A few years ago, I went through a ratatouille phase — there was an easy recipe in an issue of Everyday Food, and so I made it. A lot. We had ratatouille crepes, ratatouille omelets, and straight-up ratatouille. Eventually, like all things I inadvertently run into the dining ground, my husband gently asked me to put a stop to it. No more eggplant stew, please, dear wife (or something maybe phrased a bit differently).

Well, we’ve had a lot of eggplant in our CSA box lately — and while I love a good eggplant parmesan, my above-referenced spouse isn’t wild about it. I still make it a couple times a year, but otherwise I’m looking for things to do with the aubergine. A few times this summer, we had made the grilled vegetable panini from the recipe section of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. If you’ve never made them, I recommend them heartily; if you have a gas grill (which we now do, in our rental house) they are an easy and delicious weeknight dinner in the late summer. Monday, though, it being already-fall and all, I was lacking tomatoes, which are a necessary topper for the panini. What I did have were some gorgeous shitake mushrooms, organically grown by a local farmer on logs year-round, and available at the farmer’s market for $9/pound (a good price, if you’ve ever shopped for shitakes).

The other thing I didn’t have on Monday was a working gas grill… I couldn’t get it to light. So I improvised by broiling the eggplant slices and peppers, and cooking onions and mushrooms on the stovetop. The great thing about this dinner is that you can cook all the vegetables ahead and assemble/broil the panini very quickly right before serving. I’m always looking for dinners that can be started early, since that hour or so before dinner is always the craziest time of day. Of course, if you have a working grill, you can cook everything (except the shitakes, unless you use a foil pouch?) that way instead.

These were good. Tasted right on a crisp evening.

Early Fall Vegetable Panino
serves 2 for plenty of supper

• one medium-sized eggplant (or 3-4 japanese eggplant), sliced length-wise into 1/2-inch slices
• 1 red bell pepper, quartered, seeds and ribs removed
• 1/2 onion, thinly sliced
• 4 oz. shitake mushrooms, stemmed and sliced
• 1/2 tsp dried thyme (or 2 tsp fresh)
• 1 baguette
• 6 oz. fresh mozzarella
• a couple handfuls of arugula
• olive oil, salt and pepper

1) Cook your veggies (can be done a few hours in advance):

Preheat your broiler, and move your oven rack to about 6″ from the top heating element. Brush eggplant slices and peppers (skin side) with olive oil. Salt the eggplant (no need to salt the peppers, since the skin will be removed). Place peppers (skin side up) and eggplant on a foil-lined rimmed baking sheet, and broil about 10 minutes, or until the peppers are blackened in a lot of places. Remove the sheet and let cool to the touch. Once cool, rub the thin skins from the peppers (discard) and slice the flesh into strips.

Meanwhile, heat 2 Tbsp olive oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet. Add the onions and thyme, and cook over med-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the onions are brown and the skillet is almost dry (about 15 minutes). Season with salt and pepper to taste, and remove to a plate.

Heat another tablespoon oil in your pan. Add the mushrooms, and cook over medium-high heat until beginning to brown (about 3 minutes; don’t let them get mushy). Season with salt and pepper to taste, and remove to a plate.

2) Assemble the panini (15 minutes before serving):

Preheat your broiler. Cut the baguette in half length-wise, and into sandwich-sized lengths. Layer onto each piece of bread: eggplant, then roasted peppers, then onions, then mushrooms. Top with slices of mozzarella. Place on a rimmed baking sheet, and broil until the cheese is melted and bubbly (about 5 minutes). Top your panini with arugula, drizzle with olive oil, and salt to taste. Serve with a fork.

Happy October! New site coming within the week!

—————————————–
* Apparently, the word panini is the plural form of panino (paninis is not a word at all, which somehow seems good to me).

If you’re looking for ways to use up the last of the season’s tomatoes (I got three in my box this week… that’s two more than last week… maybe late ripers?), this is a dinner we’ve eaten all summer, a few times a month. It’s easy, quick, and a little different every time you make it. The recipe below is just a guide, as I’m sure I varied the proportions each go-around, depending on what I had on a Sunday night.

