in the freezer until they’re frozen. Then I remove them from the bowls and put in freezer containers or bags. It’s fresh bright soup available in a flash all year long, then, with no waste during the season. Just make sure you label them well, because beet green soup looks an awful lot like broccoli soup.

Food Playlist—NYC

Spring weekend with four (food-loving) friends

by April Paffrath

Spice Market

Sometimes you just want to know the things to eat, the great places to go, and how to pack as much yum into a city as possible. That, for me, is not a problem. When you get four food writers together, you’re in a crowd that knows how to love the food, the conversation, and the excitement. That makes for a thrilling and delicious food playlist. Check out the tracks and the liner notes.

Go to New York.
Stay at a favorite hotel or couch.
Press play.

1.     Chocolate-covered peanuts - City Club Hotel minibar
2.     The Breslin - Ace Hotel    (212 679 1939)
3.     Mas (farmhouse) - pastry chef Catrine Oscarson    (212 255 1790)
4.     Blue Hill - Dan Barber    (212 539 1776)
5.     Keugelhopf French toast, rhubarb compote, fromage blanc
            - DB Bistro room service @ City Club Hotel    (212 921 5500)
6.     Emptiness and letdown - Midtown conference food
7.     The Ten Bells    (212 228 4450)
8.     Death & Co. - team of lovely bartenders    (212 388 0882)
9.     Spice Market - Jean-Georges Vongerichten    (212 675 2322)
10.   Keugelhopf French toast - reprise
11.   Emptiness and letdown mash-up w/
            Unknown Thai restaurant - reprise
12.   Late-night chocolate mousse - DB Bistro room service
            @City Club Hotel on the patio in New York in the misting rain

Death & Co. makes very fine drinks, indeed.

Liner notes

(1) This mix starts softly with a prelude of Dean & Deluca’s chocolate-covered peanuts from the hotel minibar in the afternoon (real chocolate on real nuts), because when you’re planning to eat at Blue HIll that evening, you don’t fill up ahead of time.

(2) That is, unless you’re my friends. This track gets play on the list at the recommendation of my food cohorts who went to the Breslin and ate crisp french fries, scotch eggs with the middle still runny, and boiled peanuts fried in pork fat. The table next door had an entire suckling pig, which you can reserve for the chef’s table. It’s the only kind of reservation they take and you book two working days ahead of time for 8–12 people, prix fixe ($65/per person). According to the Breslin, there’s a lot of meat and it’s a hearty meal with sides, salads and more.

(3) This track is a bit of a sweet surprise. When you’re meeting up for a great dinner, you need to track down all parties, so meet up at a great place in the Village, like Mas (farmhouse).

Meet in the bar. If you’re lucky, one of you should be friends with the pastry chef. We ordered one dessert, and she sent out four and a dessert amuse bouche…20 minutes before our reservation at Blue HIll. Many lesser folks might feel daunted, but I was thrilled because I’m researching a book about dessert. This track listing remains an unfinished piece because even four food-loving friends cannot polish it all off before a big meal. But the abundance sure added to the excitement and fun.

We ordered the ricotta chiboust on a whole wheat sable made from locally grown and milled flour, topped with elderflower-macerated strawberries that the chef brought back with him that week from mid-strawberry-season New Orleans (that’s some good carry-on luggage, if you ask me) with a side of honey ice cream and topped with candied peppercorns. Oh my. Yum.

Baked Oatmeal

by April Paffrath

Winter can't stop me when my day starts this way!

There’s something about this moment. The brink of spring. It’s still winter and I feel like an ice-locked ship, even though the temps have risen this week. Winter feels never-ending right when spring is around the corner. I need a warm-up when it seems like the seasons are stuck.

The gentle sweet heat from this gorgeous breakfast is something you can love year-round. I do, actually, love it anytime, but late winter is when it has the greatest power to lighten my slushy-sleety-drizzly mood. One breakfast of baked oatmeal and I’m ready for snow angels again—I’m fortified against what Mother Nature has for a show-ender this season. (Remember that April 1 blizzard several years ago? You want to have the makings of this breakfast in your pantry, just in case.)

I adapted this recipe from the awesome KenapocoMocha coffeehouse in North Manchester, Indiana. I love that coffeehouse for so many reasons. When we ate their baked oatmeal, we were transfixed and returned each day for breakfast...like you do.

They were kind enough to share with me their recipe, which I tweaked a little bit as I made countless batches. [In fact, the recipe is from owner Debbie Chinworth, a woman to whom I owe many a happy breakfast! —ed.] It’s pretty much the same, but I add a little brown sugar, some cinnamon, and I use a mix of old fashioned and quick oats for a cakey, yet pleasantly chewy texture. Yum. Even better, they gave the OK for me to share the recipe here, for which I am grateful—and you will be, too. Make it and you won’t care about this interminable winter—you’ll be ready to go snowshoeing….or to curl up on a cozy chair with a book until the daffodils are peaking through.

This recipe makes a big batch, but I haven’t cut it down once. It has a way of feeding everyone who’s around and encourages you to share. It also uses whole milk. Sure, yes, you could go low fat, but really, we’re talking hearty fortification here. Go full fat and skimp elsewhere.

Just say thanks the next time you’re in North Manchester, Indiana. Pop in for some of their good food and a stellar coffee. Tell 'em April says hi.

Baked Oatmeal
adapted from KenapocoMocha coffeehouse tradition

• 1 c. canola oil
• 1 c. sugar
• 1/4 c. brown sugar
• 4 eggs

• 3 c. rolled oats
• 3 c. quick oats
• 1 Tbsp. and 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 2 1/2 c/ whole milk

• raisins and whole milk for topping

Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Grease a large baking pan, 9x13.

1. Beat together the oil, sugars, and eggs with a whisk in a large bowl.
2.  In another bowl, mix the oats, baking powder, and salt.
3. Add the oat mix to the egg mixture and combine.
4. Stir in the milk.
5. Pour the oaty mixture into the greased baking dish.
6. Bake for 45 min until the top is golden, the goods have puffed up cake-like, and the edges are a lovely brown. A knife in the middle should come out clean.

