Apple Sweets, Part 3: Mini Pies

Who eats a whole pie anymore? It's far more useful to craft two to four mini pies, particularly if you have a series of closely scheduled get-togethers for which a hostess gift may come in handy.

Wrap each one in unbleached parchment, and tie it like a present with rough garden twine. And what sweeter autumn words could you utter with forced nonchalance than, "Oh, here, I made you a mini apple pie."

Recipe to come.

Apple Sweets, Part 2

More new-harvest apples!

SPICED BUTTERMILK WAFFLES WITH CARAMELIZED APPLES & YOGURT

Serves 4

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground allspice

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more butter for brushing waffle iron

1 3/4 cups buttermilk

2 large eggs, separated

1 tablespoon honey

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 recipe Caramelized Apples (recipe below)

4-6 tablespoons plain or vanilla low-fat yogurt

Place flour, baking soda, salt and spices in the bowl of a standing mixer. Add melted butter, buttermilk, egg yolks, honey and vanilla, and mix on medium speed until a few lumps remain (this is the butter, which has come to room temperature again).

Transfer the mixture to a larger bowl, and wash and dry the stand-up mixer's bowl. OR, if you have a second standing-mixer bowl (man, I've always wanted one of those), then skip this step. Place the egg whites in a clean stand-up mixer bowl and whip until stiff but not dry. Fold egg whites into the batter gently.

Heat a greased waffle iron. Brush both sides with butter and ladle in batter, following instructions from your waffle iron manufacturer so waffle is golden brown. Repeat with remaining batter. Serve waffles hot with Caramelized Apples and yogurt.

Caramelized Apples:

4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter

3 fresh gala apples, peeled and diced

3 tablespoons light brown sugar

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

Heat butter on medium in a large skillet until melted. Add diced apples, brown sugar and cinnamon. Stir to coat apples with butter and brown sugar. Cover pan for a few minutes to let apples soften, checking and stirring occasionally. Lower heat if necessary. Remove lid and cook for a few more minutes until a syrupy sauce develops. Serve warm.

Apple Torte with Breadcrumb-Hazelnut Crust

Fall is the best time to cook, right? I love to pull on a sweater and go for a walk on a crisp sunny day, seeing how the leaves are changing, and then coming home to make sausages with sauerkraut, or braised pork shoulder with noodles, or roasted chicken and root vegetables, or an apple or pear dessert.

This torte from the cover of October's Bon Appetit brings together two great Washington ingredients -- apples and hazelnuts -- so I thought I'd try it.

The crust is unusual, made with dry breadcrumbs, ground hazelnuts and lemon zest. Instructions for making it are confusing and led to several reader questions and comments online, including mine. You start out with 8 cups of ground fresh French or Italian breadcrumbs, and then you toast them. This should result in about 3 cups; for me it didn't, but whatever you end up with, go ahead and mix it together with the other ingredients as instructed. I wish the recipe had just called for the fresh bread in weight, rather than in cups. That would have made it easier not only to measure the breadcrumbs but also to purchase the loaves in the first place.

I served the torte with vanilla whipped cream, and I loved the flavor of the apples, hazelnuts and lemon, but wasn't particularly fond of the breadcrumbs' texture. No blame here for the recipe's creator, celebrity chef Lydia Bastianich; after all, fall cravings are so subjective and personal. But next time I'll make a more conventional apple pie with a flaky crust.

In the meantime, click here for the Bon Appetit recipe if you'd like to try this. The flavors are definitely nice with an old-world Italian meal.

Early Fall Lasagna

The last of the season's tomatoes and zucchini found their way into this Greek-ish take on lasagna, a layered, cheesed and baked dish that means many things to many people.

I grew up with Catholic lasagna -- the no-nonsense ilk comprised of ground beef, pasta, ricotta, red sauce and mozzarella. Ruddy-faced moms served it with iceberg salad and garlic-powder bread in our brightly lit church basement. In these endeavors to raise funds for church construction or athletic equipment, the lasagna was fine, but it certainly wasn't the point.

As a kid I also associated this type of casserole with hospital visits and funerals...a dish that earnest volunteers delivered to the family at home to provide comfort. So, despite all these nice intentions, I didn't exactly crave the stuff.

That all changed in the fall of 6th grade, when I visited my friend Tonya Rulli's Greek Orthodox church festival. She and I made our way that night through a crowded kitchen to ask her mom for money, and I'll never forget the smells: fresh dill, lamb, olive oil, garlic, cinnamon, and a heavy dose of Liz Claiborne perfume.

These Greek moms were clearly different -- more glamorous -- and I studied their long nails, gold jewelry, meticulous make-up, and colored and coiffed hair. Then Tonya and I ate pastitsio, which she described as the Greek Orthodox version of Catholic lasagna. It was creamier, far more flavorful, and it made me want to convert.

My Greek-ish lasagna is not exactly pastitsio, which uses tubular penne-like noodles, and typically has just three distinct layers -- one of seasoned meat, one of pasta, and one of baked custard or bechamel sauce. But I'm inspired by its flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg and cream.

Not following a recipe, I listened strictly to pregnancy cravings. First a pound of ground beef, browned with diced white onion and cinnamon to taste. In another pan, some fresh garlic, zucchini and tomatoes, sauteed in olive oil; to these I added a fairly simple but good quality bottled pasta sauce, then minced fresh dill, then crumbled feta cheese until the sauce looked creamy. Next came the bechamel sauce, a standard recipe to which I added cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg to taste.

I brushed a square pan with olive oil and layered: Seasoned meat, then vegetables with pasta sauce, then no-boil lasagna noodles. All this again, and again, and then a thick layer of bechamel sauce. I covered it with shredded mozzarella and baked it at 375 F. until bubbly, about 45 minutes. It then sat under the broiler for a few minutes to brown on top.

Great Zeus, it was tasty.

Pappardelle with Seared Scallops & Summer Corn Sauce

My dear friend Marna and I recently got together to cook. We sat on her swank new deck, talking about the latest issue of Bon Appetit and how it's just not as good as Gourmet was. We fussed with one of its recipes, making it our own. Then we devoured August in a bowl. So, now it's nearly gone. See you again next year, August.

FRESH PAPPARDELLE WITH SEARED SCALLOPS & SUMMER CORN SAUCE

Serves 2

3 ears fresh local corn, shucked

1 clove garlic, sliced

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt + more for scallops

2 pinches black pepper

2 tablespoons + 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese, divided

2 tablespoons + 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided

2 tablespoons butter

6 ounces fresh, refrigerated Pappardelle pasta

10 large fresh scallops, pressed very dry with paper towels

Juice of 1/4 large lemon

1/3 cup chopped fresh basil

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and add shucked corn. Boil for 5 minutes or so, until it turns more yellow. Use tongs to remove it from the water and let it cool. Slice the kernels from the cob.

Place half the corn kernels in a food processor. Add garlic, 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, pepper, 2 tablespoons Parmesan and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Process until smooth and saucy. Stir in remaining corn kernels. Place sauce in a small pan on low heat to keep it warm, stirring occasionally, while you make the pasta and scallops.

Cook and drain pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, heat remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil and butter in a large skillet on high heat. Add scallops in a single layer and cook 3-4 minutes until the first side is brown; use tongs to turn and cook until the other side is brown, then a bit longer to ensure each scallop is slightly translucent inside, but not too raw. (I just test one with a knife.) Squeeze scallops with lemon juice to deglaze the pan and give them some bright flavor.

Toss pasta with most of the fresh basil and corn sauce. Divide among pasta bowls. Divide scallops among pasta bowls, placing them on top. Sprinkle with remaining basil and Parmesan, and serve on a swank deck with a green salad and some crisp white wine if you're not pregnant.

Caramelized Peach Custard Tartlets

We must have patience for the best Washington peaches. Not until this week were they finally, REALLY here. For these tarts, I cobbled together a couple favorite recipes -- a normal, flaky pie crust and a rich custard. The peaches were blanched and sliced, but no sugar was necessary...just a bit sprinkled on top to get the caramelized effect.