Inspired by a dish I was served at my friend Megan’s house last June, it relies on ripe tomatoes (for once, the quality can be a little lacking and it won’t hurt much), fresh Italian sausage, and will benefit lots from fresh herbs and good-quality parmesan cheese. My current favorite source for sausage is Whole Foods; I buy a ton of it when it’s on sale ($3/pound) and freeze it in half-pound portions. It’s my favorite because it’s full of black pepper, but not too heavy on the fennel (the sausage I used to buy from Earth Fare was fennel-packed, a little out-of-balance). Of course I love getting fresh sausage from The Goose, and his tastes the best, by far; but for some reason (probably a good one) it falls apart very easily when it cooks a bit, and I prefer nice chunks of sausage in this dish.

I’ve used everything from romas to cherry tomatoes; the only difference would be to seed larger tomatoes if you desire (skipping this step will just make a soupier sauce). Since, in September, your garden basil might have long-ago flowered (and therefore turned funky), you can replace it with Italian parsley (a great herb to always have on hand… it’s cheap, and if you buy it at the grocery it’ll keep in a jar of water on your counter for a week or more). Add red pepper flakes if you want a kick; this is an easy supper that can handle heavy customization.

Pasta with Italian sausage and fresh tomatoes
serves 3-4

• 1/2 pound (about 2 links) fresh Italian sausage
• 1 medium onion, sliced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• about 1 pint roma or cherry tomatoes, or 2-3 slicers, chopped  (seeded if large)
• salt and pepper to taste
• 3/4 pound short pasta (bowties, rotini, penne)
• fresh-grated parmesan
• chopped fresh basil, for garnish
• olive oil

Fill a large saucepan or dutch oven with water and bring to a boil.

Meanwhile, heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Remove the sausage from its casing, and crumble into the saucepan. Cook until brown, breaking up with a wooden spoon, until fully cooked (about five minutes). Remove the sausage to a plate, and pour off all but a couple tablespoons fat from the pan (you might not have to pour off any, if your sausage was on the lean side).

Add the onions to the pan, and cook until beginning to soften but not brown. Add the garlic and cook for about 30 seconds, until fragrant. Add the tomatoes plus salt and pepper to taste; reduce the heat to low, and let cook gently for about 10 minutes.

In the meantime, when your water has come to a boil, add salt (1 Tbsp for every 5 quarts) and cook your pasta to al dente. Drain well.

You’ll know your sauce is ready when the tomatoes are soft and cooked down a little; just add your pasta and cooked sausage right to the skillet, and toss to coat. Serve, topped with basil, grated parmesan, and a drizzle of olive oil.

In what way? The photo above is of ten pounds of roma tomatoes. I bought them to freeze.

Why? Because Barbara Kingsolver’s account of the myriad ways to preserve tomatoes for use during winter months was so romantic — in a self-sufficient, finger-to-the-storebought-can, empowering sort of way. I found, however, that to utilize all her poetic methods, I was lacking a few things:

1. The utensils or desire to can them. Someday, I will do this. Maybe after I’m no longer wiping the rear ends of cute children.
2. A food dehydrator, to dry them (confession to The Internets and My Husband: I’m about to bid for one on ebay).

But a freezer? That, I have. I had been thinking about trying to pick up a few pints of roma tomatoes from the farmer’s market, but until last Saturday the cheapest I could get them was $2/pint. Not a great price. Last week though, I was purchasing beets and red peppers from one of my regular stops: the Mennonite farm stand in the corner (I keep trying to catch them off-guard so they’ll confess to being bogus in some way, since they sell lovely certified organic produce for relatively dirt cheap — but they stay on their toes, and keep coming back with very convincing and honest answers — go figure). He had this huge box of romas, sitting underneath his table. I asked how much they were, and he replied that they’d be 50¢ a pound, if I bought the whole box. Well, the box probably weighed at least 50 pounds, and I had walked to the market. I wavered, and confessed my predicament. He told me I could take as many as I could carry, for $1/pound. Sold.

