My friend Lisa, the tall blond with the sparkling wit, seems to be good at everything she does, which is reason enough not to like her. But difficult though it may be to overlook her myriad talents and good looks, I can’t help myself. We go back. In our Colorado girlhoods we walked to school together through crunching leaves and snowstorms and warm spring breezes. We climbed countless trees. We saw our first concerts together (Barry Manilow and Andy Gibb. Cool, right?) At home, we choreographed dances complete with with hula hoops and trash can lids. See, the trash can lids keeps things in perspective for me. Once you’ve seen someone dance to Barry Manilow wielding a trash-can lid, you can’t really hate her for her relative perfection.

We’ve known each other since we still had our baby teeth. You feel a certain connection once you’ve soldiered through the gap-toothed first-grade smile, the indignity of braces, and the first root canal. (That would be me. Miss Perfect probably has no cavities.) If dental benchmarks are the measure of a friendship, then we’ll be guffawing through our dentures one of these days. She’ll probably look great in dentures, too.

I credit Lisa with shining a light on home cooking for me. When I moved to Portland, Oregon in 1998, I wasn’t much of a cook. I followed recipes to the letter. (Funny, that…) I had reasonable success in the kitchen. But I had little confidence and even less inspiration.  All that changed once I settled in Portland, thanks in part to Lisa, who had years of experience working in sophisticated restaurants, and who is a natural in the kitchen (of course).

The first time my soon-to-be-husband and I went to her house in Portland, Lisa whipped up a savory bread pudding with gruyere and rosemary for lunch. I thought it was amazing. She shrugged and said it was missing something. Soon afterward, she and her husband had us to dinner and served gingered braised lamb shanks. I was duly impressed, and also inspired. She wrote down the recipe. I made it at home. And it worked! I, too, could make delicious food in my own kitchen! There was nothing to stop me from keeping fresh ginger and balsamic vinegar on hand at all times! It was a revelation. I was off and running. Watching Lisa in the kitchen helped me recognize that good home cooking was within my reach. The countless hours I’ve since spent happily chopping and stirring have anchored me through good times and bad. Along the way, Portland became home, and cooking became a touchstone.

Sunday dinner with Lisa and her husband has been an almost-weekly event for over a decade now.  We’ve taken turns cooking for each other through celebrations and sorrows and lots of regular old Sundays. The men cook, too. It’s a family affair. The food remains good, even now that there are three young boys and an assortment of toys underfoot. Over hundreds of meals we’ve cut fingers and burned a few things and watched our kids melt down and bickered with our spouses. We’ve also eaten well and laughed a lot and shared all the generous affection an enduring friendship can offer.

For all the meals Lisa has cooked us, it’s seems odd that the first Lisa-inspired dish I’m posting is a humble side dish. But that’s okay. It’s worthy.  She made it up herself when she was in a hurry and didn’t have enough Brussels sprouts. So she stretched them with kale, slicing the whole lot into thin ribbons, chiffonade style.  Mine are probably different than hers. We never had an actual recipe exchange here. She made up the recipe, and told me what was in it. I took a stab at it.

Words cannot express how much I love this stuff. When I was down with flu and pneumonia last week, this was all I wanted to eat. I think I made it three times in one week. Maybe four. I’m not sure what it says about me that Brussels sprouts and kale are my comfort food, but that’s not important. What’s important is that you get to try yet another recipe involving Brussels sprouts. (Sorry, Jud.)

I have tried sprinkling these greens with balsamic vinegar, or a squeeze of lemon juice. Both were good. I’ve added some red pepper flakes. Also tasty. But really this dish stands on its own. It tastes like the essence of deep good greenness. It makes a great side for just about anything. Or, if you’re me, you can just eat a big bowl of it and call it dinner. Lisa reports it’s also great with radicchio.

SAUTEED KALE AND BRUSSELS SPROUTS WITH BACON
serves four as a side dish

¼ pound thick bacon
3 tablespoons olive oil
½ pound kale (one bunch)
1 pound Brussels sprouts
1 clove garlic, minced
½ teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground pepper
½ cup pine nuts

In a large skillet over medium heat, cook bacon, turning once, until done (about ten minutes total). Drain and chop the bacon. Pour off the bacon fat, but don’t wash the pan.

While your bacon cooks, trim the thick stems off the kale and Brussels sprouts, and chop them into strips 1/8 inch wide. You can use the chiffonade technique to speed your chopping along.

Heat olive oil in the bacon pan over medium-high heat. Add the greens and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the greens are slightly wilted, about five minutes. Add the bacon and garlic and sauté for another two minutes.

While the greens are cooking, brown the pine nuts over medium-high heat in a small, dry skillet, tossing frequently.

