The Wednesday Chef

Homemade Ricotta

I crossed a life goal off my list this weekend: making cheese. It was so easy it felt like cheating. A pot full of hot milk and buttermilk was transformed into a firm bundle of cheese in about 30 minutes. It took me longer to half-heartedly scrub a few lines of grout in my bathroom than it did to make cheese, which, you know, can come as a bit of a surprise. Now, granted, we're talking about fresh cheese, but still. Even creme fraiche takes longer than this!

Here's the thing, though. Ricotta made with cow's milk basically just tastes like cottage cheese or farmer cheese. I followed the article's lead and loosened the block of it with some milk before sprinkling it with herbs, salt and olive oil for a nice little pre-dinner snack spread of toasted bread gently rubbed with garlic. And it was just fine - everyone seemed quite happy with it (I think the pink Champagne we served might have helped). But unless you're using sheep's milk, you can forget about this tasting like real Italian ricotta.

Still, it's a great alternative for American recipes calling for ricotta - you'll be far better off using homemade than the stuff that comes in a tub at the grocery store. If anyone knows how to get their hands on some fresh sheep's milk, though, let me know. I'm finding it surprisingly difficult to track down, but I'd like to attempt this again.

I've been wallowing in a swamp of homesickness for Europe lately, the ache lodged in my chest like an unchewed piece of bread. We booked our annual flight to Italy last week, so I now find myself in the strange position of hoping to savor summer's hot days while simultaneously wishing desperately that the weeks fly by so that the last week of August gets here just as soon as it can. I'll be mixing the leftover ricotta into a plain tomato sauce with pasta tonight and eating it, hopefully without crying, to remind me of all the good things to come.

Fresh Ricotta
Yields approximately 2 cups

2 quarts whole milk
2 cups buttermilk

1. Line a wide sieve or colander with cheesecloth, folded so that it is at least 4 layers thick. Place in sink. 

2. Pour milk and buttermilk into a heavy-bottomed pot. Cook over high heat, stirring frequently; scrape bottom of pot occasionally to prevent scorching. As milk heats, curds will begin to rise and clump on surface. Once mixture is steaming hot, stop stirring.

3. When mixture reaches 175 to 180 degrees on a candy thermometer, curds and whey will separate. (Whey will look like cloudy gray water underneath a mass of thick white curds.) Immediately turn off heat and gently ladle curds into sieve.

4. When all curds are in sieve and dripping has slowed (about 5 minutes), gently gather edges of cloth and twist to bring curds together; do not squeeze. Let drain 15 minutes more. Discard the whey.

5. Untie cloth and pack ricotta into airtight containers. Refrigerate and use within one week. 

Ricotta Crostini with Fresh Thyme and Dried Oregano
Serves 6 to 8

About 8 slices (about  3/4-inch thick) crusty bread such as ciabatta or levain, chewy and substantial but     not very sour
Extra-virgin olive oil to taste
Kosher or table salt, to taste
2 cups fresh ricotta, at cool room temperature
1 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon coarse sea salt
1 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 peeled garlic clove

1. Heat a grill or broiler to very hot. If bread slices are very large, cut in half or thirds. Brush bread slices on both sides with olive oil and sprinkle with table or kosher salt.

2. In a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment or in a bowl, whisk ricotta and milk together until light and fluffy. Add 1 teaspoon kosher or table salt and mix well. Transfer to a shallow serving bowl and sprinkle with sea salt, pepper, thyme and oregano. Drizzle more olive oil on top, about 2 to 3 tablespoons.

3. Grill or broil the bread until toasted all over and lightly charred in places. Lightly rub each slice on one side with the garlic clove. Serve hot, with ricotta mixture on the side.

Sara Levine's Duck Rillettes

Our next recipe reviewer, Lynn at Spoon & Fork, sacrificed herself for the sake of the duck rillettes from the chef at Vertical Wine Bistro in LA. And I, for one, am quite glad she did.

"So my fiance and I are plopped on the couch in a duck fat-induced food coma.

Wow.

The duck rillettes were pretty fabulous. We ate them on top of toasted baguette slices, along with a salade nicoise. The spread turned out really creamy and delicious. The flavor was terrific, although we were just the tiniest bit bummed that the Dijon mustard flavor was so strong, because we felt like we didn't taste as much of the duck as we'd like. Next time I might tone that down a bit.

And there definitely will be a next time: our food-loving and Francophile friends would love these as a pre-dinner snack with a glass of wine or Champagne. It's a lovely dish for entertaining. A little decadent for a regular Sunday dinner, but hey, this was an assignment! The recipe was easy to follow.

Finding duck legs that weren't confit, on the other hand, was a little tougher. After a, uh, wild duck chase (ha) I eventually found them at Todaro's on 2nd Avenue and 30th Street. They were from Long Island. Meanwhile, the man at the meat counter at Garden of Eden on 23rd Street went in the back of the store and filled up a container of duck fat for me.