There is that small matter of actually freezing the tomatoes. It shouldn’t be so bad, and I plan to do it tomorrow. The rundown:

• Fill a large stockpot or dutch oven with water, and bring to a rolling boil.
• While waiting for your water to boil, rinse the tomatoes, and score a small “x” just through the skin on the underside (i.e., not the stem end) of the tomato. This will help you peel them.
• Fill a very large bowl with ice water (lots of ice).
• When your water comes to a boil, lower 8-10 tomatoes (however many you can without overcrowding) into the water, and immediately start a timer. After 30 seconds, remove the tomatoes and immediately put them into the ice water.
• After a minute or two in the ice water, you can slip the skins right off the tomatoes. Repeat the whole process (make sure your water comes back to a boil before each addition) until all your tomatoes are skinned.

At this point, I cut them in half, pole-to-pole, and remove any large cores. I also seed them — many people don’t do this step, but it’s really easy (although a little messy), and makes for much thicker marinara when it comes time to cook. Seeding them is easy: after cutting them in half, give a gentle squeeze over the sink, and run your finger quickly through the seed cavities to remove. You don’t have to get every single seed; just get out what you can without much fuss.

Then, you just put them in freezer bags. I’ll probably try to put a pound in a bag, just to help me when thawing. Squeeze out as much air as you can (or get really anal, like certain people who shall rename unnamed, and use a drinking straw to suck all the air out before you seal. It’s not unlike drinking tomato-flavored air… or at least, that’s just what I’ve heard).

To be honest, I have no idea how well this is going to work. I’ve never made marinara from frozen tomatoes. When I settle on a method that falls under the category of delicious, you will be the first to know.

Today I made my first Tomato Pie of 2009. After the chaos of the past, oh, four months, this feels a little like a symbolic and edible sigh of relief.

We’ve invited some new friends to dinner. They, as far as I know, are completely unawares. They are TPVs (tomato pie virgins).

I snapped a quick shot of the cast and crew, some heirlooms that came in this week’s CSA box:

They are gorgeous, aren’t they? And they made a tasty pie — although I regret to say that it wasn’t as good as last year’s, the tomatoes just don’t have the flavor punch held by the famous sun golds. While I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the unusually mild weather in central Indiana, it’s apparently been a little too mild for the tomatoes, and everyone says it’s not a good year for them.

But the sun has nothing to do with good gruyere, and that’s the second important ingredient in TP. Today, I trimmed a lot of excess gruyere-infused pie dough before crimping the edges, so I made pie puffs (my nomenclature), a savory take on pie cookies. My mother-in-law taught me how to make pie cookies with leftover scraps of dough: for a dessert pie crust, you brush the scraps with melted butter, add a little cinnamon sugar, and roll them up. Cut them into mini-cinnamon rolls, and bake them with your pie (they finish cooking in about 10 minutes). Today, since I had a savory crust laden with nutty gruyere, I brushed the tops with soft butter and stacked them up. They puffed up into nice little cheesy treats:

The last important ingredient in TP is fresh basil, of which I am currently sorely lacking (the movers wouldn’t take live plants, so all of my forward-thinking herbs-in-pots had to stay in Athens). I couldn’t bring myself to pay $3 at Whole Foods for a wimpy pack of untouchable, un-smellable, un-knowable basil, and I knew there had to be some around here, somewhere. So today the kids and I went on a “basil walk.” We knocked on a neighbors door, a few houses down, where a little bird told me there was basil to be had. No one answered, and I didn’t feel like breaking-and-entering the fenced backyard with the kiddos. So we moseyed another block to the “community garden #1,” a totally neglected and overgrown idea that went sour. I knew there was row after row of basil that had long-ago flowered, which meant the flavor would be more in line with licorice — not what the TP needed. But after thorough searching, I found 2 plants that had miraculously not flowered enough to lose their fresh flavor. I “appropriated” what we needed, stuffed little fat hands full of green leaves, and we walked home.

It was a great night. The weather was, really, close to perfect. We ate outside, and enjoyed a really good IPA from a microbrew in Fort Wayne (really? Fort Wayne?). I can’t quite remember the name, since I was so focused on the fact that it came from Fort Wayne (I don’t mean any disrespect to the town, it just struck me as strange, and as a newcomer to Indiana I have no idea why). But it was a really good IPA, which gave me hope for our future here, since our case of Terrapin Rye Pale Ale is only 4 bottles shy of history (the movers didn’t mind loading and unloading a case of beer).