CARAMELIZED PEACH CUSTARD TARTLETS

Makes 6 tartlets

5 large peaches

6 baked tartlet shells, made from Flaky Pie Crust (see recipe below)

1 recipe Rich Vanilla Custard (see recipe below)

Sugar for sprinkling

Special equipment: Kitchen-appropriate blow torch (optional)

Bring a large pot of water to boil, and use tongs to carefully place peaches one at a time in the boiling water. Boil peaches for about 10 minutes, or until skins appear loose. Use tongs to remove peaches from boiling water and place them in a large bowl. Let cool, and then use clean fingers to slide off skins. If the peaches are juicy and awesome, you won't need a paring knife. If they're not quite that awesome, you might need to work at some of them with a paring knife to get all the skin off. Slice peaches as shown and discard pits.

Fill each baked tartlet shell nearly to the top with chilled creme brulee custard. Arrange sliced peaches on top, and sprinkle liberally with sugar. Use blow torch to caramelize. If you don't have a blow torch, you can place the tartlets under the broiler for a few minutes; place the peaches about 2 inches below the flame, and watch carefully so they don't burn. Serve.

Flaky Pie Crust:

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled

Ice water

1 egg + few drops of water

Special equipment: pastry cutter, scalloped 6-inch tartlet pans with removable bottoms, pie weights or dry beans

Stir together flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Cut chilled butter into small pieces and cut it into the flour mixture, using a pastry cutter, until the chunks of butter are the size of baby peas. Drizzle 1/3 cup ice water over mixture and gently stir, incorporating the water throughout. Use clean hands to press the dough together into a ball. If it's still not coming together, add 1-2 more tablespoons of water and try again.

Cut the ball into 2 pieces and wrap each one in plastic; press each piece into a flat disk. You should see some little lumps and swirls of butter in each disk. Chill the dough for at least 30 minutes, or up to a day.

Remove a disk from plastic and sprinkle it on both sides with flour. (If it's really cold and stiff, let it sit for a few minutes until you can work with it.) Roll it flat, working quickly to keep it cold and making sure it's of even thickness, about 1/4 inch. Cut the rolled dough into 3 large circles, and press each circle into a tartlet pan, using your fingers to remove any excess dough from the edges of the tartlet pan. Repeat with the other disk of dough. Whisk together the egg and water and brush the surface of each shell with this egg wash. Wrap all the tartlets in plastic and chill for 20-30 minutes to let the flour's gluten rest just a bit. This will keep the tartlet sides from sinking in the oven. Preheat oven to 400F.

Remove the tartlet pans from the refrigerator and unwrap them. Place them all on a baking sheet, and fill each shell to the top with ceramic pie weights or dry beans (this also helps the sides not to sink). Bake the shells for 7 to 10 minutes, until they're golden. Let cool and remove pie weights. Now the tartlet shells are ready to be filled and served.

Rich Vanilla Custard:

2 cups heavy cream, room temperature

3 large eggs, room temperature

1/2 cup sugar

3/4 teaspoon vanilla

Heat 2 inches of water in a saucepan that can serve as the bottom of a double boiler. Whisk together cream, eggs and sugar in a large metal bowl that can serve as the top of the double boiler. (In other words, the bowl should be just a bit wider than the rim of the saucepan. You don't want the bowl to float it the water; you want it to sit on the rim, so the steam helps cook your custard.)

Place the bowl on top of the saucepan, making sure the bowl doesn't touch the simmering water. (If it does, you might end up with scrambled eggs.) Whisk cream mixture constantly for 20 minutes or so, allowing it to thicken. Strain it through a fine strainer into a storage container, and stir in vanilla. Cover and refrigerate until cold and thick. Now the custard is ready to fill the tartlet shells.

August Dinner Party

No time for fancy writing, but here's the quick rundown on a recent dinner party we hosted:

Pimms Cup cocktails & assorted beer

Dara's homemade salsa (two kinds) with tortilla chips

Grilled steelhead with lemon, butter, parsley and cilantro

Spicy pulled pork sandwiches

Potato salad (with red potatoes, egg, shaved fresh corn, sugar snap peas, red onion dill, mayo, mustard, olive oil, white wine vinegar)

Jicama slaw (with carrots, red cabbage, cilantro, lime juice and olive oil)

Blackberry ice cream and gingersnaps

Berry-Best Pound Cake

If you look to the far right and read this blog's mission, you'll see that juicy, local strawberries from the Northwest are called out specifically. Part of my goal in moving from the Midwest to Seattle was to educate my husband Dara about "real" strawberries, which he had never eaten.

Mind you, I'm not opposed to the Driscoll version of a strawberry at the supermarket; large and pretty and protected in plastic, it has its place throughout the year. And strawberries from the Midwest farmers markets -- well, they're fine, I suppose. But Oregon and Washington strawberries are completely different. They're small, red throughout, and can barely contain all their juice and flavor. They're also delicate -- you have to pick them and eat them in just a couple of days. And for the best varieties, the season is brief.

When I was growing up, my family honored the fleeting Northwest strawberry season by devouring a June dinner of strawberry shortcake and nothing else. It was one of my sister's and my favorite days of the year.

This summer I pictured myself making all kinds of local strawberry treats to the delight of Dara and friends. How about a shortcake in which the sweet biscuits contain crisp bits of bacon, and the cream is sweetened with maple syrup? How about freezer jam with a hint of lavender or lemon verbena? A fresh, open-faced strawberry pie is a must, with a shortbread crust and a creamy, honey-scented custard to secure the upside-down strawberries. There's ice cream, of course -- just pure cream with eggs, sugar and muddled berries. And juice, finely strained to flavor and color a fresh, sparkly cocktail garnished with a lime wedge.

Well, we ended up having a big old strawberry snafu this year. The Strawberry Snafu of 2010. It was worth it, though. Let me explain.

On Friday, June 18, my parents from southwest Washington called to alert us that this year's Hood strawberries were in. Hood is one of the very best varieties. We knew that since we live about three hours north of my parents, the Hoods would be ready in our neck of the woods in a week or two. Nice!

Knowing how excited we were about the season, my parents generously offered to bring us some of their Hoods the next day. We arranged a Saturday morning parking lot pick-up in Olympia, about 60 miles south of Seattle. It would be like a drug deal, except with strawberries and free brunch.

The afternoon before the deal went down, I shook myself out of my third nap of the week. What was wrong with me? I couldn't stop sleeping these days.

I went to the computer, looking up the restaurant menu for the Kingfish Cafe. I had been excited all week for a Southern dinner with our friends Haley and Liam, but now, fried chicken and gumbo sounded like the least appealing foods in the world.

I sat down in front of the open toilet for a few minutes.

Hmm. No, I thought. It couldn't be. No way. That would be crazy. Ha, that would be really crazy.

Taking the story back a few months: Dara and I had tried to have a baby for four years. We had gone to Chicago's best fertility clinic and done all we could, including two in-vitro procedures. I had taken so many drugs to regulate all the things that were wrong with me...to ensure I ovulated, to thicken my uterine lining, to produce more eggs. Our doctor had ultimately said, "I think we're looking at an egg quality issue." Disheartened, we decided to take a break from trying so hard. We figured we'd pursue another in-vitro procedure sometime, and maybe adoption. These seemed like more tasks for my to-do list. I felt old, dried up, and honestly so, so sad.

Soon after, the opportunity to move to Seattle arose, and it seemed like a perfect time to relax and not think about it...to just have fun for now.

But there I was on the bathroom floor, counting back days and shaking my head, tears in my eyes and a smirk on my face. No way.

I took two pregnancy tests. Positive, and positive. Less than two months in Seattle, and here I was, staring at the digital word I had begun to doubt I would ever see. Is this a magic city or something? I called Dara and told him. Then I made a doctor's appointment. They said I was likely already seven weeks pregnant. We felt foggy, like we were scared to be too excited yet.

Fast forward to the Saturday morning strawberry drug deal. We wrapped one of the tests like a present and gave it to my dad for Father's Day. Seeing my parents' reaction -- the confusion, then the dawn of understanding, then the pure joy -- were moments I'll never forget.