 The procedure was simple. You rub the duck with herbs and spices (the recipe was a little unclear about some things; for instance should the parsley be chopped or left in whole leaves? I left it whole. Is the mint dried? I figured yes). You refrigerate it, loosely covered, overnight. Some fat drains out during that time. You sear the duck in a dutch oven, add veggies, then wine, and let it reduce. It goes into a very low oven with chicken stock for about 3 hours, and then you set to work emulsifying the meat with melted duck fat and mustard. At that point, though, the consistency isn't quite right for spreading on bread--too gooey. I put the rillettes in three small custard cups, and after about 20 minutes in the refrigerator they were ready. 

I definitely recommend this for a dinner party. You'll get about 45 servings from the whole recipe. I'm freezing one cup--will let you know how that turns out."

Okay, duck rillettes are all fine and well, but what's this about the butcher at Garden of Eden filling up containers with duck fat? Somehow I'm stuck on that alluring detail.

Oh, also, Lynn - what did you do with that miraculous-sounding braising liquid (Step 3)? I'm having visions of some kind of stewy soup of rice and asparagus built off that base of braising liquid and let me tell you: the meal of roasted asparagus and scrambled eggs with ramps that I've been looking forward to all day suddenly seems a whole lot less interesting now.

Duck Rillettes
Makes about 2 cups

2 duck legs
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1 small bay leaf, broken
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped thyme
1/4 cup parsley leaves
1/4 teaspoon peppercorns
1/4 teaspoon coriander
1/4 teaspoon mint
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 white onion, chopped
1 carrot, chopped
2 cups white wine
2 cups chicken stock
1 cup duck fat
1/4 cup Dijon mustard

1. Place the duck legs on a rack on a baking sheet and rub them with the salt, bay leaf, thyme, parsley, peppercorns, coriander, mint and sugar. Cover loosely with a sheet of parchment paper and allow to cure for 24 hours in the refrigerator.

2. Heat the oven to 250 degrees. In a large heavy-bottomed Dutch oven, sear the duck legs in one tablespoon of canola oil over medium-high heat until you get a bit of color, about 2 minutes. Add the onion and carrot and sauté until softened, 7 to 8 minutes. Add the white wine and reduce by half, about half an hour.

3. Add the chicken stock and braise the duck legs in the oven, covered, until the meat is tender and falling off the bone, about 3 1/2 to 4 hours. (If it begins to bubble, turn down the heat.) Allow the meat to cool, then remove from the braising liquid; the braising liquid can be reserved for another use such as for a soup base.

4. Remove the meat from the bone and place it in a bowl. Place the bowl of duck meat on top of a bowl of ice.

5. In a small pan, heat the duck fat over medium-low heat until it's melted. Slowly pour the duck fat over the duck meat, using a fork to emulsify the duck meat with the duck fat until fluffy and smooth. Add the Dijon mustard and adjust seasoning to taste. Transfer to a serving dish or container; the restaurant serves rillettes in a French canning jar.

Regina Schrambling's Salmon Rillettes

I don't know about you, but all I want to do in January is snuggle up on the couch wearing woolly socks, with a pot of soup on the stove and a movie on the television. Maybe, too, some low-intensity creative projects and quiet reading, but that's it. The hyper-insanity of December leaves me so exhausted that I'm quite relieved to not leave my cozy living room for a while, with the windows all fogged up and candles burning blurrily in the corner of the room.

But we can't exactly hibernate until the buds come out and the birds chirp again, can we? It wouldn't be much fun in the long run. Instead I invite people over, figuring that the equation's not half bad: we ply our friends with good food and plenty of wine and in return, they don't make us venture out into the chilly evening - at least not for a while. Everybody wins.

Planning the menu for an evening like that is always a bit of a challenge. Cooking for two is a cinch, cooking for four is pretty easy, cooking for six starts to get a little hairy, and by the time you get to eight whole people it's tough to keep your head on the ground. You don't want to be stuck in the kitchen the entire day, making things that are too time-consuming, too complicated, too harrowing. The larger the group, the simpler the food should be.

But I do like to choose recipes that I wouldn't get to make ordinarily - it is a party, after all. So I pull out the binders that have appetizers and hors d'oeuvres recipes tucked away in them - roasted, spiced chickpeas or pickled shrimp or home-cured olives - and I pore through them, delighting in my choices. The recipe I alighted upon last weekend was one that I'd actually meant to make at Thanksgiving - salmon rillettes.

Now doesn't that trip just beautifully off the tongue? Rillettes, rillettes. Ree-yett. We don't eat much salmon around here - Ben doesn't like it and since there are so many other types of fish that we both really love, I'm happy to forgo salmon most of the time. But this recipe had lodged itself in my mind ages ago (briefly supplanted by Thomas Keller's somewhat more complicated version) and I just couldn't shake it. Ben would have to eat olives instead.

It's such a lovely little recipe: you very briefly cook wild salmon in vermouth (or wine, as I did), then mash it up with smoked salmon, chopped chives, lemon juice and creme fraiche. The fresh salmon tempers the smoky stuff beautifully and the creme fraiche gives it some elegance without getting goopy or rich. The few drops of hot sauce are a genius touch - the heat sasses the rillettes right up. No Plain Jane pate here, move along now. The mixture is bright and flavorful, improves with a few hours in the fridge, and best of all, can be arranged on good bread by your guests.