Fall is upon us. There will be some Indian Summer days interspersed, but overall we are turning a seasonal corner. It’s been a little strange; my seasonal clock says that when the weather is like this, I’m supposed to be icing a Barbie’s Chocolate Dream Cake, or planning Thanksgiving dinner. And yet it’s not even Labor Day. I’m ok with that.

Alrighty, then. Didn’t quite imagine that it would take almost two weeks to get back into this habit of mine — the one where I blab about what I’ve eaten and think people actually care? — but between temporary habitats where no wireless was to be had and the fact that (Murphy’s Law in effect here) my domain name expired during the height of our cross-country move, it’s been hard to share. But man, do I have things to share, already.

While I ponder the these things, I’ll give you this pic I snapped just before we loaded up the truck. A little over a week ago, it was our last afternoon in our Athens home before movers came the next morning. We needed to eat, and I also needed to clean out the refrigerator. Never one to throw things away without a good internal fight, I whipped up a blender-full of smoothie with the leftover contents of our freezer. No, I didn’t go so far as throw in the beef bones that never made it to stock (insert sharp but quickly-passing pain in my chest); I just used up what was left of various bags of frozen berries. Blueberries, raspberries, strawberries; some hand-picked, some storebought. A little yogurt, a little honey, and maybe a half-eaten banana. What you see is me offering some of the goods to my hard-working spouse, sporting the yellow t-shirt in the background.

It’s gonna be a hard leap, going from a clean-out-the-freezer-smoothie to the subject my next post. But I’ll do my best. More to come, from the Great State of Indiana.

I’ve been on a kick with a new and improved (according to today’s tastebuds) granola recipe (after 7 years of the old one). I’ve mentioned it to a few friends who all requested the details; this led me to the conclusion that an appropriate post was in order.

Not to mention the fact that I’m not finished with a post that will name the Top 10 Athens Food Loves that will be sorely missed by our family. It’s gonna take another few days, so this will tide us all over.

I started making this recipe, adapted from one in my new More With Less cookbook, because I wanted crunchier granola (a feat difficult to achieve during hot and humid weather). I also decided to grind the nuts, in hopes that my children would actually start eating it. My five-year old did, but that lasted all of 2 days. Someday they will, though, right? My children might actually eat most of the food I prepare?

Before I present the secrets of my new breakfast, I will say that our life is about to be somewhat dismantled for about 2 weeks, while we finish packing, see our belongings off to Indiana, follow them in kind, and unpack in our new crib. So, while I hope to continue to post a reasonable number of times, do forgive me if my prose tends to seem a bit… lowfat. Here’s to living large again in the Midwest.

Crunchy Granola

Preheat oven to 350º.  Stir together in a very large mixing bowl:

• 6 cups rolled oats
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 cup unsweetened shredded coconut
• 1 cup raw wheat germ
• 1 cup Kashi Nuggets cereal (or Grape Nuts)
• 1 cup nuts (almonds, pecans, or walnuts), ground in a food processor or pounded fine in a ziploc bag

In a separate microwaveable bowl, combine:

• 1/2 cup water
• 1 cup oil
• 1/2 cup honey
• 1/2 cup light brown sugar
• 1 tsp salt

Heat mixture in the microwave for about 1 1/2 minutes, until very warm. Stir to combine, then add:

• 2 tsp vanilla extract

Pour the liquid ingredients over the dry ingredients, and stir to completely coat. Pour mixture into 2 lightly oiled sheet pans, and press into the pan with an oiled spatula. Bake for 13-15 minutes, until starting to turn golden. Remove from oven, and gently flip the granola with a spatula. Return to the oven (reduce the temperature if your granola is getting too brown) and bake another 10-15 minutes, until nicely golden. Remove from oven and stir. Turn the oven off, and return the granola to the oven for about 30 minutes (this allows the granola to dry out more without getting much darker in color). Remove from oven and let cool completely. Once cool, immediately place in an airtight container (exposure to humid air makes the granola turn soft and chewy).