Back home in Seattle, we spread the berries out on the kitchen counter. Dara said, "OK, what should we do now?"

"I don't know. I'm exhausted and I have to go barf."

I slept the rest of the afternoon. Dara bought some pectin and we made some half-ass jam that was too sweet, then some half-ass ice cream that wasn't creamy enough. On Sunday we washed and hulled the rest of the berries and tossed them in the freezer mere seconds before they molded. I wanted to barf the whole time.

Two weeks later, we tried again -- and again, the berries sat on the counter for too long. This time they actually did start to mold, and I wanted no involvement with them.

Fortunately, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries and marionberries have treated me much better this year. And I know that strawberries and I will get along better next year. But anyway. Now it's time for an awesome recipe to reward you for reading the story of why my baby will be named Strawberry. Just kidding.

One of our favorite ways to eat any kind of berry is with pound cake. This recipe is adapted from a 1988 issue of my mom's beloved and now defunct Americana magazine. It's truly the best, with a beautiful cracking crust, a smooth, golden crumb and a rich flavor of butter with lemon and vanilla and mace.

BUTTERMILK POUND CAKE

Makes one 10-inch cake

1 cup butter

2 1/2 cups sugar

4 large eggs

3 cups flour

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 cup buttermilk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1/2 teaspoon mace

Preheat oven to 325 F. Grease and lightly flour a 10-inch tube pan. Cream the butter and gradually add sugar, beating until well-blended. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition. Combine the flour and salt. Dissolve the soda in the buttermilk; add it to the batter alternately with the flour mixture, beginning and ending with the flour. Stir in vanilla, lemon zest and mace. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 60-70 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn it out and cool it completely on a wire rack. Serve with fresh somewhat muddled berries, sweetened if necessary.

Menu Inspired by Pau, France

Tonight Dara and I dined on pan-roasted trout with Béarnaise sauce, accompanied by freshly shelled peas, steamed and garnished with a few fried morels. And just for fun, some baby potatoes roasted in duck fat. The finale was a lemon-scented, Basque-style custard tart topped with huge, juicy local raspberries.

You know, because it’s Monday. Kidding; actually, this was thanks to Barbara Harris from Winos & Foodies, who organized a virtual food tour of the Tour de France route and allowed me to participate by developing, preparing and chowing down on a menu inspired by Stage 16.

As the cyclists progress from region to region, various bloggers are taking turns to write about each area’s cuisine. Click here for the full story, along with links to all the participating blogs and their recipes.

I was assigned to write about the food of Pau, a city in southwest France where the cyclists are currently resting before they ascend the Pyrenees. Pau is known for its wonderful fishing rivers and the influence of its nearby mountains and Basque population. As I looked online through its restaurants’ menus, I saw a lot of salmon, trout, duck, foie gras and lamb, with several mentions of marinated peppers special to the region, sheeps milk cheeses, fresh peas, mountain berries and wild greens.

A soup called Garbure appears popular, though out of season at the moment, with cabbage, beans, potatoes and bits of bacon or goose. Pipérade is also common – a dish based on tomatoes and sweet green peppers cooked in olive oil, with potential additions such as ham, bacon, garlic, onions, other vegetables and lightly beaten egg.

Pau's first famous foodie was Henri IV, who was born there in the sixteenth century when it was part of a region called the Béarn. Contrary to what one might assume, Béarnaise sauce did not originate here; in fact, it was developed by a chef outside of Paris in 1836 in honor of the former king and his homeland.

But Henri did popularize Poule au Pot – chicken stuffed and simmered in a pot with vegetables – by saying he did not want anyone in his realm to be so poor they could not afford Poule au Pot once a week. (And here I thought U.S. President Herbert Hoover was the first to come up with that sentiment in the 1930s.)

Tonight's menu reflects the seasonal ingredients of Pau as well as Seattle and rounds out the range of recipes many other bloggers have already contributed. The Béarnaise sauce recipe is Julia Child's. The Basque-style tart recipe (minus the impromptu addition of berries) is adapted from that of a tourism board Web site, and as I was making it I didn't think it was going to work -- the dough was so sticky that it didn't roll out very well. By the time it reached the cake pan, it was full of holes and tears. I patched it up, tossed it in the oven, and lo and behold, it turned out golden brown and beautiful, with a layer of yummy vanilla custard baked inside.

As we lingered over our meal, our big Great Pyrenees dog, Chloe, hovered nearby with her glossy chocolate eyes full of hope. Though I don’t indulge any suggestion of begging, I thought for a moment of her breed’s origins as sheep-guarders in the mountains to which we were paying tribute, and how I'm happy now to know just a bit more about her roots.

PAN-ROASTED TROUT WITH BEARNAISE SAUCE

Serves 2 (and only 2 -- no begging Great Pyrenees)

1/4 cup white wine vinegar

1/4 cup dry white wine

1 tablespoon + 2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon, divided

1 tablespoon minced shallot

Pinch black pepper

Pinch salt

3 egg yolks

2 tablespoon cold unsalted butter + 1/2 cup melted unsalted butter + 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided

1 (1 to 1 1/4 pound) gutted rainbow trout, head and tail intact

Boil vinegar, wine, shallots, tarragon, salt and pepper over moderate heat until the liquid has reduced to 2 tablespoons. Let it cool. Whisk the egg yolks until thick. Strain in the vinegar mixture and whisk. Add 1 tablespoon of cold butter and thicken the egg yolks over low heat in a double-boiler, whisking and being sure the water doesn't boil, it just simmers, and it doesn't touch the bottom of the double-boiler insert. Whisk in the other tablespoon of cold butter, then whisk in the melted butter gradually. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed, and then stir in the last 2 tablespoons chopped tarragon. Set sauce aside, keeping it in the double-boiler insert over warm water and whisking occasionally.

Cut off trout's head and tail. Heat the last 2 tablespoons butter in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add trout and cover for 2-3 minutes. Remove lid and flip trout. The skin should be coming off; that's OK, just scrape it away so that the fish can brown in the butter. Cook 3-4 minutes more, or just until trout is browned outside and opague inside.

Remove fish from pan and place on a cutting board in order to remove the bones and slice the fish into 4 vertical quarters. Scrape away all skin and fins. Use a boning knife to slice the fish vertically, alongside the spine, and lift away a filet of fish from the bones, keeping this quarter of the fish intact. (If the fish will not slide easily away from the bone, it is likely not cooked sufficiently, so return it to the stove and then try again.) Turn fish and repeat 3 more times, so that you are left with 4 long quarters of fish and a skeleton. Lightly salt and pepper the fish and discard the skeleton.

Place 2 filets of fish on each plate and top with warm Béarnaise sauce and the last of the minced tarragon. Serve with steamed peas or green beans and Duck Fat Potatoes.

DUCK FAT POTATOES

Serves 2

12 bite-sized Yukon Gold potatoes

3 ounces rendered duck fat

Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350 F. Peel potatoes and place in a single layer in a small roasting pan. Dot each potato with duck fat. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and cover with foil. Roast 45 minutes, and then remove foil and increase heat to 375 F. Roast 30-40 more minutes, until potatoes are well-browned and some are crispy. Remove from roasting pan with a slotted spoon and serve.

BASQUE-STYLE CUSTARD TART WITH BERRIES

Serves 10-12

Zest of 1 lemon

1 egg and 1 egg yolk

1 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

10 tablespoons cold unsalted butter

2 cups flour

1 recipe Custard (see recipe below)

Egg wash (1 beaten egg + 1/2 teaspoon water)

1 pint fresh berries of your choice (optional)

Use a standing mixer to mix lemon zest, egg and yolk, sugar and salt. Add butter and mix just so that it's coated; add flour and mix until the dough is coming together but still bumpy with butter. Remove it from the bowl and use hands to press it into a ball. Refrigerate for 1 hour; meanwhile, make custard and butter a 10-inch springform pan. Preheat oven to 380 F. (Yes, that's 380 F.)