I read somewhere once (was it Laurie Colwin? No. Someone else. Who, though?) that a good dinner party can always be guaranteed if you enlist your guests' help in the kitchen just after they arrive. It keeps them busy, so you can finish up whatever else you're still working on without having to worry that they're all standing around in the living room feeling bored, and it keeps your stress levels down, because now at least someone else is dealing with the hors d'oeuvres and you can stop worrying that the whole meal is going to hell in a hand basket in about three seconds flat.

Arm them with a glass of champagne while they're at it, and who knows - they might even want to come back next time.

Salmon Rillettes
Serves 8 to 10

2 cups dry vermouth or white wine
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon coarse sea salt
4 white peppercorns
8 ounces fresh wild salmon, skinned and boned, cut into 1-inch cubes
8 ounces wild smoked salmon, minced
3 - 4 tablespoons crème fraîche (or more to taste)
4 tablespoons chopped chives, divided
4 tablespoons lemon juice (or more to taste)
Hot sauce to taste
Salt and white pepper to taste
2 ficelles, thinly sliced

1. Combine the vermouth or wine, bay leaf, sea salt and peppercorns in a nonreactive saucepan and bring to a simmer. Add the salmon cubes and cook 15 seconds exactly. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain well, then place in a mixing bowl.

2. Mash the salmon cubes with a wooden spoon until chunky-smooth. Add the smoked salmon, crème fraîche, 2 tablespoons chives and the lemon juice and mix well. Taste and add the hot sauce, salt and pepper. Add more lemon juice and/or crème fraîche if you like. Chill 1 hour to meld flavors. Makes about 3 cups.

3. Return to room temperature before serving. To serve, spread on ficelle slices and sprinkle with the remaining chives.

Dawna Nolan's Mango and Shrimp Salad

The wall of heat has arrived. Like a thick syrup, it's encircling the city. On days like this, what always surprises me is how strongly I seem to suffer from weather amnesia. It's been 98 degrees before - many times before, even - but when I first feel that wretched miasma of heat and filth, it's a shock to my system. And after I've gotten used to the sweltering sun, I wrack my brain to try to remember what winter feels like, but I'm not able to summon it. Because it's so hot right now that walking outside is an extreme sport and the existence of another time or place is like an impossibility.

Food in its simplest forms feels unthinkably frivolous when it's like this. I wake up and can barely muster the interest in a cup of tea. Lunch rolls around and I have to force myself to eat a piece of tofu and some greens. This is strange behavior for someone who can set a watch to her stomach growls, but the heat takes it all out of me.

And yet.

In a last-ditch effort to save myself from eating cereal with (cool, blessedly cool) milk for dinner, I plucked this Thai-style salad from the pile. The gravitation towards Southeast Asia couldn't have been much of a surprise - I don't know where you'd find more experts on hot-weather food. I wasn't lucky enough to get my hands on any of the Indian mangoes that finally came our way earlier this summer, but I substituted them with a few of those smooth, yellow-greenish, Haitian mangoes and promised myself that when I finally get around to going on that vacation in India I've been meaning to take for the past six years, I'll eat all the mangoes I can get.

(Was anybody else so lucky as to try an Alphonso or Banganpalli or Kesar when they were being allowed into the country? Those names alone! I'm bewitched.)

In any case, Haitian mangoes diced up and dressed with a fiery, sweet-sour dressing, then punctuated with salt-frosted peanuts, cooling leaves of mint, the appealing crunch of bean sprouts, and bright, tender shrimp is quite the hot-weather meal. You'll barely break a sweat preparing it and, more importantly, will feel entirely refreshed as you eat it. (And if you've got leftovers, roll them up in leaves of butter lettuce the next day for lunch. I won't be so lucky.)

Fridge-cold and hot-sour-salty-sweet - this salad was relief and pleasure in one.

Mango and Shrimp Salad
Serves 4

Dressing
4 tablespoons fish sauce
2 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons honey
4 tablespoons fresh lime juice (from about 2 to 3 large limes)
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 to 4 seeded and minced Thai chiles (or 1 to 3 serranos), to taste

1. In a small saucepan, combine the fish sauce, sugar and honey. Heat over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the sugar and honey dissolve and the mixture is syrupy, about 1 minute.

2. In a blender or food processor, combine the sweetened fish sauce syrup, lime juice, garlic and chiles, and blend for about 30 seconds to a minute. Set aside. Makes two-thirds cup.

Mango salad and assembly
1 pound (medium to large) raw shrimp
5 to 6 large firm mangoes (about 8 ounces each), peeled, pitted and cut into medium dice
1 cup bean sprouts
2 tablespoons minced shallot (about 2 large)
About 1/2 cup stemmed cilantro, plus more for garnish
About 1/2 cup small mint leaves (if leaves are large, tear them in half), plus more for garnish
2/3 cup dressing, divided, or to taste
4 teaspoons chopped peanuts (unsalted) for garnish
Lime wedges

1. Peel and devein the shrimp under cold, running water. Bring a large saucepan of lightly salted water to a boil. Reduce the heat to a slow simmer and add the shrimp. Poach the shrimp until just cooked (they will be pink and firm, and opaque throughout), about 2 to 2 1/2 minutes. Drain the shrimp; place them in a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Drain the shrimp again; set aside in the refrigerator.