Let it cool a bit, but serve it warm. Put a square slice in a bowl and top it with delicious, plump raisins and pour a bit of whole milk over the top. Relish it and go back for seconds. You’ve got the remnants of winter to deal with and you can make it.

Brigadoon Cake

by April Paffrath

Chocolate is unnecessary, but still nice.

Have you noticed that when people love to cook, they often don’t like to bake? Vice versa, too. I know some spectacular bakers who would rather not turn on the stove top, and some stellar cooks who don’t want to measure flour—ever.

But I love baking and I love cooking. Cooking dinner is improvisational and baking is meditative. Even if getting dinner ready at a reasonable time was stressful, I’d be likely to return to the kitchen late in the evening to mix up a chocolate cake (hey, chocolate cake makes a great breakfast). In fact, I’m more likely to bake if things that day have stressed me out.

So often dinner is a high-energy, fly-by-the-seat experience where you look at what you have and blend it together with spices, styles, and know-how to come up with something yummy. With rare exceptions, I don’t follow recipes for dinner. I follow ideas and I look for inspiration everywhere. I look at the produce grown by farmers we know and I let the inherent flavors guide us. It can be an enjoyable and energetic experience.

When people talk about baking, though, you’ll hear them say emphatically that you have to be exact, that you have to measure precisely, that baking is really a science. OK, that’s sort of true. If you want to recreate exactly what someone has done before, you follow it precisely. If you go way off message, you’ll get dense scary things—or a goopy mess. People seem to fear that the kitchen may explode if they don’t level off a teaspoon of baking powder. But once upon a time, someone made that recipe up. They were flying by the seat of their pants then, and it worked out. What’s life without a little risk?

With that, I give you Brigadoon Cake. Brigadoon is our family name for something wonderful and elusive. It’s a dessert style I developed years ago and it’s never the same. Ever. There is no recipe, only good ingredients, hope, experience, and love—just like dinner. It’s called Brigadoon because it appears like a perfect wonder once every hundred years in the foggy highlands of Scotland. You love it, you’re moved by it, and then it’s gone (much to Gene Kelly’s dismay). You can’t hang onto it, and when it’s gone you have to let it go. In a way, the ephemeral quality is what’s beautiful, like a spontaneous poem that no one wrote down.

Brigadoon is what we call the successes, because they’re magic and haunting; the experiments that were driven by a vision and a hunger for cake—and they were perfect. The ones that didn’t work out so well? Well, they don’t get a name, they’re just the necessary failures that inform future Brigadoons. (Although, Wikipedia may inspire me to call the failures Germelshausen because they're cursed in that same rare way.)

My prod to myself and everyone else is to not be a slave to the recipe, whether cooking or baking. Experience tells you how to do a stir fry and it can tell you what a cake batter should feel like, too. If you’ve never walked out on that limb, it won’t be long before you know what a batter should feel like and look like. If you are unwilling to jump in blind, seek out Michael Ruhlman’s book Ratio. His sensical approach to recipe-free baking is wonderful (although I’ve made banana bread from his book and it wasn’t as magic as this cake I made the other day.)

I made this Brigadoon cake because we had a banana that was threatening a life of crime if I didn’t make an honest baked good out of it. One banana. I have a few tiny loaf pans and I thought one would hold about a banana and a little extra. Plus, what’s a banana and a tiny loaf cake worth of ingredients and time if it doesn’t turn out? I’ve lost very little if it all goes flat, literally. I mixed and approximated and stirred. Then I added chocolate chips (a great equalizer in case it’s sub-par instead of sublime). Frankly, it turned out they were gilding the lily, but I’ll take them. If I were to do it over again (which I can’t by definition of a Brigadoon cake) I would use Taza chocolate.

Past Brigadoons have been pumpkin cake, rum cake with a rum glaze, lemon poundcake, cheesecake and more. All live on in a part of my brain that reminds me to take risks with things. Dinner is better when you let passion guide you. Baked goods can be stunning, too.

Brigadoon Cake, banana version

Find a banana that is threatening to go bad. Put it in a bowl and mash it while thinking about how good tea time will be if the cake works out. Stir in some sugar (a bit less than a half a cup? Was anyone looking?). I know I added some oil, and I probably didn’t skimp. Crack in an egg. Stir it in and notice how it gels everything together. Suddenly it’s starting to look like it wants to be cake. Pour in some vanilla bean paste. Add in a spoon of baking powder and think light thoughts. When I’m making something up, I tend to go a bit heavy on leavening, just in case the mix is tending toward leaden. I figure that if it’s too much it’s just a little salty. If it’s not enough, it’s inedible. Add flour (less than a cup). I add it slowly as I stir and I look for the consistency that says “cake!”  I don’t stir too much. I stop adding the flour when the batter is sticky but not liquidy. Pour into a well-greased loaf pan (3x6?), top with a small handful of chocolate chips, and bake at 350 or so. The high heat makes the baking powder jump to life. The sugar helps it brown. Take it out when the top is browned, it’s springy to the touch, and a sharp knife comes out clean.

Take it out of the oven and let it cool. As soon as it no longer burns your fingers, take a slice and have it with a cup of tea. All the while, consider that this cake never existed before and you made it without rules. Enjoy every slice, knowing that you can’t replenish your supply, even though the cake is light as air and so tender, the banana flavor is divine, and the chocolate is just enough to make it decadent. In short, this cake is magic.

And, hey, if it turned out a dud, you’re out a banana, very few ingredients, and only about 15 minutes of mixing and prepping time. That’s a good risk for something as wonderful as Brigadoon. Hey, do I hear bagpipes?

Barely cooled and we're slicing it for tea.

Winter Soup

Fortifies you against winter chill.

This soup tastes of winter. The best kind of winter—warm, cozy and sweet—not blistering winds, snow plows, and buffeted cheeks. We're talking deep flavors, dreams of skiing, fluffy sweaters, and far off harvests in a bowl of steaming soup. Top it with a fine grating of parmesan and you can bring on the blizzards, especially if someone else agrees to do the shoveling. Hey, that’s fair if you’ve made them this soup, right? This soup will get you through February.