Salt and pepper the greens to taste, and sprinkle them with toasted pine nuts.

My favorite, go-to Brussels sprouts recipe has reigned unchallenged for eons. It involves roasting the Brussels sprouts with bacon and garlic, then sprinkling them with balsamic vinegar, and it is beyond delicious. This assumes you like Brussels sprouts, which I realize is the minority of people in this world. Those of you who will eat them if they’re disguised thoroughly enough, you’re good sports. I admire that. But you do not love Brussels sprouts. I am WILD for Brussels sprouts. I could eat them every day. So believe me when I tell you I take my Brussels sprouts recipes seriously.

I would have scoffed if you had said a month ago that I would find a recipe to rival my go-to Roast Brussels Sprouts. But this one really does. They’re neck and neck. This recipe even gets some extra points for using the stovetop, which can be handy at the holidays, when the demand for oven space exceeds the supply at our house.

I was suspicious of this recipe at first. For one thing, 30 minutes sounds like plenty enough time to ruin a perfectly good Brussels sprout. I worried it would be mushy, which would be unforgivable. I was also put off by the sheer amount of cream. That’s a lot of cream. I like rich food, but it sounded like a bit much, even for me.

But don’t be put off! This dish is not heavy. Not a bit. It positively floats on the tongue. It’s hard to believe it has all that cream in it. Some sort of alchemy takes place between the Brussels sprouts and the cream when they simmer together for a long time. They are both better for it.

As for texture, these Brussels sprouts are not the least bit mushy. The silky texture is divine. They taste mellow, and nutty, and green. They have less bite than some Brussels sprouts, but not less flavor. The lemon adds exactly the right amount of tang. They are truly very hard to stop eating. Guard your portion with care. Wrap your arm around it, hunker down, and poke your fork at would-be sprout snatchers. Some things in life are worth fighting for.

Give braised Brussels sprouts a test run before the holidays. Guaranteed you’ll end up adding it to a menu or two. This recipe comes from All About Braising: The Art of Uncomplicated Cooking, by Molly Stevens.  It’s a book after my own heart, what with ”uncomplicated” being right there in the title and all. Everything I’ve made from it so far has been a winner.

CREAMY BRAISED BRUSSELS SPROUTS
makes four generous servings

1 ¼ pounds Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved (small ones) or quartered (big ones)
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup heavy cream
half a lemon
salt and pepper to taste

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat.

Add Brussels sprouts, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally (not too much, they need to brown a little), for about five minutes.

Add cream. Stir, cover pan, and reduce heat to very low. The liquid should barely be simmering. Cook for about 30 minutes.  The cream will reduce some and turn a “fawn color.” (Molly Stevens’ description. I love it.) The Brussels sprouts should be tender enough to pierce easily with the tip of a sharp knife.

Add a generous squeeze of lemon, and salt and pepper to taste.

P.S. If you are inspired to do a side-by-side taste test, here’s the recipe for the also-mighty-fine Roasted Brussels Sprouts:

Toss two pounds of halved (or quartered) Brussels sprouts with salt and pepper, two tablespoons of olive oil, two cloves of garlic (minced) and six ounces of chopped pancetta or thick bacon. Spread on a rimmed baking sheet and roast at 450 degrees for about fifteen minutes, stirring a couple times. Drizzle with two tablespoons balsamic vinegar.

Remember the preserved lemons we made a few weeks back? Well, I introduced mine to some chickpeas and Moroccan spices, and sparks flew. The sturdy, reliable chickpea put on a little lipstick, let down its hair, and danced. It wasn’t one of those dorky, awkward dances, either. The chick pea had moves. It was all thanks to the mysterious powers of preserved lemon, if you ask me. 

This Moroccan-inspired chickpea stew is as unfussy as they come. It takes minutes to assemble (assuming you’re lazy like me, and you use canned chickpeas). It simmers largely unattended, and it melds into an irresistible bouquet of piquant and flowery, sweet and savory. We had ours with grilled lamb chops (simply marinated in lemon juice, olive oil, garlic, rosemary, salt and pepper). We were reduced to moans and raised eyebrows in lieu of conversation until we’d eaten every last morsel.

If, for some incomprehensible reason, you were not inspired to make preserved lemons a few weeks back, you can buy them at middle-eastern markets, Whole Foods, or gourmet shops.