2. In a large bowl, combine the mangoes, sprouts, shallot, cilantro and mint and set aside.

3. Mix about one-half cup of the dressing, or to taste, with the reserved mango mixture. Mound the mango mixture on four chilled plates. Toss the shrimp with the remaining dressing to coat. Divide the shrimp evenly on top of each salad and sprinkle about 1 teaspoon peanuts on top of each plate. Garnish with sprigs of mint and cilantro. Add lime wedges to each plate.

Rose Carrarini's Tomato-Ricotta Tart

I thought you might like to know that traps have been set and I am spending the day avoiding my apartment. Hoping that by the time I go home (after seeing yet more apartments, heavens above) and meet Ben (back, finally, from his trip so he can attend to his mouse-corpse-removal duties), there will be something for him to pick up gingerly and discard while I prance blithely about in the background, making pretend that life is nothing but a string of bowl-full-of-cherry days and that our greatest worry is whether we'll be eating lobster rolls at Pearl's or Ed's tonight. (For my birthday. Yes, the one that happened 6 months ago.)

Though, admittedly, the exterminator removed all sense of guilt that I had over the offing of this little creature by turning to me at some point this morning while he was shoving poison packs under my cabinets, and I was wringing my hands, and barking out of the corner of his scornfully pursed lips:

"Ya'd rather get the hantavirus? That stuff's incurable, ya know."

Um, well, nothankyouverymuch. And with that I am ending all discussion of mouse talk and the vile diseases they spread, because, ugh, I can barely even see straight anymore for all the grossness and I can't handle another dead faint, not when I've left my smelling salts at home.

Besides, in far more interesting news, I've got to tell you that homemade butter, the kind that isn't cultured and therefore still mostly tastes like Land O'Lakes sans the nasty supermarket flavor bloom, makes for excellent tart crusts.

Really, they're total perfection. At first, after the butter, flour and salt had whirred about in the food processor, I thought the dough looked too smooth and uniform, not pebbly enough. But chilled and rolled and pricked and parbaked and filled and baked again, the dough turned into this meltingly tender, delicious crust that held together well and melted in our mouths.

Though I suppose I should also tell you that that tasty crust would have been nothing without a lining of grated farmhouse cheddar and a filling of roasted tomatoes suspended in a savory ricotta custard, infused with oregano leaves. The tart was airy and creamy and the silky tomatoes packed a wallop of concentrated flavor.

I served this along with grill-blistered hot dogs and nicely charred hamburgers on Independence Day, before the rain came out and crowded us indoors, where we lined the walls of my narrow apartment, drinking beer, soothing babies, and discussing real estate (is there anything else we can talk about?). The tart disappeared long before the hot dogs did, which is saying something, since it seems that the Fourth of July is hardly even a holiday if there aren't hot dogs to be had. Wouldn't you say?

So, yeah. Are you busy right now? Don't you think you should get yourself home to make this? I think you should, I really do.

Tomato-Ricotta Tart
Servings: 9 to 12

Tart shell
1 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon cold unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces, plus extra for greasing
1 beaten egg yolk, divided (use half for the tart shell and reserve half for the filling)

1. In a food processor, process the flour, salt and butter for about 5 to 8 seconds, so that some pieces of butter are left. Combine half of the egg yolk (saving the other half for the filling; set aside in the refrigerator) with one-fourth cup cold water and drizzle through the tube of the food processor while pulsing. Pulse until the dough forms a ball and pulls away from the sides.

2. Alternatively, the dough can be mixed by hand. Put the flour and salt in a bowl, cut the butter into pieces and work it into the flour with your fingertips. Make a well in the middle of the flour and butter mixture and add the half egg yolk and one-quarter cup ice water. Stir quickly with a fork to start bringing the dry and wet ingredients together. When the fork can't do any more, use your hands just to bring the dough together. Don't knead or press — all you have to do is gather up the dry parts as quickly as possible. If your hands get too warm, put them under cold water for a few minutes.

3. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes, or up to 8 hours.

4. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Take the dough out of the refrigerator. Dust your work surface and rolling pin with flour and roll out the dough, lifting and turning it all the time so that it does not stick to the surface. Roll the dough out into a square about one-eighth-inch thick. Roll the dough around the rolling pin and gently lift it into the tart pan, gently pressing the dough into the bottom of the pan and up against the sides. Trim the edges. Chill again for about 30 minutes.

5. Line the tart shell with parchment or foil and fill it with pie weights or beans and bake for 15 minutes. Remove the weights and the parchment or foil and prick the crust with a fork. Continue baking an additional 20 to 25 minutes until golden. Cool the tart shell on a rack.