Remove dough from refrigerator and reserve 1/3 of it. Roll out the 2/3 portion and place it in the bottom of the springform pan, patching as necessary. Pour in the cooled custard, and then roll out the remaining 1/3 dough. Place it on top of the tart, patching as necessary, and running a knife around the rim to neaten the edges. At this point, the tart will look untidy, but don't worry -- the patches won't show once it bakes. Brush the top with egg wash and bake for 45 minutes, or until golden brown. Cool on a rack, then remove from pan and transfer to a serving plate. Top with berries if desired.

Custard:

Bring 1 cup milk and 1 teaspoon brandy or whiskey to a simmer in a small saucepan. Meanwhile, beat together 1/4 cup sugar and 3 egg yolks. Very gradually whisk milk mixture into egg mixture. Place this custard all back into the saucepan and bring to a simmer, just to thicken the eggs, whisking constantly. When it simmers, remove the custard from the heat and whisk in 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract and 1 tablespoon unsalted butter. Let cool.

Asparagus & Radishes with Ricotta Salata & Pistachio Brown Butter

I often want to talk about seasonal vegetables, and then end up talking about butter. Darn.

But do you know the virtues of brown butter, aka beurre noisette, and how easily it elevates this composed vegetable dish? I tasted it at the Vertitable Quandry down in Portland -- a sentimental favorite whose menu seems to get better and better -- and have found it easy to recreate at home as a summer-licious sidekick to grilled fish and chicken.

Start with warm, plump, steamed asparagus and cold, shaved radish. Add thin pieces of firm, salty ricotta salata, and drizzle the dish with toasted pistachios tossed in beurre noisette and a few drops of white balsamic vinegar. Eat right away!

ASPARAGUS & RADISHES WITH RICOTTA SALATA & PISTACHIO BROWN BUTTER

Serves 2 as a side dish

3 tablespoons chopped pistachios

1/4 cup good-quality unsalted butter

1/2 teaspoon white balsamic vinegar (white wine vinegar is also fine)

1 pinch kosher salt

10 spears plump, local asparagus

3 local radishes, trimmed, sliced thinly and chilled

2 ounces ricotta salata, sliced thinly

Freshly ground black pepper (optional)

Place a medium-sized skillet on medium-high heat. Add pistachios and toast them, tossing occasionally, until fragrant. Add butter and cook, covering the pan if necessary, until it turns light brown with little brown specks. Remove pan from heat and let cool slightly; add vinegar and salt.

Bring a 4-quart pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, use a paring knife or vegetable peeler to trim the base of each asparagus spear, making sure nothing too firm or branchy remains. Boil the asparagus until tender, about 7 minutes. While you're doing that, place the pistachio-brown butter sauce back on low heat and make sure the chilled radishes and ricotta are ready.

Drain asparagus and toss it with a bit of sauce. Plate the asparagus. Top it with radish and ricotta. Drizzle with remaining sauce, and sprinkle with freshly ground black pepper if desired.

My "Che-tory" Soup

No, che-tory is not a fancy wild green you've never heard of. It's an attempt to phonetically spell the Persian word for "health."

You see, later this week I need to wear a strapless bridesmaid dress. So, it's time to get out the arm weights, stop eating steak and cake (see last two posts), and whip up some of this sinless soup, bright with flavors of fresh herbs and lime juice. The recipe has evolved under the influence of my mother-in-law as well as the Persian cooking authority Najmieh Batmanglij, author of Persian Cooking for a Healthy Kitchen (Mage Publishers, 1994) among other titles.

Persians use copious amounts of parsley, dill, mint and other herbs in their cooking, treating them more like vegetables than garnishes. For example, the popular dish Kohresh-e qormeh sabzi is a green casserole of lamb and kidney beans covered with fresh parsley, cilantro and chives along with olive oil, onion, garlic, saffron, turmeric, dried limes and lime juice. The first time I ate it, I thought it must also contain a leafy green such as spinach or chard because I wasn't accustomed to cooking with herbs in such large quantities. But why not? The key is to grow your own, which most Persian I know do, rather than buying those little 1-ounce plastic containers in the produce department that cost upwards of $3.

Nearly every Persian dinner I've ever eaten starts with Nan-o panir-o sabzi-khordan -- that's bread (usually pita or lavash) and feta cheese with radishes, herbs (usually basil, parsley, dill and mint) and nuts (usually walnuts that have been soaked in water to take away the bitterness).

The soup -- or ahsh, as Persians would call it -- is influenced by both of these examples, and Dara and I love to eat it warm, drizzled with plain yogurt and olive oil. If you want to show off, you can serve it and say, Noosh-e jan! That's the Persian version of bon appetit.

MY "CHE-TORY" SOUP

Serves 6 as a starter

2 tablespoons olive oil

1/2 white onion, diced

1 bunch scallions, chopped

2 teaspoons garlic, minced

1 teaspoon kosher salt + more to taste

1 cup green lentils, rinsed and picked over

4 cups vegetable broth or chicken broth + more as needed

6 ounces fresh parsley

4 ounces fresh cilantro

4 ounces fresh dill

3 ounces fresh mint leaves

Juice of 4-6 medium-sized limes

1 cup cooked cracked wheat, barley or quinoa (optional)

Plain yogurt and extra-virgin olive oil to garnish

Heat olive oil in a medium saucepan. Add onion and cover; let sweat on low heat until the onion is translucent. Add scallions, garlic and salt and increase heat to medium; saute until garlic is fragrant and white onion begins to caramelize. Add lentils and broth. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and cover; cook about 30 minutes, until lentils are tender. Meanwhile, cut off big stems from parsley, cilantro and dill.

Combine lentil mixture, fresh herbs and juice of 4 limes to a food processor, and blend until fairly smooth, as shown in the photo above. Taste and add more lime juice and salt as needed; it should really have some zing. Stir in cooked cracked wheat, barley or quinoa if desired to make the soup more substantial, or simply drizzle it with plain yogurt and olive oil and serve it with warm whole-wheat bread.

Steak & Tater Night

Sometimes there is nothing so satisfying as a juicy rib-eye with lots of salt, and roasted red potatoes with lots of olive oil and fresh basil. Yummers.

Happy Birthday, Anna-Marie!

It's not exactly "seasonal," but Pink Champagne Cake is a fluffy-licious birthday option for anyone who likes pale pink, vanilla beans, raspberries and sparkling wine.

The flavor is deeply nostalgic for many who grew up eating bakery birthday cakes. After some online research, I concluded it needed to be made with white cake mix, which carries a mysterious, artificial yet appealing vanilla-almond-cherry taste that's difficult if not impossible to replicate quite perfectly in a scratch cake. Pretty up the mix with Sofia Blanc de Blancs, vanilla beans, fluffy butter frosting and fresh raspberries, and the humble transforms to high-end. Is this the next Red Velvet?

PINK CHAMPAGNE CAKE WITH FLUFFY BUTTER FROSTING

Makes one 8-inch, 2-layer cake

1 (18.25 ounce) box Duncan Hines Moist Deluxe Classic White Cake premium cake mix (it's apparently important not to use a mix with pudding in it)

1 1/3 cups sparkling wine (I bought a 4-pack of Sofia Blanc de Blancs in cans -- it's cheaper than opening a bottle of similar quality, and after you're done making the cake and the frosting, you'll still have 2 cans to spare)

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

3 large egg whites

Seeds scraped from 1/2 vanilla bean

3-4 drops red gel food coloring

1 recipe Fluffy Butter Frosting

1 pint fresh raspberries

Preheat oven to 350 F. Butter and flour two metal 8-inch cake pans. Blend together cake mix, sparkling wine, oil, egg whites and vanilla seeds in a large bowl at low speed until moistened, about 30 seconds. Beat at medium speed for 2 minutes. Add food coloring to achieve desired pink color. Pour batter into prepared pans and bake immediately for 32-25 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean. Meanwhile make Fluffy Butter Frosting and cut the raspberries in half lengthwise.

Let the cake layers cool for a few minutes in their pans, and then turn them out onto metal racks to cool completely.* Use a serrated knife to slice the tops off each cake layer, so they won't be shaped like domes. Place the bottom cake layer on a cake stand or serving platter, and surround it underneath with a few small pieces of waxed paper, so you'll be able to pull them away when you're done frosting.