Dare you ponder the reason I had in my possession 14 mangoes? It all started last Saturday morning, at the Athens Farmer’s Market. I ran into a friend who casually mentioned purchasing an entire case of mangoes at Earth Fare for $5. I didn’t think much of it, until later that day I had to run into the grocery and found myself walking past the display with All. Those. Mangoes. An entire case (yes, that would be 14). The display even did the math for you: 36¢ per mango. It wasn’t the food-lover in me that made the move: it was the cheapskate. I would find a way to use them, and lo and behold, I did (though my family might writhe in protest if another mango enters our house within the next month):

Mango lassi
I’ve covered this before, and have now had one a day for 4 days. Not tired of them yet.

Mango sorbet (adapted from David’s book)
If you have an ice cream maker, this is as easy as it gets (well, no — banana sorbet is actually easier, but this is still really, really easy, and your returns outweigh your effort):

Put in a blender:

• 2 large, ripe mangoes, peeled and cut into pieces (try to get as much of the flesh as you can, and squeeze the pits with your hands over the blender to extract every bit of mango juice)
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 2/3 cup water
• pinch salt
• 1 Tbsp rum (dark or light) — this really helps soften the texture, so if you have the rum, use it!
• 1 1/2 Tbsp fresh lime juice (from 1-2 limes)

Blend until smooth, then refrigerate to chill thoroughly. Freeze in your ice cream maker, according to the instructions.

Mango popsicles
Follow the instructions for mango sorbet, omitting the rum, and reducing the sugar to 1/3 cup (popsicles don’t do well when softened by the extra sugar and alcohol). After blending, pour immediately into popsicle molds, and freeze (makes about 6 popsicles, depending on the size of the mold).

Mango salsa
This is from a well-marked page of fresh salsa recipes in my copy of The Moosewood Cookbook. I change her original instructions slightly: I don’t think the onion needs to be wilted, especially if you let the salsa sit for a bit before using; I also add the option to replace cilantro with parsley. This makes plain grilled chicken or fish turn into something spectacular:

Combine the following in a bowl and stir gently. Let sit for about 1/2 hour before serving:

• 2 Tbsp finely minced red onion
• 1 ripe mango, peeled and finely diced
• 1 medium clove garlic, minced
• 2 Tbsp fresh lime juice
• 1/2 tsp salt
• cayenne pepper, to taste
• 2 Tbsp minced cilantro or flat-leaf parsley

Eat the last mango
Even if you do all of the above, you might still end up with a lone straggler. I’m looking at a wrinkled-up specimen, as I type. Tomorrow, I shall bravely peel away the shriveling skin and eat what flesh is edible, straight-up. Call me crazy, if you wish.

We often joke that sometime in our future (a precise date is never mentioned) we will have taken enough tiny little steps to finally be on the far side of the great divide that exists between those who live on and off the proverbial grid. That image for us usually includes goats, chickens, composting toilets, a straw-bail house (I’m not convinced on this one), and a very, very large garden. For some reason, too, when I picture this life, I somehow turn into a long-skirt-wearing, hemp-donning, dread-locked, middle-aged hippie-woman. That’s about the time I snap out of it, and realize it’s never going to go that far.

But some of it might happen (anyone care to place bets on details?). I’m not opposed to goats and chickens, but I’m also not sure about the legality of those animals within the city limits of Indianapolis, our soon-to-be homestead. We do know that it’s illegal here in Athens (although there’s a movement afloat to change those laws). So while our future as livestock-owners is uncertain, I am currently feeling very resourceful after my first attempt at cheesemaking. Not only was it successful, I would refer to it as a raging success. Which is pretty rare, in the world of maiden-voyage-made-from-scratch.

As I read the chapter in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle that includes the recipe for 30-minute Mozzarella, I believe I paused mid-page and immediately went to search online for a source for rennet (necessary in most cheese-making). Turned out the best source was from the recipe’s author’s website — so I ordered animal rennet and cheese salt (I have no idea how different this is from regular table salt, but it was cheap, and I was cheese-crazed). My goods were delivered while I was visiting a friend in Durham, so the following week I set out to experiment. The plan was to get it perfected by our next book club meeting in order to wow my book-reading colleagues with dairy prowess.