Cream mixture, filling and assembly
6 plum tomatoes (such as Roma), halved
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil
1 cup half and half
2 eggs
1/2 egg yolk (reserved from making the tart shell)
Pinch grated nutmeg
1 tart shell
1 cup packed grated farmhouse cheddar cheese
3/4 cup ricotta cheese (I only used 1/2 cup, and I blended it in with the cream mixture)
1/2 cup tender sprigs of fresh thyme or oregano

1. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with foil, place a rack in the baking sheet and roast the tomatoes skin-side up for about 2 hours, until the liquid has gone and the skins can be removed easily. Season the skinned tomatoes generously with salt and pepper and drizzle a little oil over them. Allow to cool to room temperature.

2. In a mixing bowl, beat the half and half, eggs, egg yolk, one-fourth teaspoon salt and one-eighth teaspoon pepper and nutmeg until they are well mixed.

3. Place the tart shell on a baking sheet and scatter the cheddar cheese over the base of the tart. Place the tomatoes on top of this and spoonfuls of ricotta in between the tomatoes.

4. Pour in as much of the cream mixture as you can without it spilling over the top; you may have some cream mixture left over. Sprinkle with the thyme.

5. Transfer carefully to the oven and bake for about 30 to 40 minutes until the filling has set and is lightly golden. Allow to cool slightly before serving.

Regina Schrambling's Pumpkin Tarte Tatin

I suppose I should explain. After all, I wouldn't entirely blame you if you took one look at that photograph and asked yourself just what exactly I was thinking when I took it. Well, that tarte you see up there may not be as beautiful as you'd expect, but you can blame that on my obstinate refusal to buy a nonstick pan. If you can get over the half-moons of caramelized kabocha squash flung willy-nilly over the peppered short crust, there's actually a pretty delicious recipe to be found.

I clipped the recipe for this savory version of the archetypically French tarte Tatin from the Los Angeles Times more than three years ago. I urge you not to wait that long before trying it yourselves. But before we continue, let me just make sure you aren't confusing it with this recipe. They're really quite similar, but different in some fundamental ways and while I haven't made the citrouillat myself, it doesn't entice me at all. Who knows why? (I think I need to stop writing posts on Saturday nights.)

Numbingly boring questions aside, this tart is lovely. The kabocha squash (it's the only squash I enjoy biting into) becomes creamy and incredibly sweet through both the pan-caramelization and the oven-roasting. The fudgy white goat cheese melts funkily in the background along with the herbed tangle of onions that have been cooked to a glossy brown tangle of flavor. The peppery short crust is tender and literally melts in your mouth (though if I make this again, it's going to be with a puff pastry crust to lighten things a bit).

So the squash layer stuck to my cast-iron skillet instead of unmolding in perfect half-moons. Who cares? All you have to do is barely blink an eye, gently scrape the caramelized topping out of the pan and rearrange it as best you can on the crust. Sometimes, I think, being a good cook is all about keeping your cool.

Pumpkin Tarte Tatin
Serves 6

1 1/4 cups flour
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled
About 1/4 small (3 to 3 1/2 pounds) pumpkin
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 tablespoons butter, divided
1 1/2 cups thinly sliced onions
Coarse sea salt
2 tablespoons chopped fresh thyme, divided
1 tablespoon pumpkin seed oil (or olive oil)
Pepper
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 ounce soft goat cheese

1. For the crust, combine the flour, salt and pepper in a mixing bowl and toss with a fork to mix well. Cut the chilled unsalted butter into one-quarter-inch pieces and rub into the dry ingredients with fingertips until the mixture resembles very coarse meal. Sprinkle with 2 tablespoons ice water and toss until the ingredients cling together, adding 1 tablespoon more water if necessary. Pull together into a ball and knead very lightly, then pat out into a thick round on wax paper. Wrap the dough in the wax paper and chill it while cooking the pumpkin.

2. Heat the oven to 375 degrees. Peel and seed the pumpkin and cut it into one-quarter-inch-thick slices.

3. Combine the olive oil and 2 tablespoons of the butter in a 10-inch (measured across the top) nonstick, ovenproof skillet over medium-low heat. Add the onion, salt to taste and half the thyme and sauté, stirring often, until very soft and caramelized, about 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer to a bowl.

4. Wipe the skillet clean and add the remaining butter and the pumpkin seed oil; melt over medium heat. Arrange the pumpkin slices in the skillet in slightly overlapping layers, but with most of the pumpkin flat on the skillet so the surfaces will caramelize. The pumpkin should cover the bottom completely. Sprinkle with the remaining thyme and season with salt and pepper. Cook over medium-high heat until the bottom slices start to caramelize, about 5 minutes. Reduce the heat to the lowest setting, cover the skillet and cook until the pumpkin is soft but not falling apart, about 10 minutes. Drizzle with the cream and remove from the heat. Crumble the goat cheese and scatter the onions evenly over the pumpkin.

5. Cut a sheet of wax paper into a 10-inch round. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough under the sheet to make a crust, using the sheet as a guide. Remove the wax paper and carefully fit the crust over the pumpkin, tucking and crimping the perimeter to seal it completely.

6. Bake in the top third of the oven for 30 to 35 minutes, until the crust is browned. Using a small spatula around the edges of the skillet to release the crust, immediately unmold the tarte onto a serving platter (place a platter over the skillet and invert it). Cut it into wedges and serve warm or hot.