Everything in this soup is winter-appropriate. I didn’t want to put in anything that you couldn’t get mid-winter, just so I could get a true taste of the season. With foods shipped in from all over, it’s hard to find a real winter flavor. This meal is all storage vegetables, stock I made this summer and froze, jarred tomato sauce, and chick peas that I made from dried. In other words, things you can find in the middle of the winter in your own home. I even added a bit of mid-winter greenhouse goodness (from my Red Fire Farm deep winter CSA!).

But first, we need to talk about the massive cabbage fail. I had three heads of cabbage from the end of the CSA season. I packaged them up and stored them in the fridge; they’re supposed to keep for a long time. OK, probably not as long as I kept them, but I didn’t have time to make the cabbage things I wanted around the holidays…life got complicated…I thought they were going to call me…I lost their number. In short, three gorgeous cabbages that probably could have lasted, didn’t make it. When I wanted to make this soup, it was crying out for cabbage, but the cabbage was too far gone. I opened it up and it was dreary, flaccid, and off-color. Next year I’m going to have to get even better at storing veggies. Over the year, any of our CSA food loss (which still wasn’t much) came from food that had just started to go bad but still conspired to make head, body and allergies rebel. (I'm just super sensitive to food mold, even when it's invisible, blast it.) The cabbage, though? I kept it in the hopes that under the top leaves it was fine. Sigh. Next year’s goal? To store veggies even better. It will take some research.

I have a little section of the pantry that is our version of a root cellar. Onions, squash, potatoes, sweet potatoes, shallots, garlic, and more in near darkness with plenty of air circulation. Every now and then I find an onion or a potato that gave up the ghost, but for the most part, we’re progressing through the winter using up the fall’s harvest slowly. This soup was inspired by a need for a hearty meal to combat the onslaught of February, as well as a chance to use a relatively large amount of veggies that wouldn’t have lasted much longer.

In the fridge I had carrots and celeriac and even some radishes left from my Siena Farms CSA. The onions and potatoes in the pantry made a strong showing and made it to a dish before losing their firmness. The Red Fire Farm deep winter CSA (which I have delivered through Metro Pedal Power, by the way) had a massive, gigantic parsnip this week. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looked like some prop from a Harry Potter movie, to be honest. (Look, I went a little crazy with OnDemand movies when I was under the weather recently. Let’s blame the cabbage.)

Whoa. Alarmingly large parsnip. And yet, so sweet.

I stood it up and used a knife to peel down the sides. Then I cut it into massive rings and cut the tender flesh off of the woody, hard center. Some of it went in the soup, and some of it went in the roasting pan with a bunch of other lovely veggies. The celeriac, another beauty, got the usual treatment—peel it with a knife, like you would a citrus you’re about to supreme and then chop chop chop. I love celery in a soup. Seeing as how green celery is not a winter crop, though, I opted for the root, which I think is sweeter and nuttier. Since the cabbage was not meant to be, I used some of the greens from the CSA. You could use cabbage, kale, escarole, or lettuce. The chick peas I added were made from dried, which I cook with carrot, onion, and a bit of parmesan rind. Since it’s low-salt and so good, I use the liquid, too. If you use canned, drain the liquid away because it tends to be bitter. You could use any number of beans grown locally, too. For this soup, I think the white beans work best.

Winter Soup

• frozen stock, about a pot of soup’s worth
• 4 potatoes, cubed
• part of one alarmingly huge parsnip, cubed
• 8 carrots, cubed
• 1/2 celeriac, cubed
• 4 watermelon radishes, cubed
• 1/2 red onion, chopped fine
• 1 cup jarred tomato sauce, plain or with basil
• 1 cup chick peas
• 3/4 c. hearty greens, chopped

1. Heat the stock.
2. Add the cubed potatoes, carrots, celeriac, parsnip, and onions. Cook until the veggies are getting tender, but still have some tooth.
3. Add the jarred tomato sauce.
4. After it comes back to a simmer, add in the chick peas.
5. Right before it’s done, add in the handful of greens. Don’t over cook them or they will not be pleasant. Kale and cabbage can withstand a bit of time and heat. More delicate greens will only take a minute.

Ladle it into a bowl that fits nicely in your hands. Grate a bit of good parmesan on top and watch it melt like snow on the window. Toast up some rustic bread, grab and deep spoon and enjoy.

Now I’m wondering. What are your food storage secrets?

Cozy Wintery Potatoes

by April Paffrath

I heart potatoes. We always eat the dish so fast I missed getting a photo—again!

I’m crazy about potatoes. Gratin potatoes, scalloped potatoes, pommes Anna, gratin dauphinois….Are you catching the theme? Creamy, creamy oven-baked potatoes that warm you inside and out.

The creamy starchiness seems to do something magical and transform a rainy dreary day into a cozy one. It elevates the mood (and also important health numbers if you don’t enjoy in moderation) and grounds any meal with its solid, hearty round flavors. Serve this with a steak and you might get actual applause. Eat it on its own an you’ve got a perfect winter snack. Have it alongside haricot verts and you’re having a Parisian moment worthy of Proust. The universe will smile.

When I was a young girl, my family created an adaptation of gratin dauphinois—I think the secret was the bacon. We’d slice it up into the 1980s Midwestern version of lardons and the dish was all we wanted when dinner was served. The bacon added the hefty salt that shows off the cream and the starch. Without it, the impressive flavors are lost to unctuous round tones. It’s no accident that I don’t have a single memory of what we ever served with the potatoes. When those made their way out of the oven and to the table, I had potato blinders on and my heart belonged to that single dish.

We made it back then by slicing potatoes and laying the slices in the pan, splayed out like a dealer's deck of cards. Then we poured on the heavy cream, added bacon and a few other toppings and put them in the oven for a long time. These days, I do it differently, more in keeping with French tradition and with less time in the oven.

When guests dig into these potatoes, most are surprised to find out there’s no cheese…just more cream than you should probably think about. (Quick! rainbows, unicorns, the Red Sox, happiness and peace on earth. Phew! Lalalalala....)