But it was — pleasant surprise — perfect the first time. Not only did everything happen just like the instructions said (I did check an alternate online source for accuracy), but it really did only take about 30 minutes. And then the cheese was done. I could’ve topped a pizza with it right then and there. No hanging in cheesecloth, no curing. Just delicious mozzarella. The only surprise was that I was expecting a cheese more in texture to “fresh” mozzarella, the kind you purchase in a tub of brine. But this was definitely a cheese closer to whole-milk, dry-packed mozzarella. Still delicious, just different than my expectations.

Which is why the picture above, a caprese salad, was put together in spite of the fact that it’s usually made with fresh mozzarella. I had that in mind, and darnit if I wasn’t going to show off those farmer’s market heirloom tomatoes (they were actually a bit low on flavor — I’ll blame the early-season timing). We also made grilled veggie paninis one night, topping them with broiler-melted mozz, and another day I added cubes of chopped mozzarella to a green salad. I don’t know exactly how much cheese the recipe produced, since I failed to weigh it. But I’m guessing it was around 1 1/2 pounds.

For the first batch, I used organic, pasteurized, whole milk from Earth Fare. But this week I’m making it again with the local milk I get from Athens Locally Grown. Still pasteurized, but minimally processed and non-homogenized. And it just tastes better; so I can’t wait to see how it changes the cheese. You’ll also need a large (at least 5 1/2 quarts) stockpot or dutch oven, an instant-read thermometer, a slotted spoon, rennet (available here), and citric acid (I bought mine in the bulk spice section at Earth Fare, but you can also order it with the rennet). I used cheese salt, but I think table salt would work just fine (the recipe doesn’t specify an amount, but I used about 1 1/2 tsp).

Since I pretty much used the recipe word-for-word, I won’t reprint it, but send you to the link here (scroll down to 30-minute Mozzarella). This is seriously so easy, and so rewarding. If you’ve ever made yogurt, this is even easier (you don’t have to boil everything in sight before you get started). And if you venture into the cheese-making world, keep your leftover whey (I didn’t, unfortunately) and make ricotta. Milk, to cheese, to more cheese. What could possibly be wrong with that.

We (meaning: Tim and I) are under a bit of stress. Our house isn’t selling, and in fact, no one is even looking. I know — this story is a common one at this point in our great democracy with its wonders of capitalism. But it’s not only close to home right now, it is our home, the very home we are packing up and leaving in about 5 weeks.

So what do you do? Well, if you are me, you slip into a comfortable place of not necessarily denial, but perhaps willing suspension of belief. And, you make things to eat.

I’m looking for little bits of happy anywhere I can get them. And in Monday’s produce box, those bits came in the form of organic bing cherries. I had passed on buying a few pounds at Kroger earlier that day, my sacrifice for staying in-budget. And that night, there they were — little orbs of deep-red decadence. We ate a few right then and there, but the whole reason I’d been eyeing them at the grocery was so I could make candied cherries. To put in ice cream. So that we could eat Toasted Almond-Candied Cherry-Fudge Swirl ice cream. Make your head spin? Mine, too. In a good, delirious, forget-potential-financial-disasters sort of way.

Like most things I cook for the first time, I didn’t realize how easy it’d be. No candy thermometer necessary, no watching for ball stages, no corn syrup (although I did use that in the fudge swirl). Just sugar, water, cherries, lemon juice, and a drop (literally) of almond extract. The hardest part was pitting the cherries which — minus the appropriate gadget — I did with a pairing knife, and it took about 10 minutes for a pound. Nice, therapeutic work, while my kids were all napping.

Today I put it all together into the ice cream. Have I used the word decadent already, in this post? We had friends over for dinner, and all had a bowl for dessert. But there’s more in the freezer, and my guess is that I’ll be drowning my worries in a second helping, here in about five.

If your current financial status doesn’t have you mapping out an emergency plan, you might not need to go as far as making the ice cream, which is on the labor-intensive side, with all its many homemade mix-ins.  But if you like cherries, consider buying a pound and trying this. You could stir it into store-bought vanilla or chocolate. And the leftover syrup makes a great topping for both ice cream and plain yogurt.

Next post: a successful first-attempt at homemade mozzarella! (Can you tell that there is apparently a proportional relationship between my stress level and my consumption of dairy?)