Celia Barbour's Finnish Meatballs

Okay, so it's no big secret that meat doesn't photograph well. Pardon me, dear readers, for offending your eyes with this picture. Believe me when I tell you that these meatballs, despite being stodgily unphotogenic, were the highest praised items at my birthday lunch last weekend. I know - four great recipes this week and counting. We're on a quality roll here!

Those meatballs are Finnish meatballs, courtesy of Celia Barbour's grandmother, which you know must guarantee success, because who pulls out their grandmother's recipes to be published nationwide if they haven't got a deep, abiding faith in their deliciousness? I'd had the recipe earmarked since Celia wrote about her feelings on pasture-raised meat a few months ago (I guess we feel the same way). As Ben and I would have never been able to eat our way through a mountain of those meatballs on our own, and it's a well-known fact that meatballs make every party a better party (what? you didn't know that? it's the truth), I cooked up a batch for my friends on Sunday.

To prepare the raw meatball - er, batter? what does one call this uncooked pile of meat? - I grated a mountain of Gouda before mixing it into a verdant soup of beaten eggs, parsley, chopped (not fine enough) onions and spices. Then I squished in an enormous pile of soppy bread and ground meats (my ground pork was whey-fed, according to the Bobolink girls, which, in principle, seems revolting, but apparently it makes the pork taste delicious and who am I to criticize the gentle pork farmers of New Jersey?) until all the ingredients were well-combined and evenly distributed.

It took me quite some time to roll marble-sized meatballs and coat them lightly in flour - and my kitchen started to look like a truffle workshop - but there was something intensely peaceful and soothing about the work. It was eight in the morning on a Sunday, I was up to my elbows in cold, raw meat, and everyone I knew was still asleep, but there in my kitchen, as the sun rose and the birds sang, I had my little meatball rhythm going and couldn't have felt more whole.

I browned those little marbles in olive oil - it took four batches in my 12-inch skillet - before dumping them all into a tiny amount of simmering chicken broth (well, actually, after the meatballs were cooked, I let them sit on their plates for a few hours and then I dumped them in the pot, and they were no worse for the wear and suited my schedule much better). After the broth simmered and the meatballs warmed and cooked a bit further, I swirled in some cream, turned off the heat and watched a miracle of chemistry take place. The cream thickened and glossified - coating each meatball with a toothsome, creamy glaze.

With toothpicks set out for everyone, and the pot on the still-warm stove, the meatballs were the stars of the day. Little flavor bombs of spiced meat bound by buttery cheese - I couldn't imagine eating a whole plate of these with noodles unless I was, well, an alcoholic Finn soaking up his bacchic transgressions with saturated fat. But pierced with a toothpick and eaten one at a time while leaning against the stove with my friends, they were absolute perfection.

Finnish Meatballs
Yields 8 to 10 servings

3/4 cup milk
3 slices white bread, crusts removed
6 ounces mild and buttery Gouda-style cheese
1 1/2 cups loosely packed fresh parsley, finely minced
3/4 cup finely minced onion
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 tablespoon ground allspice
1 pound lean ground beef
1 pound ground pork
1/2 cup flour
3/4 cup chicken or beef broth
1/4 cup vegetable oil, or as needed
1/2 cup heavy cream

1. In a bowl, warm milk in a microwave until just steaming. Remove from heat and press bread into the milk; set aside.

2. Grate cheese on large holes of a box grater and place in a large bowl. Add parsley, onion, eggs, salt, both peppers and allspice. Stir well to combine. Add ground beef, ground pork and milk-soaked bread (discard the milk). Knead by hand until well-blended.

3. Spread flour on a plate. Roll meat mixture into 1 1/2-inch balls, and roll in flour to coat. Place a Dutch oven over very low heat, and add broth. Heat oil in a skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering.

4. Working in batches, add enough meatballs to loosely fill pan. Sear for about 1 minute, then shake the pan to turn meatballs. Continue until well-browned on all sides, adding more oil to the pan as needed. Transfer meatballs to Dutch oven and allow them to gently simmer for 20 to 30 minutes, stirring carefully from time to time. Add cream and turn the heat off. Mix gently.

Florence Fabricant's Leek, Mushroom and Goat Cheese Tart

I have to say that when I first saw this recipe in the paper, my eyes sort of glazed over and I just kept going. I don't really know why - after all, I like vegetables and tarts and goat cheese - but perhaps I judged too quickly that the combination of all three would be fussy and twee and not really my kind of thing. I figured it was one less thing I'd have to try, moved on and promptly forgot all about it.

And then, a few months later, Hannah announced she was closing up her food blog to continue elsewhere and told me that if I hadn't already made the tart, I should get to it. Right quick. Well, she didn't actually say Right Quick, but it was implied. So, I made my way through the Internets, googling left and right to find the archived recipe. And, like it was meant to be, I found it. Just waiting for me to come by and snatch it up.

Oh, I'm so glad I did. Thank you, Hannah, for pointing me in the right direction. And thank you, Florence, for coming up with this in the first place. Because, dear readers, I'm pleased to say that we've got another winner here, another one for the laminated files, the Hall of Fame. Yes, it's that good.