Place a big scoop of frosting on this bottom layer, and use an offset spatula to spread it evenly to the sides.

Place about 1/2 cup of frosting in a piping bag with a large, round tip. (If you don't have cake decorating tools, just place it in a heavyweight plastic zippered bag and cut a slit in the corner for piping). Pipe around the perimeter of this bottom layer, making a little bordered pool in which the raspberries will sit and not escape.Place about 2/3 of the raspberry halves in the pool, and top with just a smidge more frosting.

Now you're ready for the top layer. Turn it upside down, so the golden brown side is on top, and place it on the bottom layer and the raspberry pool. Place a big scoop of frosting on top of the cake, and spread it evenly. Place big dollops of frosting on the sides and frost upwards, meeting the top layer of frosting. (At this point you'll have a homey-looking frosted cake like mine. To make the frosting look smoother, refrigerate the cake for at least a half hour, and smooth it out using a spatula you've held over the gas flame on the stove for a while so that it's warm.)

Decorate the cake with the remaining berries, and serve.

*At this point, you could wrap each layer tightly in plastic and freeze it for up to a week. Many people prefer to do this, as cakes freeze well and are easier to decorate when they are frozen. However, I usually do not have such foresight, and I find this cake fairly resilient and easy to decorate without freezing it first.

For Fluffy Butter Frosting:

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature

8-9 cups confectioners sugar, divided

1/4 cup milk (use whatever fat level you're comfortable with)

1/4 cup sparkling wine

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

Seeds scraped from 1/2 vanilla bean

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

About 3 drops red food coloring

Beat butter until fluffy. Add 4 cups confectioners sugar and pulse to blend. Beat on high speed until fluffy. Add milk, wine, vanilla extract, vanilla seeds and salt; pulse to blend, and then beat on high speed until fluffy. Add 4 more cups confectioners sugar and pulse to blend. Beat on high speed until fluffy. Beat in 1 more cup of confectioners sugar if you'd like a stiffer texture. Add food coloring to achieve desired pink color. Frost cake while the frosting is at room temperature.

Steamed Garlic Spears

Think asparagus is the only slender, tender reed that epitomizes spring? Here is another option to consider.

These are local garlic spears, the flower tops from elephant garlic. Prior to buying them last week, I was unfamiliar with them, and expected them to be strongly flavored like ramps or salad onions. Instead, they have a very mild garlic flavor and are more reminiscent of asparagus or fiddlehead ferns.

Their labels instructed me to steam them for 3-5 minutes, which I did, tossing them with asparagus (steamed separately for a bit longer) as well as lemon juice, olive oil, salt and pepper. They were delicious enough that I've since bought a second batch. I think I may steam the spears again, and this time slice them and toss them with pappardelle, peas and goat cheese or ricotta.

Sweet & Spicy Braised Spareribs

"Dara, use this cookbook to make the ribs. This guy is the most respected barbecuing expert in all of Canada."

I know. It sounds like a joke or something. No offense to you Canadians -- now just a short drive from my doorstep -- but you're not exactly known for barbecue. Maple syrup, sure. Poutine, heck yeah. Whiskey, bring it on. Arcade Fire, I love every single one of you guys. And Jim Carrey, even though you haven't done much lately other than break up with Jenny McCarthy, your subtle yet unnervingly intense performance in the 2005 Oscar-winning Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind stayed with me for weeks. I just don't picture you barbecuing.

The truth is that I got the Canadian cookbook free through work. And it turns out that its author, Ted Reader, sure as sticky fingers getting licked knows what he's talking about. This "King of the Q" taught us a rib method that's so delicious and foolproof, we should just pretend it's American.

Reader himself says, "I started out like many, boiling and steaming, but I was never satisfied with the results. I sensed the ultimate rib was still out there. Then I met a guy named..."

Blah Blah. (God, Canadians are so boring.) Anyway, what he's saying is that you should braise them! That means rubbing them with seasoning, putting them in a roasting pan in a 325 F oven, pouring some liquid over them, and cooking them covered for a couple of hours until the meat is as tender as an Alanis Morisette song.

And if it doesn't work out? Blame Canada.

SWEET & SPICY BRAISED SPARERIBS

Dara developed his own spice rub and braising liquid, and then used Ted Reader's recommended cooking method. For more great barbecuing tricks from our neighbor to the north, see Ted's King of the Q's Blue Plate BBQ: The Ultimate Guide to Grilling, Smoking, Dipping and Licking (Penguin Group, 2007).

Serves 8

4 to 5 pounds pork spareribs

1 recipe Rib Rub (see below)

1/2 large red onion, thinly sliced

1 bottle favorite pilsner

1 cup orange juice

Few dashes Worcestershire sauce

1 tablespoon double-concentrated tomato paste (we buy it in a tube)

Favorite bottled BBQ sauce (optional)

Preheat oven to 325 F. Remove the membrane (also called a silverskin) from the back of the rack of ribs by wedging a knife between the membrane and one of the rib bones and separate the two enough to stick your finger in the gap; then, gently loosen it and pull it off completely.

Rub ribs with rib rub. Place them in a roasting pan, meat side down and overlapping. Top with red onion. Whisk together pilsner, juice, Worcestershire sauce and tomato paste in a medium bowl and pour over ribs. Cover with foil and braise about 2 1/2 hours, until meat is tender. Serve with bottled BBQ sauce if desired.

For Rib Rub:

4 tablespoons light brown sugar

3 tablespoons mild paprika

2 tablespoons garlic powder

2 tablespoons mustard powder

2 tablespoons chipotle chili powder (this is very spicy -- wash your hands after using it)

1 tablespoon coarsely ground black pepper

1 tablespoon kosher salt

Combine all ingredients in a bowl. Push the mixture through a metal sieve to get out the lumps, and store tightly covered until ready to use.

Creamy Cheddar Grits and Red Cabbage Slaw

For this past weekend's BBQ, I wanted to go a bit Italian in theme, perhaps with some creamy polenta and sauteed radicchio to accompany our chicken and ribs. But Dara reminded me I don't actually like cooked radicchio; I just like the idea of it.* I grumbled and acquiesced, and then developed a Southern take on my creamy corn and crunchy cabbage cravings instead: Cheddar Grits and Red Cabbage Slaw.

It's a funny thing how Italian food and Southern food have more similarities than you might think. Alton Brown once did a very Alton Brown-esque episode of his show, "Good Eats," on the difference between polenta and grits. You know -- brightly lit, not very subtle actors were involved, one as a dumb Southerner who loves cheesy grits, and one as a dumb Italian who loves cheesy polenta. The two used thick accents and lots of hand gestures to argue over which was better, and then agreed the two are very similar and both are good.

If you're more familiar with one or the other, this is basically the difference:

- The color of the cornmeal (yellow for polenta vs. white for grits)

- The liquid used (broth vs. water and/or milk)

- And the method (constant whisking until the mass pulls away from the sides of the pot vs. occasional whisking just until the mixture is creamy and smooth)

To make our grits seem more "Northwest" rather than Southern, I used a good-quality local Cheddar and some chives from our garden.

The slaw turned out really well, too, with crisp apples, thinly sliced red onion, toasted walnuts, golden raisins, and a dressing of raspberry vinegar, brown sugar and salt. Really, how can you go wrong? The sweetness and crunch is a nice contrast to smoky meat and creamy grits.

*The same goes for Campari -- another bitter, red, Italian substance. Several years ago I got fixed up on a sort of professional friend date with Amanda Hesser, the New York Times food writer. She took me to this swanky hotel lobby with mysterious curtains everywhere, and she ordered a Campari and soda. I thought she was so cool that ever since then, I try every three or four years to order that drink. I still can never choke it down, and have come to terms with the fact that I will never be as sophisticated as Amanda Hesser was at age 24.

CREAMY CHEDDAR GRITS

Serves 8-10; this recipe may be halved.