In this version, adapted both from the traditional method and Tom Colicchio’s Craft cookbook, you boil the sliced potatoes in the cream and then pop them into a hot oven with just enough of the cooking cream for finishing and browning. It works perfectly because you never end up with potatoes that are too dry, or too wet and therefore not creamy-lovely. You instead end up with creamy starchy lovely fantastic gratin potatoes at dinner. It’s practically no-fail.

Potato Gratin (adapted from tradition and Tom Colicchio's Craft)

• 4 or 5 medium potatoes—enough to fill a baking dish.
• 2-3 cloves garlic, peeled
• a few springs of fresh thyme 
• a few pints of heavy cream
• knob of butter to coat the baking dish
• salt

1. Peel and slice the potatoes thinly 1/8-1/4 inch thick. Don’t worry about it too much, just be consistent.
2. Put the potatoes in a large pot.
3. Add the garlic and potatoes and a good pinch of salt.
4. Cover with cream by about 1/2 inch. It takes a lot of cream—not all of it goes into the final dish, so don’t panic. You’re cooking the potatoes in the cream, and only using some of the cream for the final baking. You’re paid off in flavor.
5. Put on to boil and reduce to a low boil/simmer.
6. When the potatoes are cooked but not falling apart yet (about 15 min based on how thick I cut mine and how high the heat is), take it off the heat.
7. Using a large slotted spoon, scoop the potatoes into a buttered baking dish. Try to keep the slices as intact as possible. Let's have a little pretty, shall we? Just don't go crazy—these potatoes are for eating.
8. When the potatoes have been settled in their new home, pour on some of the cooking cream. As Tom Colicchio says, you want to add enough that if you press lightly on the potatoes, the cream floods up where you’re pressing. Basically, don’t drown it, but leave plenty of cream there to bubble up as the dish finishes. It’s sort of like a potato-cream bog. Mmmm.
9. Pop it in a hot oven and let it bubble and bake until the top browns and the cream is thick and lovely. I just pick a temperature (400?) because the potatoes are already cooked and what you’re looking for is the browned flavor and the hot creamy casserole that gets everyone elbowing others out of their way.

Eat it with anything. You won’t remember what else you cooked anyway.

(cc) photo courtesy of cuorhome

Yes! It's the best...

Get ready. The holidays are already swinging and you still need to tackle the best part of your list. Of course you do—you always save the best for last. Wicked Tasty Harvest has drawn up a list of must-have and very-cool things to please anyone who loves food and local goodies. How do we know they'll love all of these things? Because we would. (Side-note to our stumped loved ones: Read on and stop fretting over which sweater we'd look hottest in. This season, we're all about the local treats.)

These amazing local treats make stunning gifts, and fill gift baskets and stockings deliciously well. If you arrive in style at the next holiday party with one of these in hand, the hosts will gush. These local favorites are all tasty, well-made, and sought after. 

Homemade jams and preserves from Bonnie's Jams in Cambridge. Flavors like apricot-orange, raspberry and strawberry-ginger elevate breakfast toast into something special. $10.95, Formaggio Kitchen, Savenor's Market, Russo's and more.

Effie's Oatcakes and Corncakes from Hyde Park, MA, are the perfect biscuits for tea and cheese lovers. These crisp, crunchy and rather addictive biscuits are slightly sweet and salty—and they're just right for tea time or snack. They're also fantastic as a cracker with cheese. Try them with cheese and apples, a dollop of jam, or just plain. The oatcakes are a favorite for straight-up snacking and the corn is perfect for cheesy accompaniments. $6, at your local specialty store or at Whole Foods. Or buy them direct.

Taza Chocolate, made in their Somerville factory, offers a wide variety of tasty treats, from bars to nibs to hot chocolate scented with almond. They say they're the only American chocolate-makers offering stone-ground organic chocolate, employing a traditional grinding method from Oaxaca, Mexico. They work closely with growers to ensure top quality and fair pay. You can find the chocolate at many area stores, including holiday packages at Greenward, but if you need to buy in bulk (and who doesn't?), they're now offering free shipping on purchases of more than $50. 

Lake Champlain Chocolates, made in Vermont, have some particularly appropriate holiday offerings, including a bag of silver- and gold-wrapped disks of dark chocolate and peppermint dark chocolate. They also have a lovely box of Chanukah gelt (and they're kosher), much tastier than what you ate in Hebrew school. Buy them at Whole Foods and Sherman Market in Somerville, starting at $8.

Perfect for someone who prefers sour to sweet: Root Cellar Preserves, local pickles that sell in stores around town such as Formaggio Kitchen, Harvest Coop, and Russo's. We particularly love their sweet and spicy pickle mix, $8.

 Ask your neighborhood cheese purveyor for some lovely local cheeses. Some of our favorites include Cabot cloth-bound cheddar, Twig Farm Tomme, Vermont Butter and Cheese Company's Bijou aged goat cheese, Great Hill blue cheese, and Shy Brother's Farm's Hannahbells (pictured). Check out our holiday cheese plate primer or let your local cheese shop select a great combination of cheeses. Formaggio Kitchen and Farmstead (Providence, RI) both do amazing cheese baskets—and they ship. Don't forget about the Concord Cheese Shop and the delicious and deftly edited selection at Central Bottle. Cheese-lovers on your list are well-cared for in this area.

Traditional Goat's Milk Caramel from Fat Toad Farm is crazy delicious. It's like dulce de leche, but it's made from goat's milk, like cajeta. You can taste the flavor profile of goat's milk instead of the slick sweetness of cow's milk (also good, but different). Fat Toad Farm is a small family-run dairy in Brookfield, VT, and they make several flavors of their caramel: original, vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee. The original is awesome on ice cream, tea cakes, or a spoon. $9 at Formaggio Kitchen, Cambridge Naturals, and Farmstead (Providence).