MOROCCAN-STYLE CHICKPEAS WITH PRESERVED LEMONS
serves six as a side dish, adapted from this recipe in Gourmet (RIP)

3 tablespoons olive oil
½ medium onion, diced small
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground coriander
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon ground cumin
¼ teaspoon ground cayenne
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 14.5-ounce can small-diced tomatoes, with juice
2 15.5-ounce cans chick peas (garbanzo beans), drained and rinsed
1 ½ tablespoons minced preserved lemon peel
¼ cup raisins
¼ cup chopped parsley

Heat olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium high heat.

Add onion and spices and sauté for about five minutes.

Add garlic and sauté for about thirty seconds.

Add tomatoes with their juice, chick peas, preserved lemon peel, raisins, and a half cup of water. Stir. Lower heat until the stew is barely simmering. Cover and simmer for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add more water if it starts to look dry.

When you’re ready to eat, sprinkle with parsley and serve.

On another note, I have to tell you I was mighty flattered to be tapped for a “One Lovely Blog” award by The Hungry Dog. Thanks, Hungry! I never win anything! My mission now is to pass on some blog-love by calling out some of the lovely blogs I favor:

You probably know about The Wednesday Chef already. Still, I’d be remiss if I didn’t send a shout out to my favorite food blogger, Luisa Weiss. Reading The Wednesday Chef feels like sharing some laughs with an old friend over the cutting board and a glass of wine. Her prose seems so effortless. And her love of food is contagious.

Jess at Hogwash has a gift for shining a light on the intersection of food and life. I’m impressed by the many graceful ways she weaves the common threads of humanity into her kitchen creations.

Redmenace at A Chow Life has created a stylish site, replete with enticing recipes, great pictures, and an endearingly quirky outlook.

Joseph at Gastronomer’s Guide takes gorgeous pictures. I admire the classy look of this blog. His recipe picks are elegant and inspiring.

I’m grateful to all you food bloggers out there for sharing your recipes and thoughts. I didn’t realize when I started this blog that I’d be stumbling into such a generous and creative community. Thanks!

Some things in life are better in theory than in reality. Street fairs, for instance. And exercising.  And beets. I buy beets because they’re shapely, and silky. They look like runway models, with those flouncy greens perched atop long, sleek stalks.  And that lurid pink is impressive, lurking beneath such unassuming skin. They’re probably even good for you, right? So what’s not to like?

Well, it’s just the taste. They’re borderline cloying. Thick, dark, and purple-tasting. Please don’t dispute me on this, dear beet-boosters. I never said my “better-in-theory” list would match yours. Besides, I’m removing beets from the list as of today.

I finally found a recipe that won me over to the taste of beets. No longer must I endure beets because they lured me into buying them under false pretenses. This salad has me sincerely gobbling them up and coming back for seconds. Seconds! Of beets!  Imagine if you actually liked beets to begin with.

These beets can add some dazzle to any plate. But it’s the taste, not the color, that brings them into better-than-theory territory. Vinegar and shallots rein in the sweetness, while bright bolts of orange lighten the mood. It’s made to order for a potluck. How many side dishes travel well and are best eaten at room temperature?  I’m not saying you’ll win as much love as the guy who brings brownies to the potluck. We’re not talking miracles here. But sometimes you’re ASKED to bring a side dish, right? So, go ahead, impress your friends. See if you can convert some beet-bashers. I’m here to tell you it’s possible.

There were garden-variety pinkish-purple beets in the faultless cookbook photo that inspired this recipe. They contrasted festively with the orange slices. But I had to go and buy varietal beets. I was seduced by those hues. They were obligingly stunning when I cut them up.  Even the scraps had something to say.

But when they were cooked, and cut, and tossed with orange slices, they looked, unfortunately, a lot like the orange slices. What should’ve been a dashing feast of color ended up looking like a mysterious orange stew.  But don’t let that dissuade you. Make this recipe. Just stick with magenta beets if you want splashy contrast.

This recipe was adapted from Ina Garten’s Beets with Orange Vinaigrette. If you believe Ina (and I do…I always do), it tastes even better the second day, after marinating overnight in the dressing. Ours didn’t last long enough to test that theory.

BEETS WITH ORANGE VINAIGRETTE

2 pounds of beets, trimmed
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 cup small-diced shallots
2 seedless oranges

Place the beets in a large pot with water deep enough to cover them. Bring water to a boil and simmer beets uncovered for about 50 minutes, until they are tender enough to stick a fork into. Drain.

When the beets are cool enough to handle, peel off the skins. They’ll slide right off in your hands. No tools necessary.

Slice beets about 1/3 inch thick, then cut across the slices to make ½ inch-wide slabs.

Put the sliced beets into a large bowl.

Zest the oranges. Then cut the ends and pith off the now-zested oranges, and separate the segments.

Add orange segments, zest, vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper and shallots to the beets. Toss gently.

Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Serve at room temperature.