1 quart milk (use whatever fat level you're comfortable with)

3 teaspoons kosher salt

2 cups medium ground white cornmeal (use regular as opposed to stone-ground)

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

8 ounces sharp Cheddar cheese, shredded

15-20 fresh chives, minced

Place the milk and salt in a large pot and bring to a simmer. Slowly whisk in cornmeal, then turn heat to low and cover. Cook 20 to 25 minutes, whisking occasionally, until the mixture is creamy and smooth. Stir in butter and let it melt; then stir in cheese and let it melt. Stir in chives and serve immediately. Or, if timing requires that you simply must make this dish in advance, keep it refrigerated and plan to spend some time reheating it on the stove and whisking in some more milk to get it soft and smooth again.

RED CABBAGE SLAW WITH APPLES & GOLDEN RAISINS

Serves 8-10; this recipe may be halved.

2 crisp apples (I like Pink Lady and Honeycrisp), cored and cut into a large dice

Juice of 1/2 lemon

1 small to medium head red cabbage, thinly sliced

1/4 large red onion, thinly sliced

1/2 cup golden raisins

1/2 cup toasted walnut pieces (optional)

1 cup raspberry vinegar

1 cup light brown sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper

Dress apples with lemon juice, and then combine them with cabbage, onion, golden raisins and optional walnuts in a large lidded plastic storage container. Whisk together vinegar, brown sugar, salt and pepper and pour it over the cabbage mixture. Close the storage container and give it a gentle shake to dress the slaw. Refrigerate for at least an hour, shaking a couple of times, and serve cold.

Memorial Day Weekend Is for BBQing. Period!

This, my friends, is a picture of Chloe the dog and me taking a ferry to Bainbridge Island on Saturday for a nice, beachy day trip. Notice the Gore-Tex jacket, the scarf and the ski hat? True, it was a bit cooler and wetter in the Seattle area this weekend than in most parts of the country.

As Dara and I thought about our friends in Chicago enjoying 90 degree heat and the four Bs (burgers, brats, beer and bags*), we knew we needed to keep calm and carry on. We needed to have a barbecue, too, darn it. Because that's what you do on Memorial Day weekend.

So on Sunday, a lovely group of 11 gathered at our house. There was 'Lil Sista and her fiancee, Dan; Chicago transplant Tamara, along with her husband Kevin and their adorable, toddling, plump-cheeked, cat-grabbing daughter Avery; Caroline and David, two more friends from Chicago who coincidentally moved here the same weekend we did; and the affable Ambika and Paul, friends of Caroline and David whom we just met.

We ate inside, of course...at our long, dark dining room table by candlelight. Not exactly what I had in mind for May 30, but it was cozy and fun, with lots of laughing and a colorful menu that featured many of the goods this wet climate is so good at producing -- if I may say so, a formidable rival to the four Bs.

*"Bags" is a colloquial term for a game called Cornhole or Corn Toss, which has become increasingly popular in Chicago backyards and alleys. (Personally, I say "bags" so I don't have to say "Cornhole.") The object of the game is to toss as many bags as possible into a hole. Said to have originated in Germany in the 14th century and revived in Kentucky and southern Ohio, it may be played with one hand while holding a beer in the other. For more information, visit the American Cornhole Association at www.playcornhole.org.

MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND BBQ MENU

Bar snacks:

-Sesame popcorn

-Salted peanuts

Buffet:

- Sweet & spicy braised pork ribs

- Herbed grilled chicken

- Cheddar and chive grits

- Red cabbage slaw with apples, red onion, golden raisins and a raspberry vinegar dressing

- Steamed asparagus and garlic shoots, served chilled and dressed lightly with olive oil and lime juice

Dessert:

- Lemon chiffon cake with whipped cream frosting & rhubarb compote

I'll elaborate more on each dish throughout the week. To start, life is short so let's talk about the cake.

I always come back to chiffon cake because it's perfect after a meal. It's light like an angel food cake, yet richer and not as sweet. It's airy like a sponge cake, but moister. This one is brightly flavored with lemon juice and lemon zest. (Meyer lemon juice and zest would taste even better.) I frosted it simply with whipped cream sweetened and colored with a reduction of rhubarb syrup from the accompanying compote.

LEMON CHIFFON CAKE WITH WHIPPED CREAM FROSTING & RHUBARB COMPOTE

This is the basic lemon chiffon cake recipe from Fine Cooking magazine's April/May 2000 issue, but the rhubarb extras are a new addition. Like an angel food cake, a chiffon cake requires an ungreased tube pan -- that's the donut-shaped round pan with high sides. While baking, the batter climbs and sides and sticks to them. Removing the cake from the oven, you want to invert the pan onto a wine bottle and let it cool that way, so it doesn't sink.

Serves 12-14

9 ounces (2 1/4 cups) cake flour

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup vegetable oil (like canola or corn)

7 large eggs, separated

1/2 cup water

1/3 cup fresh lemon juice

1 1/2 teaspoons grated lemon zest

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 recipe Rhubarb Compote (see below)

1 recipe Rhubarb Whipped Cream Frosting (see below)

Preheat oven to 325 F. Have ready a 10-inch tube pan with sides at least 3 3/4 inches high.

In a large bowl, sift together the cake flour, 1 cup sugar, baking powder and salt. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and add oil, egg yolks, water, lemon juice, lemon zest and vanilla extract. Beat the mixture on medium speed for 3 minutes, until smooth and thick. Set aside.

In a large, clean bowl with clean beaters or a whisk attachment, whisk egg whites and cream of tartar on medium speed until whites are foamy. Increase the speed to high and beat the whites until the movement of the beaters forms lines in the mixture. Slowly pour in the remaining 1/2 cup sugar, about 2 tablespoons at a time, and beat the mixture until peaks are still but not dry.

With a large rubber spatula, stir about one-third of the egg whites into the yolk mixture. Gently fold in the remaining egg whites until no white steaks remain. Pour the batter into the ungreased tube pan, spreading it evenly. Bake until you can gently press your fingers on top of the cake and it feels firm, about 1 hour and 10 minutes. Any cracks that form on top should appear dry.

Invert the pan onto a bottle with a narrow neck (such as a wine bottle) and cool thoroughly, about an hour and a half. Use a thin metal spatula or knife to loosen the cake from the sides of the pan and the center of the tube. Remove the cake from the pan and slide it onto a serving plate. Frost cake with whipped cream frosting and refrigerate it until ready to serve; to be sure that flavors of garlic and ribs don't mix with the frosting, cover the cake and its plate with a large bowl before you place it in the fridge.

When slicing the cake, serve each slice with a spoonful or two of rhubarb compote.

For Rhubarb Compote:

6 stalks rhubarb, trimmed and cut into a large dice

2 cups sugar

2 cups water

Place all ingredients in a saucepan and bring to a simmer; turn heat to low and simmer gently, uncovered, just until the rhubarb is tender but not falling apart. Use a slotted spoon to remove the rhubarb from the liquid; refrigerate the compote until ready to use. Boil the liquid until reduced until a thick, deep red syrup -- you'll need about 6 tablespoons. Strain this and use it to flavor and color the whipped cream frosting.

For Rhubarb Whipped Cream Frosting:

2 cups whipping cream

About 6 tablespoons reserved thick rhubarb syrup, cooled

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

A few drops red food coloring if desired

Place whipping cream, rhubarb syrup and vanilla extract in a bowl and beat with a whisk attachment until soft peaks form. Add a few drips red food coloring if it's not quite saying "rhubarb" to you yet.

Vanilla-Scented Rhubarb Bread Pudding

In a recipe feature in the current issue of Edible Seattle, author Lara Ferroni complains about the abundance of rhubarb in her garden, calling it "a monster not easily tamed." She tries to trim it back, and it just "cranks out more stalks." She tries to give it away to her neighbors, but they "have rhubarb of their own to battle."

Seriously, these people in the Northwest are so crazy. Next thing you know, they'll be complaining about an abundance of blackberry bushes! Ha, can you imagine? Why, just the other day, Dara and I discovered our own blackberry bush peeping its head through the fertile soil in our backyard. We can't wait to coax it along and harvest our own fruit. I'll be sure to water it well and pat it gently with organic fertilizer.