One of the Wicked Tasty team lives very close to L.A. Burdick. Deliciously close. Too close. Burdick's chocolates rival those of the well-known European chocolate houses (and we're well-studied on those). A clear favorite is the truffle filled with caramelized lavender honey. The mouse and penguin chocolates may be too adorable to eat, but you'd never let that deter you from picking up a quarter-pound box. Heck, make it a full pound. Then, warm up holiday visitors with hot chocolate made with their shaved dark, milk and white chocolate. They're made in Walpole, NH, and they have a lovely café in Harvard Square. Boxes start at $15.

Made by Maureen Gallagher at the Western Massachusetts Food Processing Center, the Sassy Sauces line includes an addictive rum caramel sauce, spicy dark chocolate sauce (Valrhona chocolate, chipotle, Vietnamese cinnamon and cayenne), milk chocolate caramel, bittersweet chocolate, peanut butter fudge and vegan butterscotch. All are sublime over ice cream, with fresh fruit or breakfast treats, or straight out of the jar. Recently, Wicked Tasty got to try the Vera Cruz sauce (the first savory Sassy Sauce product and so new that the labels were handwritten). We seared salmon on both sides then simmered it in the sauce to finish. Easy and delicious! Sassy Sauces are available online and at Bacon Street Farm in Natick, Savenor’s Market, and select Whole Food Markets in the Boston area.

What great meal is complete without well-lubricated conversation or a tasty aperitif? Here's where to go for a gift that says, "Capital, darling!" instead of merely Kappy's. 

Drink is one of our favorite bars, and with good reason. There's no cocktail list...but there are gift certificates for your friends. And for a mere $10, the bartenders will whip them up a custom libation based on their tastes (whiskey or gin? citrus or bitters?) and, better yet, indulge their inner cocktail nerds by happily dishing on the drinks' origins (often pre-Prohibition) and variations.  We find it's best to stick to our favorite base liquor and ask the exceptional staff to steer us seasonal. Recently, we've enjoyed a twist on the traditional Frisco (made with homemade pumpkin simple syrup) and the Leather Coat, which employed Scotch, apple butter and sage to a heavenly, fragrant end. For Christmas in a glass, ask for the Lion's Tail: bourbon, allspice dram, lime juice, simple syrup and angostura bitters.

Once the lovely staff at Drink have sent you home with a few handwritten recipes, you'll find the corner packie not up to your new liquor-buying needs. Hit Brix—with shops on Broad Street and Washington Street in the South End—to source Luxardo maraschino liquor for homemade aviations, small-batch bourbons, and St. Elizabeth Allspice Dram for that Lion's Tail. The shop also has a well-curated wine selection and handsome gift baskets capitalizing on that to boot. Next hit up The Boston Shaker—online and opening any day now in Davis Square, after starting as a mini-store within Grand in Somerville's Union Square—for the dash that makes the difference. The store has the most extensive selection of bitters we've ever seen (celery, cardamon, Xocolati mole, whiskey barrel, Peychaud's and many others), along with a strong supporting cast of simple and shrub syrups, heirloom-quality muddlers and perfectly sized 5-ounce cocktail glasses.

Gift card to Craigie on Main. Though perhaps better known for the delectable food out of the kitchen, the bar has gained acclaim for creative, delicious libations using small-batch spirits and local produce that change with the seasons.

 

Sometimes a cook needs some new and gorgeous things.

A slate cheese board from Brooklyn Slate Company is ideal both for a festive party or a regular Tuesday night dinner. Brooklyn Slate Company gets the grey, black or red slate from the family quarry in Upstate New York and offers the non-porous, food-safe pieces with a rough-hewn or clean edge. They also add in a soap pencil to write cheese names right on the board. They're very lovely and at a very reasonable price. Find these gorgeous cheese slabs at Formaggio Kitchen and Wasik's Cheese Shop in Wellesley. 7" x 12" boards, $20; 10" x 14" boards, $24.

When it comes to recipes, we often find that weight is more reliable than volume or size. After all, what does "three large potatoes" mean? Are the ones I've selected large enough? Some recipes today offer both size/volume and weight (for instance: "one medium-sized squash, or 2 lbs of squash"). A food scale is an incredibly handy tool, especially if you love cookbooks printed outside the US, where weights are the standard format. Make sure you get a scale that can do both pounds and grams, so recipes in metric are no problem. Electronic scales make taring a breeze. Try your local hardware store or cooking goods shop for one, like this Salter Baker's Dream scale that has an 11-lb limit and switches units with the click of a button. $39.95, Tags Hardware in Cambridge, and other kitchenware stores.

It's good to eschew plastic water bottles in lieu of tap and filtered. But what if you prefer bubbles? Then it's either plastic bottles or glass ones shipped at a high carbon cost, right? Not so. In looking for a local soda water delivery service, we found this iSi soda siphon. Like their whipped cream canisters, you charge the filled water canister with CO₂ cartridges, making the tap bubbly and wonderful. The soda from the siphon is not short on bubbles, either. It makes a fierce soda water, which is lovely. Since Boston-are tap water is very good quality, the end result is very tasty, indeed. No more bottles, no more shipping our beverages from Italy, and yet no compromising on the brisk drinking experience. If you're so inclined, you could add flavors or juices right into the siphon. $69.99 at Tags Hardware and local cooking goods stores.

The Ratio iPhone app is not really a gadget at all, but still a completely cool tool. This program transforms your iphone into a cooking assistant based on Michael Ruhlman's book Ratio, which offers up the ratios of ingredients needed to make nearly anything without a recipe. You can store the recipes you devise and share them on Twitter and Facebook. $4.99 on iTunes.

We love a bit of class. Cooking class, that is. An evening of cooking (and learning, and eating, and drinking) is a great gift for someone you love—or or yourself. Two of our absolute favorites would be the highlight of anyone's holiday.

Get a gift certificate or sign someone up for a specific class at Stir Boston, Chef Barbara Lynch's fantastic demonstration kitchen and cookbook library in the South End. We've gushed about the classes there before and with good reason. The small-sized classes not only show you foods and techniques up close, but also provide an evening of stellar food and amazing drink as you taste it all and chat with chefs and students. The food you eat is on par with No. 9 Park, Barbara Lynch's flagship restaurant, but you leave knowing that you can do it in your kitchen, too. The cost may seem high but think of it as dining at the chef's table while asking your chef friend to ply you with wine and share his or her secrets. Totally worth it.

Learn to cook with local produce and meat from Ana Sortun, award-winning chef at Oleana and Sofra Bakery. Sit in Sofra's cozy dining room and watch and learn as Sortun and pastry chef Maura Kilpatrick guide you through a handful of flavorful recipes—and you then enjoy the tastes of their labors. The recipes are fantastic when made in a home kitchen, too; we've know, because we've tried. Ana even offers an entire class in the spring focused on making the most of your CSA.

A good cookbook is part story and part culinary sherpa. They help you get where you're going, whether it's how to boil water or the lofty heights of specialized cuisine.  

Craft of Cooking, by Tom Colicchio. Sure, Top Chef-viewers love him. You know why he's really loved? Because his food is so damn good. A trip to NYC is lacking if not for a stop at one of his many Craft incarnations. This cookbook gives you the simple tools to transform lovely ingredients into stunning food with some simple techniques and ideas. Your home cooking will get easier and tastier after reading this book. It works so well with the CSA/local ideas because the recipes make the most of quality ingredients.

Stir: Mixing It Up in the Italian Tradition, by Barbara Lynch. This local chef (and head of her own growing No. 9 Park empire) has a cookbook that just came out this fall. It's named after her South End demonstration kitchen and it has some of her signature dishes. Check out how to make your own ricotta and some of her amazing pasta dishes that have made tables at her restaurants a hot commodity.

At Wicked Tasty Harvest, we love eating local and getting to know neighborhoods through their food. That's why Savoring East Somerville: A Taste-Based Guide to the Neighborhood is on our wish list. The new cookbook from East Somerville Main Streets promises recipes and full-color portraits from 26 East Somerville restaurants and business owners and family-cooking traditions from 25 neighborhood residents. Recipes from large Italian families, Salvadorian cooks and Brazilian bakers? Um, yes, please!  Order your copy (gift wrapping and shipping available).

I Know How to Cook, by Ginette Mathiot. Not only does it have a fantastic pink cover and a title that offers a fun variety of dramatic readings (I know how to cook, I know how to cook, I know how to cook), this book is a wealth of awesome French cooking techniques. This tome has been a standard for French women for decades and was on every French woman's grandmother's shelf. It's recently been translated into English and is a sort of French version of The Silver Spoon. It's full of wonderful recipes updated by Clotilde Dusoulier. French food, we find, does very well with the excellent produce, fantastic meats, and gorgeous dairy we have in New England. Might as well know how to do it the way it's been done in French homes for decades.

Gifts are more than lovely little things that make our lives delightful. They're also about those gifts that make the world a better and safer place. What gift guide could be complete without including organizations that are doing their part to improve the reality of the world. If you're giving gifts this season, consider a gift to an organization that is out there changing the world. And if you're getting this season, think about passing along some of that great feeling to others in the world. 

Gardens for Health is a Cambridge-based organization that provides tools, seeds, equipment and assistance to people living with HIV/AIDS in Rwanda. It helps them create food co-ops where they can grow food, improve their nutrition (which in many regions of the world is lacking in people suffering from HIV/AIDS), and earn income when they might otherwise have no jobs due to illness. This organization helps stop the cycle of poverty, malnourishment, and illness. Like Heifer International, your gifts are paired up with actual tools and supplies: $4 for a hoe, $180 for 100 plum tree seedlings, $500 for 8 wheelbarrows. 

Share Our Strength is trying to end childhood hunger by supporting school breakfast and year-round meal programs, improving access to fresh produce to families, encouraging farmers' markets to accept food stamps, and creating programs that teach families how to make nutritious healthy food on a limited budget. You can make a donation, order gift cards to share with other people, or buy tickets to their benefit, Taste of the Nation. The benefit is set for April 2010 and will feature Andy Husbands of Tremont 647, Jody Adams of Rialto, Gordon Hamersley of Hamersley's Bistro, Jason Santos of Gargoyles and about 70 restaurants and wineries. Tickets to the event and silent auction are 20 percent off by January 1 when you enter the code JINGLE10.

There are plenty of other organizations that bring food and giving, together. Take a closer look at the Greater Boston Food Bank, Heifer International, and City Sprouts, just to name a few.

Here's to a Tasty New Year!

 

Area CSAs and Eating Locally

by April Paffrath

New England is a bounty of food goodness. On Friday I shared some of that tastiness with the readers of the awesome website BostonMamas.com

In that guest post, I wrote about the benefits of local eating and why that’s a bit easier for your life. Basically, local foods are fresher and you can have greater control over the growing practices that you like (sustainable, organic, heritage, whatever) than you can at a supermarket. Local, fresh foods that are packed with flavor make an easier dinner because you have to do so very little to them to make them amazing.

That’s the great secret I’ve learned from my family’s CSA adventure. Simple food is simply good. Ramp it up a bit for a special occasion, but in general you’re less stressed at dinner when you’re starting with great ingredients. You can do crazy preparations because they’re fun, not because you need them to mask bland or bitter veggies. (And seriously? I love me some crazy preparation. I also love a quick dinner that needs almost no work at all because it’s fresh from the fields and singing with flavor.)

Do I get everything locally? No. But I look local first. If I can find it locally, I know I’m getting a fresher ingredient and I’m supporting a part of our regional community that I want to see become even more robust.

Below is the list of local CSAs that I shared with BostonMamas readers. The Boston area is lucky enough to have vegetable, meat, fish and grain CSAs—pretty amazing, really. There are plenty of amazing CSAs available in the area (this is just a sampling). Check them out, read their websites, give them a call and ask questions about their growing practice and regular CSA quantities and you can find the one that suits you best. I listed the prices based on what is currently one their websites. Some are already in the midst of signing up new members.

Later today this week, I’ll post a recipe for amazing and creamy gratin potatoes. You’ll make it all winter long, so check back. Mmm, I’m hungry for it already. Your holidays will never be the same.