Candied Cherries (from The Perfect Scoop, by David Lebovitz)

• 1 pound fresh cherries
• 1 1/2 cups water
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 Tbsp freshly-squeezed lemon juice
• 1 drop almond extract (careful with this — too much can ruin it)

Stem and pit the cherries. Heat the cherries, water, sugar, and lemon juice in a large saucepan until the liquid starts to boil. Turn down the heat to a low boil and cook the cherries for 25-35 minutes, stirring frequently toward the end to prevent sticking. Once the liquid is the consistency of maple syrup, remove the pan from the heat, and stir in the almond extract. Let the cherries cool in the syrup.

If you’re mixing them in to ice cream, let the cherries drain in a strainer for about an hour (reserve the syrup for another use). Coarsely chop the drained cherries and fold them into 1 quart of softened (or just-churned) ice cream. If not using them right away, they keep in the refrigerator for 2 weeks.

I have never cooked a ham. Most other pork products, I’m well-acquainted with: the tenderloin, the roast, the chop, prosciutto, and of course my beloved bacon. But a ham? It’s just never appealed to me. Not sure why.

But my mother-in-law does serve ham, and I’m always happy to eat it when she does. She was here a few months ago, to care for our older two children while Tim, the Wee One and I traipsed to Utah. When I returned, she had left in my refrigerator the remnants of a cooked ham, pulled off the bone, and the bone itself, which was used in the split-pea soup that set off this whole Freezer series. I made some ham salad, and stuck the rest of the leftovers in the freezer.

That’s what I pulled out a few days ago — frozen chunks of cooked ham. From that and last week’s veggie box, I pulled together a lovely risotto. Although, it wasn’t a true risotto, since I only had about 1/4 cup of arborio rice on hand; since one of my self-imposed rules for this cooking series is that I must only use what I already have in the house, I simply replaced what was lacking (an additional 1 1/4 cups) with regular long-grain white rice. But it was delicious all the same, even with the slightly different (and less creamy) texture.

This recipe, like a few others, is based on one from Everyday Food. Theirs was a vegetarian spring risotto, but the ham added a lot of flavor, and a main-course depth that is missing in the original version. I loved it, almost enough to try my hand at cooking a ham someday. Or, continue to skip the ham-baking, and just replace it with another favorite pork product.

The meat wasn’t very fatty, so I started my sauté with butter (or olive oil) rather than rendering the pork fat. But sautéeing the pre-cooked ham does add flavor, so don’t skip that step.

Risotto with peas, zucchini and ham

• 3 1/2 cups chicken stock (or [2] 14.5-oz cans reduced-sodium chicken broth)
• 3 Tbsp butter
• 1 pound zucchini (1 to 2 large), cut into 1/2 inch cubes
• about 1 cup cooked ham, diced
• salt and pepper
• 1/2 cup finely chopped onion (about 1/2 medium onion)
• 1 1/2 cups arborio rice (or medium- or long-grain white rice)
• 1/2 cup dry white wine (a great reason to get a 4-pack of little chardonnay bottles)
• 1 cup frozen peas
• 1/2 cup grated parmesan

In a small saucepan, heat the stock (or broth) and 2 1/2 cups water over low heat (do not boil, but keep it warm). Meanwhile, melt 2 Tbsp butter in a 12-inch, straight-sided skillet (or 3-quart saucepan) over medium heat. Add zucchini, and season with salt and pepper. Cook about 4-5 minutes, then add the ham. Continue to cook until the zucchini is golden, about 5 more minutes. With a slotted spoon, transfer zucchini and ham to a plate.

Reduce heat to med-low. Add onion, and cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Season with 1 tsp salt and 1/4 tsp pepper. Raise heat to medium, and add rice. Cook, stirring, until translucent around the edges, about 3 minutes. Add the wine, and cook until absorbed, about 2 minutes.

Continue to cook, adding about 1 cup hot broth at a time, stirring frequently until almost all is absorbed before adding more. It should take about 25-30 minutes to add all of the broth and for the rice too cook to tender.

Add zucchini, ham, and peas. Cook until peas are warm and bright green, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in remaining 1 Tbsp butter, and parmesan. Taste for seasoning, and serve topped with more cheese.