(For those in other locales: This is irony, and people from the Northwest will find it very amusing, perhaps jabbing me in the ribs for making such a funny joke. Blackberry bushes are considered a weed here. They grow wild everywhere -- in vacant lots, on the side of the highway, through the cracks of the sidewalk and the slits in the floorboards. People go to great lengths to tame them, but God forbid, not with toxic chemicals -- more like with goats. All of which is charming and adorable, don't you think?)

Back in Chicago, I paid big bucks for rhubarb and could find it only for the briefest of times in the fanciest of markets. So, I consider it precious and honor it as such. I spotted it last week at my new Seattle farmers market -- so many stalks for just $2? -- and can fathom no better foil to the vanilla-scented custard in this toasty bread pudding. Come on now.

VANILLA-SCENTED RHUBARB BREAD PUDDING

Serves 8-10

1 pound red rhubarb, sliced into 1-inch pieces

1 cup + 1 tablespoon sugar, divided

3 tablespoons melted butter, divided

12 slices stale country white bread

4 large eggs

2 cups cream

1 cup milk

The seeds of 1/2 vanilla bean, or 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Lightly sweetened, softly whipped cream to accompany

Toss rhubarb with 1/4 cup sugar and set aside to macerate for at least an hour (or overnight is fine).

Preheat oven to 325 F. Brush an 8-inch square baking dish with 1-2 tablespoons melted butter and set aside. Using hot water from the tap and a larger baking dish, prepare a water bath in which to bake your bread pudding and place it in the oven. (Specifically, that means placing the empty dish in the oven and then using a pitcher to fill it halfway with hot water.)

Cut bread into cubes the size of rustic croutons. Beat eggs in a medium bowl, and whisk in 3/4 cup sugar as well as cream, milk and vanilla. Add bread cubes and stir gently to combine. Place a layer of the bread mixture in the buttered baking dish; follow with a layer of rhubarb, and then with another layer of bread mixtures. Brush the top with the remaining 1-2 tablespoons butter; sprinkle with the remaining 1 tablespoon sugar. Set in the water bath and bake for about 1 hour to an hour and 10 minutes, until the top is golden. Carefully remove the dish from the water bath and let it cool a bit. (Deal with discarding the water bath later, once the oven has cooled down.) Serve the pudding warm, with lightly sweetened, softly whipped cream.

Fried Zucchini Blossoms Stuffed with Cheese

The zucchini I picked up this weekend (see a couple posts ago) came attached to yellow blossoms. Hooray for Fried Zucchini Blossoms Stuffed with Cheese!

I made these last year on a whim and made a couple of key mistakes. First, I used canola oil, which is not the best choice for deep-frying as it can emit an off smell. Second, I used matzo meal as breading because it was all I had on hand. Boo for matzo meal! And for being too lazy to go to the store!

This year I got it right, with peanut oil and fluffy white breadcrumbs. To be honest, the breadcrumbs were made from stale, leftover hot dog buns -- quite a nice flavor and texture when deep fried.

Now, let's talk about the cheese. I had on hand some triple cream Brie, as well as a small log of herbed goat cheese. Both worked well. You could also experiment with other cheeses that melt well and have some flavor to give the little poppers a kick. At the same time, you don't want to overpower the flavor of the zucchini blossom itself. These are a scrumptious appetizer and must be eaten immediately after they're fried.

FRIED ZUCCHINI BLOSSOMS
Serves 4

12 fresh zucchini blossoms
4 ounces medium-flavored, easy-melting cheese such as Brie or herbed goat cheese, sliced into 12 portions
2 eggs
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
Pinch black pepper
2 stale hot dog buns or 3 ounces white bread
2-3 cups peanut oil

Wash zucchini blossoms by placing them in a bowl of cold water and removing any visible dirt. Drain and pat dry with paper towels. Gently open each blossom and stuff with cheese, making sure you pat it entirely closed. (You don't want loose cheese floating around in the oil.)

Beat eggs together with salt and pepper in a shallow bowl. Process bread in a food processor or blender and place it in another shallow bowl next to the eggs. Dip each stuffed blossom in egg, then in breadcrumbs, and then place on the paper towels to the left of the stove.

Heat about 2 inches of oil on medium-high heat in a medium pot. Meanwhile, place some paper towels to the right of the stove.

When you sprinkle a drop of water into the oil and it sizzles, then the oil is ready to be used. Drop the blossoms at few at a time into the hot oil. Don't layer them. Cover the pot and cook for 2-3 minutes or until they are golden brown; use rubber-coated tongs or a slotted spatula to flip them and cook another minute or so, until they are golden brown on all sides. Remove them and place them paper towels; again, don't layer them. Repeat with remaining blossoms. Let them drain, and then immediately place them on a plate and serve.

Copper River Salmon, Grilled & Revered

"It's here!"

Several local markets have hung banners triumphantly announcing the arrival of Copper River salmon. Even at $26.95 a pound, it sells briskly for the three to four weeks each May that it's available, and it's heralded for its deep red, fatty and flavorful flesh that's rich in omega-3 fatty acids. So, I decided to bite.

I brought home some sockeye and we grilled it simply, serving it with a Rioja -- a punchier wine than you'd usually pair with salmon, for this is a punchier salmon, having swum upstream more than 300 miles in frigid Alaskan waters.

We cooked a large fillet skin-side down for 4-5 minutes, brushing it with a mixture of olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and then placing it on a bed of dill to be served.

Other components of the meal were steamed red potatoes with butter, salt and fresh dill, and a mixed green salad with blueberries, red bell pepper, Gouda and lemon vinaigrette. And tasting the salmon's rich, delicious flesh, we were hooked.*

*"Bite" and "hook" are cute metaphors, but did you know that Copper River salmon is usually not caught on a hook? According to www.copperriversalmon.org, commercial fishermen use the gillnetting technique, which involves laying a net wall in the water in the fishes' path. The fish swim into the mesh and are prevented from escaping. I wonder what it would be like to catch one on a line -- they must have Herculean strength! Perhaps some of my dad and dad-esque readers would like to weigh in on this, hmm?

Real Baby Vegetables with Good Butter

When Dara and I were in Paris a few years ago with our friend Gina,* we ate a dish we still talk about today: Side of Cooked Vegetables. Can you believe it?

Well, last night I recreated it, and I'll share it with you. The price is that first you must meander with me through my personal vegetable history. Patience, my pretties.

I hate to admit that Paris memory, because it's not like we were vegetable imbeciles. Sure, like many Americans of our generation, we grew up with mothers pleading for us to "just take three bites" of obligatory frozen ones -- like squeaky green beans, or a sad mix of peas, carrots and corn termed "confetti" in a feeble attempt to be fun. Though my grandparents were prolific vegetable gardeners, my mom and I secretly derided their bitter "hippy lettuces." Mom often opted for convenience and practicality instead -- so for us, salad meant nice clean iceberg lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers from the supermarket.

Then, America had a produce revolution! This was based partly on the re-discovery that fresh produce tastes better, which David Kamp charts wonderfully in his book, The United States of Arugula: The Sun-Dried, Cold-Pressed, Dark-Roasted, Extra Virgin Story of the American Food Revolution (Broadway Books, 2006). The ideas of hippy-era vegetable pioneers like Alice Waters, Mollie Katzen and Deborah Madison took on new life as chefs and consumers demanded a greater variety of high-quality ingredients.

It also helped that vegetables are healthy, and Americans love the opportunity to take the fun out of anything delicious by declaring it part of a diet. In 1991, the National Cancer Institute (NCI) and the Produce for Better Health Foundation created the 5 A Day for Better Health Program, which highlighted the soon-to-be-launched Food Guide Pyramid's recommendation to eat at least five daily servings of fruits and vegetables. I got a public relations job for the program in 1996, and we recruited Graham Kerr as our spokesperson.

Kerr is an evangelist, quite literally, for fruits and vegetables; after specializing in meat, cream and booze for many years as public TV's Galloping Gourmet, he and his wife experienced a series of health problems and revelations. So we worked with him to develop a series of brief radio and television segments giving Americans creative, healthy ideas for using fruits and vegetables. They ran on stations all over the country, usually as part of the news hour.