Siena Farms, Sudbury, MA

Pay $750 for the weekly box share and pick up at Sofra (Farmer Chris’ wife is chef Ana Sortun of Oleana and Sofra), or $500 for the market share, which is a discount of 50% at the Copley farmers’ market or at their Sudbury farm stand.

I happily renewed my “membership” for next year’s box share. The food is amazing and almost unbelievable. It comes to you pristine and glowing and full of flavor. They offer varieties that are grown for their amazing taste. It’s no surprise that the city’s best restaurants also get their produce from Siena Farms—places like No. 9 Park, O Ya, Beacon Hill Bistro, Craigie on Main, and more. When you prepare the produce from Siena Farms, it tastes amazing, even if you only treat it with a bit of olive oil and salt. Their mesclun is peppery and wonderful—a real highlight!

Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA

Pick up this meat CSA once a month in several locations, year round (Arlington, Natick, Northhampton, and about 5 more). Prices depend on how much you’re getting each month. It starts at $80 and 10lbs a month ($8/lb). It costs less per pound if you get more. A bonus is that CSA shareholders are eligible to sign up for one of their coveted natural turkeys. They raise cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, and turkeys. The pasture animals (like cows and sheep) are pasture-fed as long as the New England weather lets them, and they get hay with occasional grain over the winter.

Red Fire Farm, Granby, MA

Pay $640 for the summer season CSA. They have add-on shares like eggs, flowers, and fruit. You can pick up your weekly share in Brighton, Cambridge, and Jamaica Plain, as well as a handful of other towns. You can also get it delivered at extra cost through MetroPedal Power. Shareholders get special pick-your-own privileges.

Parker Farms, Lunenburg, MA

Steve Parker is a fixture at the Union Square farmers’ market. Pay $325 for the small share or $500 for the large share. Pick-ups are in Davis Square, Somerville, and Porter and Central Squares, Cambridge.

Lands Sake, Weston, MA

Lands Sake is an education farm. (It’s also a fantastic pick-your-own farm with strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, and more. What’s so nice about that is that it’s organic, and it’s hard to find u-pick organic fruits.) We love to visit the farm because it’s a little bit hippy and super calm. They had some trouble with their CSA last year due in part to weather, but it’s a long-running farm that cares about treating the land and the food right.

Stillman Farm, New Braintree, MA

Another meat CSA, year round. You can find them at farmers’ markets and they’re very popular. CSA members get a 20% discount at the markets! Like Chestnut, they have grass-fed, pastured animals that are raised in a sustainable and humane way. Shares go from 5lb for $46/month up to 20lb for $155/month. Pick-ups are in Jamaica Plain, Brookline, and Lunenburg.

Six Farms CSA at Silverbrook Farm

Pay $325–500 for a half share or $565–730 for a full share; prices vary based on pick-up or delivery location.

Silverbrook teamed up with 5 other farms to offer a CSA. Some farms specialize in certain products or add in something special to the whole partnership. You also get Hannabells from Shy Brothers Cheese, since they’re one of the six farms. Mmm. Pick-up locations around Boston, Cambridge, Cape Cod, Rhode Island, and more. In Cambridge, they’ll deliver your share through MetroPedal Power, included in the CSA price.

Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA

This CSA is really a CSF, a community supported fishery. This unique program brings some of the local sea bounty to New Englanders, year-round. Each fish is valued the same, no matter the species. That allows the fishermen and women to go out and catch fish without chasing the highest paying species. There’s no toss-back of caught, dead fish that don’t get as high a price as other species. There’s less environmental damage in the quest for the priciest fish. They can fish unstressed areas and not risk their lives as much bringing it in. You’ll get cod, haddock, hake, shrimp, and more. They use innovative shrimping tools to minimize by-catch and environmental damage, and this shrimp is local — not the ecosystem-damaging shrimp you can find in the freezer section.

They have a bunch of different sign-up options, including all shrimp and a shrimp-fish combo. Pay $125-$400 for a 10-week share from anything from 5lb of shrimp to 40lb of fish. Pickups are all over the area, Cambridge, Jamaica Plain, Acton, Ipswich, and many more.

Drumlin Farm, Lincoln, MA

Drumlin Farm is a Mass Audubon Sanctuary. They also have a popular CSA, as well as a winter share that comes from their root cellar. Pay $575 or $525 if you work the farm for 8 hours. Pick up at the farm, Central or Porter in Cambridge, or in Jamaica Plain, Dorchester, and Quincy

Picadilly Farm, Winchester, NH

This certified organic farm has pick up in Arlington, Bedford, and Belmont. The form isn’t online yet for 2010, but 2009 shares were $525.

CSA Sign-up Time

by April Paffrath

Spring may be far off, but it’s time to sign up for next year’s CSA share already.

Many farms reserve time for existing members or subscribers to renew for the next season. After that time, it’s open to the public. CSA shares in this region often sell out, so it’s a good idea to sign up as early as you can. I mean, with all that tasty, fresh, and beautiful produce every week, it makes sense that people are clamoring for a slot with a CSA.

What’s a CSA, you ask? Check out our early entries here. Basically it’s a way for a farm to operate when they aren’t getting money yet for the crops they’ll plant next year. You give money to a farm so it has the funds to order supplies and seeds, fix machinery, hire staff, get the fields ready and more. In return, once the crops are planted and being harvested, you get a weekly “share” of the harvest in the form of delicious, amazing food. You take on some of the risk of bad years (like this year’s blight and rain), but you also take on some of the boon, too (like bumper crops and plentiful harvests).

Siena Farms’ CSA shares for next year are now open to the public. I got mine last week during the renewal period and already I’m so excited. It sold out last year and likely will again. Compared to other regional farms, the Siena Farms share is one of the more expensive farm shares. But never before have I seen produce that was this gorgeous and beautiful right out of the box. This year’s produce had almost no waste. Even the outer leaves of the cabbage didn’t need to be discarded. Siena Farms supplies restaurants like No. 9 Park, Beacon Hill Bistro, Upstairs on The Square, O Ya, Craigie Street Bistro and more. You get the idea. The produce is what people are looking for when they eat out and we like that same quality when we eat in.

The weekly half-bushel box CSA share is $750 and runs for about 25 weeks, starting in June (averaging $30 per week, which doesn’t seem like a lot to me). For that $30 a week you get flavor, texture and quality that dwarfs the supermarket. You also get produce that is lovely and not spoiled, wilted, or dried out. You get $30 per week of food you just love to eat. You also get a discount at the Siena Farms stand at Copley and at the farm in Sudbury for when you want to load up on extras of anything.

They also have a “chef’s choice” market share for $500. You don’t get a weekly delivery of food, but you do get a 50 percent discount at the farm stands. That’s a great program if you know you’ll be hitting the market regularly.

We were torn about which one to do, but we settled on the box. I love the surprise each week and I don’t get downtown or to Sudbury consistently.

The produce from Farmer Chris, Trevor and the team is just freaking beautiful. There, I’ve said it. (If my parents didn't read this blog, I might use more forceful language to extol the wonders of fresh fresh food straight from the farm.) If you’re on the fence, let me tip you over to the tasty side.

The Best Carrots

by April Paffrath

I know the CSA from Siena Farms has come to an end. I'm coming to terms with it, but it may take a while. And the Farmers' Markets that I frequent are finished for the year (although I do hope to find a few winter markets to visit). It's a wistful time of year, this end of the harvest season. It seems only last week I was reveling in all of the amazing food coming from, not only our great CSA share, but also from farm stands, markets, and local shops. I am reminded constantly throughout the season what amazing foods we have available here in New England. In addition to the end-products, we also have a wealth of committed farmers, growers, purveyors, brewers, chefs, and lovers of food and local goods. Let me tell you, it's easy to be thankful. It's also so easy to support these people in their efforts to make, grow, shepherd, and produce the most delicious things. Easy because our support comes back to us in so many tasty ways. It seems as though our regional food system is mutually nurturing, and that makes me glad.

It also makes me hungry. Yesterday was Thanksgiving and I found myself thankful for our local situation as I am nearly every day. How lucky we are! Still, the end of the CSA season and the farmers' markets makes me miss the high living of fresh crisp produce that will, by February, seem like a distant legend—we'll talk like old men on a porch about the shallots that were so fresh that they were practically luminous with their reddish-purple sheen. Or the kale that wasn't tough but was a joy to eat. Or the fresh berries that made a pie you would gladly travel 80 miles for. And how tasty were the carrots?! The carrots might induce a rapture of reminiscence, which no one would dare interrupt. (Check out the easiest way to make carrots evah, below.)

Like the Scarecrow at the end of the Wizard of Oz, carrots may be what I will miss the most. Store-bought carrots cannot compete with the bolero and rainbow carrots that thrilled us all season long and transformed our dinners, stocks, mirepoix and more into transcendent home cooking moments. The carrots straight from the farm tasted delicious and sweet and healthy—healthy in the best way possible. They tasted full of nutrients and flavors and—because they were always a joy to eat—you never shied away from seconds and thirds. It was easy to get your 7+ servings a day.

I recently bought some "regular" carrots and I swore something was terribly wrong with them. They were acrid and bitter and sharp, and not the sweet candy-like burst of carroty goodness that we became used to this whole summer. The sad truth is that's what's available and "normal" in many stores. It's going to end in tears, I can tell.

Luckily, carrots are a fantastic storage crop. We have pounds and pounds of them in our refrigerator. We've been fast and loose with the vegetable abundance, but I sense that we will begin using them with the reluctance that scarcity provokes. Maybe it will start with one fewer carrot in the stock. But until that day, we're enjoying every carrot we have—and using every bit of spare fridge space for storage crops like carrots and cabbage and celeriac. I think I want a root cellar. In my 5th floor apartment. That's not exactly normal, I know.

(Celery is a close second in vegetable wistfulness. The difference between the Siena Farms celery, which is bright green and full of impeccable leaves, and the chalky white-green, leafless store celery is just as vast as the carrot difference. I don't have any celery from the farm left and I will be missing it all winter.)

Carrots are delightful to eat straight. A simple cooking will highlight the natural sweetness and make the simplest food into a major side dish. The carrots at the end of the season are the sweetest because the plant is working on storing its natural sugars in the root of the plant—the part we eat— now that the leaves are matured or gone and the flowering is over. When you cook up the late-season roots, they taste sweet yet complex. The sugars caramelize, adding great depth notes to the flavors. You don;t need to add brown sugar or anything like that.

Here's the easiest way to make carrots, which I discovered half by accident not long ago.

The Best Carrots

• carrots
• oil
• salt

1. Before you do anything else with the meal, wash a bunch of carrots and peel them. Cut any thick ones lengthwise in half or quarters, so they are all about the same thickness, 1/2"-3/4" wide. They'll cook evenly that way.
2. Put the carrots in a roasting or baking pan and drizzle with oil and sprinkle with salt. Then toss them around with your hands, so the carrots are coated with oil all over. I keep them all going in the same direction, so more carrots are in touch with the pan and are more likely to caramelize.
3. Cover the pan loosely with aluminum foil to prevent the carrots from drying out.
4. Put them in the oven and then turn it on. I hardly even look at the temperature. I just turn it on. If I have something that will go in the oven next, I turn it to that temperature.
5. As the oven heats up, so do the carrots, slowly and evenly. Test them with a fork occasionally. Take the foil off at some point, when they really get cooking—that will help the carrots and oil brown a bit, enhancing the lovely sugar flavors. The best is when the edges and bottoms of the carrots caramelize and the oil and natural sugars make a kind of sticky syrup that clings to the pan-side of the carrots.
6. They should be done and fork-tender, but not fall-apart mushy. These are easy-eating carrots, so you don't want to have to use a knife. These are carrots that make it easy to say, "Oooh, just one more!" Before you know it, your dinner party has finished the whole roasting pan of carrots and feels very healthy, happy, and quite superior about it. And they should.
7. (Remember, if you still have plenty of cooking to do, remove them from the oven before they're done all the way and just reheat them when you're finishing up the other dishes. If you haven't eaten them all as a cooks treat in the meantime.)

photo (cc) djkd on Flickr