First of all, it's just so pretty. But then, it's also just so easy. Well, for a tart. And most importantly? It's fantastically delicious. Crisp, buttery pastry encasing a sweet and mellow filling of sauteed vegetables, topped with tangy, crumbled goat cheese - I mean, it really is as good as it sounds.

Better even.

The hardest thing about this was contemplating the frozen puff pastry. I'd never used any before (ridiculous, I know) and found myself a bit intimidated by the prospect of pate feuilletee in my very own house. But really, all there is to it is a bit of unfolding and rolling. That's it! Well, and some trimming. A monkey could do it. A monkey with knife skills.

You saute leeks and mushrooms and sliced fennel (for all you fennel haters, I swear to you that the anise flavor is imperceptible. Just a faint background note! Bringing all the livelier flavors to the fore! It's delicious. Trust me) before halving the defrosted puff pastry and rolling each piece out into a long rectangle (I halved in the wrong direction which proves that my recipe-reading skills are for naught, or that a monkey could do this better than me). You have to trim the edges and then form a little border and glaze it with an egg wash, which sounds irritating, but is finished quite quickly and the benefit is that your tart puffs up in all the right places and just looks so professionally appealing.

The pastry gets baked empty the first time, is filled with a goat-cheese-and-egg mixture for the second baking and then receives the topping of sauteed vegetables and goat cheese for the third pass in the oven under the broiler for a final, burnished touch. I set out still-warm squares of this for my guests and they were gone - gone! - in minutes.

I'm beginning to think that Florence Fabricant might just have the best recipes at the New York Times.

Leek, Mushroom and Goat Cheese Tart
Yields 10 to 12 servings

1 small bulb fennel
2 medium leeks, white and light green parts only, halved lengthwise and rinsed carefully
16 medium cremini or white mushrooms (about 1 pound)
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon olive oil
Salt and pepper
1 4-ounce package puff pastry (like Dufour), defrosted according to package directions
3 eggs
8 ounces goat cheese

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees. Trim fennel of green top and root end, reserving fronds and quarter bulb from top to bottom. Using a mandoline or very sharp knife, cut fennel and leeks into paper-thin slices. Clean and slice mushrooms.

2. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a skillet over medium heat; add fennel and leeks and saute until just tender but not brown, about 6 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and set aside. Heat remaining teaspoon oil in skillet over medium-high heat; add mushrooms and saute until they release all their liquid and most of it boils away, about 5 minutes. Combine fennel mixture with mushrooms and saute together briefly; season with salt and pepper. Remove from heat.

3. Unfold puff pastry onto lightly floured surface or Silpat; cut in half lengthwise to form two long rectangles. Gently roll out each rectangle to approximately 5 by 14 inches and place on cookie sheet (or cut into two circles, if desired). Trim edges by 1/4 inch strips all around; set strips aside. Break one egg into a small bowl; beat slightly. Brush edges of pastry with some egg. Use trimmed strips to make a raised border on each. (Or, fold pastry edges over to form a rim.) Brush entire surface with remaining beaten egg. Prick interior of pastry all over with a fork. Bake unti pale gold, about 10 minutes. If pastry has puffed up inside edge, press it down gently. Set aside.

4. Meanwhile, combine remaining eggs with 6 ounces of goat cheese and blend until smooth. Spread onto pastry. Return to oven and bake just until set, about 4 minutes. Remove from oven and spread with mushroom-leek mixture. Crumble remaining cheese on top. Just before serving, broil tarts for a few minutes, until cheese softens and starts to brown. Garnish with fennel fronds.

Paula Wolfert's Hummus

I may never buy hummus again. And after reading this, you may join me. Because once I (and thereby you) figured out how easy, cheap, and ridiculously delicious homemade hummus is, I decided to turn my back on the prefabricated stuff and am never looking back. That's it! I'm done.

This summer, the LA Times ran a story about the best hummus in Los Angeles just weeks after a similar story ran in the New York Times. But what made the LA Times article stand out was its inclusion of Paula Wolfert's recipe for the homemade stuff at the end. Wolfert, one of the goddesses of Middle Eastern cooking, is another kitchen heroine of mine, but it took me a while to actually make her recipe. It's seriously high-yield, producing 4 whole cups worth of hummus. Even if it would prove to be the best version in the world, how would I ever polish off that much?

Well, it turns out that a birthday party is a pretty good place to answer this question, as you'll have at least 20 people avidly digging in to the hummus plate and yet you'll find, after they've all gone home and you are dejectedly cleaning up and thinking that this year's birthday was even better than the last, that you still have some left over. Which, actually, is just fine as these kinds of leftovers are the good kind and after all, how better to end a birthday week than with a smear of hummus on a second loaf of the No-Knead bread? Which, by the way, I baked in my 4-quart oval Le Creuset, thereby discovering that it's the perfect size and shape for this loaf.

You soak a bunch of dried chickpeas overnight (I bought a bag of roasted, dried chickpeas at BuonItalia, just because they looked...nuttier than the regular ones, but who knows if that made a difference), then simmer them in salted water until they're soft. In the meantime, you make a paste out of salt and garlic, then whizz that in a food processor along with sesame seed paste and what seems like an inordinate amount of lemon juice. Trust the recipe, though! Wolfert says the mixture should look "contracted", which meant nothing to me, but I stopped when it looked like this and that turned out to be fine.

Then you add the drained chickpeas and process the mixture until an improbably creamy mass starts to form. Depending on how loose you like your hummus, you can add cooking liquid and lemon juice. It keeps in the fridge for a few days, though you'll have to add some more water and lemon juice to loosen it up a bit (and let it come to room temperature, because the flavors totally bloom then). I sprinkled mine with paprika and drizzled it with one of the delicious oils in my Alejandro & Martin sampler.

A more appetizing plate of hummus I never did see. And the taste! Fresh and creamy, with a nutty flavor and grassy notes from the oil. The hummus had heft, but was also airy from all the processing. I'm telling you - after you make it, you'll never want storebought hummus again. I'm so glad I tried this recipe. It's like a birthday present from Paula herself. Thanks, Paula!

Hummus
Makes 4 cups

1 1/2 cups dried chickpeas, soaked overnight
1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
3 garlic cloves, peeled
3/4 cup sesame seed paste
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice, and more to taste
Cayenne or hot Hungarian paprika
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
2 teaspoons olive oil

1. Rinse the soaked chickpeas well and drain them before putting them in a saucepan and covering them with plenty of fresh water. Bring to a boil; skim, add one-half teaspoon salt, cover and cook over medium heat, about 1 1/2 hours, until the chickpeas are very soft (you might need to add more water).

2. Meanwhile, crush the garlic and one-half teaspoon salt in a mortar until pureed. Transfer the puree to the work bowl of a food processor, add the sesame seed paste and lemon juice and process until white and contracted. Add one-half cup water and process until completely smooth.

3. Drain the chickpeas, reserving their cooking liquid. Add the chickpeas to the sesame paste mixture and process until well-blended. For a smoother texture, press the mixture through the fine blade of a food mill. Thin to desired consistency with reserved chickpea liquid. Adjust the seasoning with salt and lemon juice. The hummus can be kept in an airtight container in the fridge for up to a week.) Serve, sprinkled with paprika and parsley and drizzled with oil.

Anne Willan's Parmesan Balls

Hark! The holiday party angels sing. So, how many parties have you been to so far this month? Or better yet, how many are still to come? Are you sick of showing up with your stand-by bottle of wine? Or a potted poinsettia? Well, dear readers, never fear. I've got a fantastic little recipe for you that, wrapped up in Martha Stewart-ish glassine paper and tied with a pretty bow, is a perfect holiday gift.

The recipe comes from Anne Willan - a kitchen hero of mine and a contributor to the LA Times. Not only is the recipe easy to follow, but it has the added appeal of surviving doubling and even tripling its quantities if you need high-yield baked goods for gifts this time of year. Luckily for all of us, the outcome tastes pretty fabulous, too. And doesn't slaving over a hot oven virtually guarantee you lots and lots of holiday points from your grateful hosts? Although the slaving part here is totally fabricated - it'll take you all of 20 minutes.

The food processor renders the flour, ground mustard, salt, pepper, grated Parmigiano and melted butter into fragrant, couscous-like crumbs. You roll the crumbs into small balls and let them chill before popping them in a hot oven, where the pungent flavor of the cheese morphs into something deeper and more nuanced. The mustard and ground pepper add an irresistible kick to the crumbly balls. And what comes out of the oven is a sophisticated, savory snack that is quite difficult to stop eating.

What I like the most about these holiday hors d'oeuvres is how they so easily morph from high-end to low-brow, depending on what you decide to serve them with. An elegant coupe of Champagne and you've got yourself a swish little Christmas soiree. A mug of mulled wine and - presto! - you're at a cozy weekend Advent afternoon. A tall, frosty beer and you're just hanging back taking a breather from all this insanity.

My tip to you is to shape these balls even smaller than indicated - a half inch across would probably be great (and also, my baking time was longer than indicated, by about ten minutes). They tend to the dry side and since you really do need to pop them whole into your mouth, a slightly smaller ball is all the better for being washed down with your beverage. Maybe that should be your gift to yourself this year. A break. A drink. And a handful of these toasty, crumbly, peppery balls. Then let the holiday madness wash over you!

Anne Willan's Parmesan Balls
Makes 26 balls

1 1/4 cups flour, plus up to 3 tablespoons more, if necessary
1 cup loosely packed grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 cup melted butter

1. In the bowl of a food processor, mix the flour, Parmesan, salt, pepper and dry mustard. Add the butter and work it in using the pulse button so the mixture forms crumbs. Press a few crumbs together with your fingers. If it's sticky, add 2 to 3 tablespoons more flour.

2. Butter a baking sheet. Turn the crumbs into a bowl, press them into balls 1 inch in diameter and place them on the baking sheet. Chill in the refrigerator for 30 minutes>

3. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Bake the cheese balls until lightly browned, 26 to 28 minutes. They keep well in an airtight container, or they can be frozen.