I learned a lot from Kerr about everyday produce preparations -- like how to use a chayote squash, why you would want to eat a turnip, and how to peel and cube a mango. We showcased nearly every fresh, frozen, canned and dried fruit and vegetable Americans would find at a standard supermarket. The only bad part was that the recipes we developed for the program were required to be low-fat or fat-free.

Fortunately Americans' acceptance of fat returned, and their interest in good produce continued to grow. At the turn of the century, chefs sought ever more exotic fruits and vegetables. I worked in the kitchen at Charlie Trotter's in Chicago, where diners expected to leave having tasted new ingredients so they could brag to their friends. Chef Trotter loved produce and cooked with an extraordinary variety from around the world. Specialty vendors, farmers and Fed-Ex deliveries would unveil things I'd never seen -- vegetables like white and black truffles, kohlrabi, lotus root and fiddlehead ferns, and fruits like Buddha's hand, pummelos, and fresh yuzu.

These days, we've learned that overnighting fresh ingredients from Italy and Japan can leave a big carbon footprint (oops), and so we all try to eat local. Having gained an appetite for variety and quality, we still demand it. Brooklyn hipsters "return to the land" to recreate heirloom varieties; college students intern on co-op farms; farmers markets spread like mint; Michael Pollan books sell by the bushel; and honestly, the technology for freezing many frozen vegetables has moved beyond the ice age. (Ha.) Schools are sprouting vegetable gardens and salad bars with the help of Michelle Obama's nutrition and physical activity coalition, "Let's Move." My mom and I now relish those "hippy lettuces" like frisee and watercress with sincere enthusiasm; I've even grown my own crops on a small urban deck, which my friend Dominy taught me is ridiculously cheap and easy.

In short, as a country we've gone from wanting our produce in a format that's convenient and clean, to wanting it as varied as it can be from around the world, to wanting it fresh, flavorful and local. In Paris in 2006, I think Dara, Gina and I were still in the second stage -- by definition, seeking the exotic -- and it was the element of that third stage that threw us.

There we were at Benoit, one of Alain Ducasse's casual bistros, and Dara's plate came with a side of spring garden vegetables. They arrived at the table nestled in a small, covered dish. He lifted the lid and out poured the aroma of my grandparents' garden when I was a small child discovering it for the first time. And of course, the warm, rich smell of French butter.

The vegetables were common -- carrots, spring onions and peas -- but they looked like jewels, shiny with butter and picked from the garden so small. Per our query, the waiter said they were simply steamed and then dressed with butter.

This weekend at the farmers market I found tiny, fresh carrots, fennel and zucchini. The size and aromas reminded me of that dinner, so I looked at the English translation of La Bonne Cuisine by de Madame E. Saint-Ange (Ten Speed Press, 2005) to make sure I honored them correctly. What Madame emphasized is the importance of drying the vegetables, so that you don't end up with vegetables that "exude greasy water onto guests' plates, and don't retain any seasoning, like something that has been washed." I must admit, that sounds familiar, so I took extra care, and also used the freshest butter.

REAL BABY VEGETABLES WITH GOOD BUTTER
Serves 4 but really 2

1 bunch small, thin, fresh carrots, no more than 5 inches long and 1/2 inch in diameter
1 bunch small, fresh baby fennel bulbs, about the same size
About 10 fresh baby zucchini, about the same length
2-3 tablespoons fresh unsalted butter**
Kosher salt
Fresh minced basil if desired

Trim the carrots and discard any green tops. Rub them briefly with kosher salt to smooth their skins, but don't peel them. Wash them and set them aside. Fill a medium pot with 1-2 inches of water; place a steamer insert in the and place it on the stove, covered, on medium-high heat. Make sure the water doesn't rise above the steamer insert, so it won't soak the vegetables and perturb Madame.

Trim the fennel bulbs so that you use only the pale green part at the base; if you like, mince just a bit of the frond, too, to reserve for garnish. Trim the zucchini and slice it lengthwise into halves, thirds or quarters, approximating the same size as the carrots.

Place the vegetables into the pot. Cover and steam. Shortly before the carrots are tender and you carefully drain the vegetables into a colander, place a medium skillet on high heat. After draining, place the vegetables in a single layer in the hot skillet. Grasp the handle with both hands, and shake the vegetables gently to release any more moisture they may be carrying. When they seem dry, pat them with small dots of butter and sprinkle them with salt as well as fennel frond garnish and/or fresh minced basil if desired. Using rubber-tipped tongs, gently toss and then serve.

*No, it wasn't a romantic threesome, OK? We were on our way to our friends' Anna and Jan's gorgeous, gorgeous wedding in Brussels.

**If you haven't thought about the taste of your butter in awhile, I recommend conducting a butter taste test so you can choose your household's brand preference. For this dish, you want to have the best possible butter, with no off taste. I used a local brand from my farmers market, but I also love the taste of local Tillamook butter and French Plugra.

Another Seasonal Favorite: The Bachelorette Party

May is not only an important month for morels and asparagus and such. It's also a time of year when thousands of women head out to celebrate their favorite toned and tanned bride-to-be by drinking cocktails and singing karaoke. I recently attended one such celebration for my 'Lil Sista, and two other parties were sharing our venue.

I like to imagine describing this custom to an alien, or perhaps a great grandmother: "Well, you see, the woman getting married is supposed to wear a veil -- not her wedding veil, just a cheap one with a plastic crown. This indicates to the public that she's about to get married, and that they may offer her congratulations or buy her a shot.

"It's also popular for the woman to wear pieces of candy on her body -- perhaps attached to her tank top or in the form of a necklace. This indicates to the young men on hand that that they may eat the candy. Doing so elicits giggles from all because it's a bit naughty, but not really naughty enough to make anyone nervous.

"Sometimes the members of the party will compete to do other funny, naughty things, such as dance with a red-headed man, or secure a pair of boxer shorts from a man under 24 years old. This provides an opportunity for the single women of the party to meet nice men themselves."

Anyway, my contribution to the party was to offer snacks when we came home -- grilled cheese sandwiches and Penis Cupcakes. The cupcakes are not really made out of penises but Devil's Food cake and chocolate-mint frosting. In place of jimmies, you can use fruit-flavored penis candies, available at your local erotic store. They do not complement the chocolate and mint very well, but at this point no one cares.

PENIS CUPCAKES

This is a Devil's Food cake recipe from Bon Appetit magazine, which I adapted slightly and halved. It has a great rich flavor and light texture.

Serves 16, but really 32 if everyone is on a diet and splits hers with a friend.

Melted unsalted butter

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour

3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

3/4 teaspoon baking powder

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 3/4 cups sugar

1/2 cup + 2 teaspoons freshly brewed coffee, cooled to room temperature

1/2 cup + 2 teaspoons buttermilk

1/4 cup + 2 teaspoons vegetable oil

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325F. Lightly brush cupcake papers with melted butter and arrange in 2 muffin tins. Sift flour, cocoa, baking powder, salt and baking soda into a medium bowl. Combine sugar, coffee, buttermilk, oil, egg, egg yolk and vanilla in a large bowl or in the bowl of a standing mixer. Beat on medium speed until blended. Add dry ingredients. Beat on medium speed until blended, scraping bowl occasionally, about 4 minutes.

Spoon 1/4 cup better into prepared papers. Bake cupcakes until puffed and a tester comes out clean, about 24 minutes. Transfer cupcakes to a wire rack to cool completely. Frost with Chocolate-Mint frosting and top with erect penis candies. Serve to a group of tipsy women and hilarity will ensue.

For Chocolate-Mint Frosting:

1/2 cup whipping cream

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces

1/2 pound chocolate-mint chips (you can also use milk chocolate or semi-sweet chocolate chips)

3/4 cup sour cream

Bring cream and butter to a simmer in a heavy large saucepan, whisking until butter melts. Remove from heat. Add chocolate and whisk until smooth. Add sour cream and whisk to blend. Refrigerate frosting until thick enough to spread, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes.