No, I haven’t been eating only nachos and whiskey for the last few months, but it’s been a weird food time. I did apparently trim an inch off my waist, which is nice, except that now I need new pants.

But anyway, tonight is all about: romesco.

If you’ve never had it, I’m sorry, but we can rectify that soon. If you have, your idea of righteous romesco may vary a bit from mine (every recipe is a bit different), but you know it’s a Catalan sauce made from nuts, tomatoes, peppers, bread, garlic, and vinegar that’s delicious on…well, on just about everything: vegetables, shrimp, chicken, grilled bread, fish, name it.

It’s actually good for you, too! Small amounts of healthy nuts, extra virgin olive oil, no cheese, no other fats, and so satisfying.

I love it as a dipping sauce for poached shrimp. The Spanish, though, have a neat ritual of charring green onions on the grill, then dipping them with their fingers into warm bowls of the stuff, and that’s what I decided to go for tonight. Finger food.

I didn’t have spring onions, but I did have some fat, beautiful leeks. Tip: When you’re going to grill an onion of any sort, it helps to keep the root end intact, so they don’t fall apart. I just trimmed off some of the long roots and the woody green leaves, then sliced the leeks lengthwise in quarters and washed them in a big bowl of cold water (plunging them up and down helps divest leeks of their mud).

A quick coating of extra virgin olive oil, and they were ready for the grill pan, which I used to char the hell out of them. Yum.

The sauce is the key, and what you add to yours will depend a bit on taste and a bit on the state of your pantry. Mine went something like this:

• handful of toasted, skinned hazelnuts
• small handful of toasted almonds (you can use on nut or the other, but I happened to have both on hand)
• one beautiful tomato
• a couple of small slices of toasted ciabatta
• 2 jarred piquillo peppers
• one ancho chile, softened in some hot water
• sherry vinegar

Basically, blend it all up in the food processor, add some olive oil, salt, and pepper, and you’re done. It’s not a clingy dip — more of a dolloping sauce. The texture will be thick and a little nubby, not smooth like a mayonnaise (though now that I think of it, I bet it’d be really good in mayonnaise), the color a rich, rich mahogany. The sauce should have a little kick to it, but in my experience, anyway, it shouldn’t be spicy.

My lovely dinner, then: two slices of that same ciabatta, rubbed with some olive oil and grilled; a tangled pile of charred leek wedges; and a heaping spoonful of romesco. OK, several heaping spoonfuls.

Trust me, you’ll be rummaging through your fridge looking for things to slather with your sauce. Tomorrow I’m doing asparagus.

We don’t always see a proper Fourth of July in San Francisco, but if peach salsa doesn’t scream summer, I don’t know what does.

It’s a holiday of grilling, which always drives me nuts, since I don’t have a grill nor space for one myself. (Grill pans and broilers don’t cut it on the 4th, honestly.) But here’s the answer: If you don’t have a grill, and your friends didn’t step up, throw together a batch of this deliciousness — then crash the neighbor’s yard party.

With many thanks to Mark Bittman, whose recipe I poached.

Summer Peach Salsa

3 good-size, firm peaches
1 red bell pepper
2 chiles in adobe, chopped finely or mashed with the back of a spoon
the juice of 2-3 limes, or more to taste
a large pile of chopped cilantro
a tsp or 2 of sugar, depending on the sweetness of your peaches
salt to taste

Wash but don’t bother to peel your peaches. Finely dice the peaches and the pepper (1/4 inch or smaller will work best if you want to pile the salsa on chips, but larger is fine if you plan to spoon it over your grillables). Avoid the urge to simply spoon the peaches directly into your mouth.

Mix the peaches and pepper gently with the rest of the ingredients, let rest a few minutes, then taste for seasoning and adjust as you like. Just make sure you don’t overwhelm the peaches!

Makes a few cups — enough for you and a few greedy friends (or strangers), or for a crowd, if you also made fresh guacamole. (We’ll be inhaling both at the beach tomorrow with fajitas and beer.)

I jump at just about any excuse to make loads of cupcakes. They’re cute, perfectly portioned, and much easier to serve than the full-size models. There’s also something so second grade about them that makes me giggle. When you go for more elegant flavors than Duncan Hines yellow or Betty Crocker chocolate, you’re guarantees at least a few smiles, if not frosting-sweetened tears of nostalgia.

Shelli’s 40th birthday, an afternoon barbecue for 30 or so, made for a perfect cupcake date (barbecues scream finger food).

I converted a red velvet cake recipe into cupcake form — wildly misjudging the proper fill level of the muffin tins, such that I had to give each of the red beauties a bit of a haircut on the cooling rack (it was that or risk the edges falling off in transit). Red velvet always makes a splash — it’s really, really red — but be warned: Your guests will ask you what it tastes like (red is not an acceptable answer, apparently).

Since Shelli loves nothing if not variety (and, more honestly, the red velvet didn’t make nearly as many cakes as I’d hoped), I decided to make a chocolate batch as well. And in honor of spring, carrot cake! Why not? My mom’s recipe, moistened with crushed pineapple (and blessedly devoid of nuts), always wins. As an added bonus, cream cheese frosting works beautifully with all three cakes. (I mean, I could eat cream cheese frosting with a spoon, but it’s a little more subtle as a topping.)

In any case, by the end of the decorating phase, cupcakes lined both counters, the stove, and even the coffee table, piles of candied rose petals, cocoa nibs, and silver dragees filling most of the blanks. Shelli’s mile o’ cupcakes!

You can’t beat olive oil, in just about every category — it’s beautiful, aromatic, endlessly varied, versatile, good for you…. In my olive oil haze (I currently have at least a half dozen kinds on hand), though, I tend to forget about that other most glorious of fats: butter. BUTTER.

I haven’t felt much like eating lately, much less cooking, so I bought some asparagus to perk myself up. It is asparagus season, after all, and those fat green soldiers in the market bins standing at attention and shouting spring are simply too much to ignore. But what to do with it?

Grilling is nice, but then I have to think of a partner (an all-asparagus meal might be a little much). Risotto? Too lazy tonight. Mmm, baked risotto! Well, then I risk mushy green stuff. I started prowling cookbooks, and that’s where the butter popped up.

It helps on a weeknight that asparagus is pretty much the easiest vegetable on earth to prepare, as long as it’s fresh. Wash, snap the woody ends off. Tonight I went crazy and cut them up, too.

OK, so I lifted this one from Food & Wine: pasta with asparagus in a balsamic butter sauce. Intrigued? I was, too, and since my doctor’s lispy little assistant weighed me today and cheerfully announced that I have gained less than a pound since last year, I didn’t even feel bad about dropping the olive oil in favor of butter for dinner.

What you’ll need:

a nice bundle of asparagus (around a pound)
a splash of olive oil
a little more than 1/2 c. of balsamic vinegar (don’t use your nice stuff)
1/2 tsp. brown sugar
a stick of butter (think of it as a couple of tablespoons — you’re not eating the whole dish)
a pound of pasta (penne, if you want to be true to the recipe)
salt and pepper
freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

Put a pot of water on to boil, then turn your attention to the asparagus.

Trim the spears by snapping off their ends (do not use a knife to trim the ends, really — they’ll break naturally in just the right spot), then cut them into about one-inch pieces and toss them in a small baking dish with the olive oil and some pepper and salt (sea salt is nice). Roast the asparagus in a 400° oven for around 5-10 minutes, or until the asparagus is crisp-tender. (Don’t overcook! Mushy asparagus is revolting, truly.)

While the asparagus is roasting, pour the vinegar into a small saucepan and bring to a simmer; cook until only about 3 tablespoons of vinegar are left. (Tip: Don’t hold your head over the saucepan, or the fumes may knock you out.) Stir in some pepper and 1/2 tsp of brown sugar.

While you’re waiting for the water to boil, cut the butter into small pieces and toss them into a large bowl. Grate some Parmigiano over the butter.

When the water is boiling, add a lot of salt (don’t skimp!), then cook your pasta until it’s al dente. Drain and toss it in the bowl with the butter.

Scrape in the asparagus and the balsamic vinegar, and toss like mad until the butter melts. The butter will meld with the cheese and balsamic into a thick sauce that coats the penne and turns it a glorious shade of purplish brown, shiny and punctuated with brilliant green. Top with some more cheese, and you’re ready to dine. Trust me, it’s very, very delicious.

It takes a lot to get back in the groove, but now that the big project has passed, and I’m looking forward to a serious food vacation, I think I can restart the documentation. So I’m back in action with a completely random dinner.

The beginning: a gift certificate to my favorite food store, and an enticing jar of harissa. Next: what to do with the harissa? Harissa means Moroccan, and I conveniently have a stockpile of that. (Stupid not to make it all the time, since it’s possibly the world’s quickest, easiest starch — and also really good with some honey for breakfast.)

Off to the store for some meat and vegetables. I had planned on chicken, but Bi-Rite was cleaned out (everyone cooks on Sunday night!), so I decided to try their pomegranate-marinated lamb leg. I don’t even like lamb, but hey, pomegranate, lamb, Morocco….

A not very long story made short: I cut some zucchini, red onion, carrots, and sweet peppers into large chunks, added a bit of sliced garlic, a few grinds of pepper, and olive oil, spread it in one layer in a casserole, and tossed it into a hot oven to roast. In the meantime, I cleaned the lamb (I hate gristle) and cut it into a few grillable slabs, then got the couscous going.

I’m not joking that couscous is the easiest starch. Here’s the recipe: Boil 1 1/4 cups of water and a bit of butter or oil. When the water is boiling, stir in 1 cup of couscous. Put the lid on and turn off the heat. After 5 minutes, fluff if with a fork. That’s it, really.

I gave the vegetables a good stir every 10 minutes for maybe a half hour, until they were good and soft, and starting to char. But I needed some kind of sauce. OK, so the Morocco thing went out the window, but here comes the harissa: Onto the vegetables I spooned a quarter cup or so of tomato sauce plus a heaping spoonful of the harissa, some salt, oregano, and thyme, then set the pan back into the oven to heat and thicken up. After a few minutes, I tossed the lot of it with some chopped parsley and cilantro and…wait for it…some diced homemade preserved lemon! (The lemons win the prize for longest-languishing ingredient in my fridge, and they’re actually not bad.)

The vegetables are delicious! Harissa isn’t too hot, and more complex than I’d guessed. The fresh herbs were a nice bonus, since I don’t always have herbs in the house. The thin slabs of lamb grilled up in about 10 minutes (I managed to not overcook them).

Final dish: a pile of couscous topped with a hefty scoop of vegetables, thick sauce, and chunks of grilled lamb. And all in about 40 minutes. Yum!

Still buried at work, but I am still eating!

One to file away for later: You know you’re an adult when you can come home after a long day, pop a chicken in the oven to roast, then fry up its liver with some olive oil, capers, and a dab of anchovy paste for a predinner snack, and no one says a thing.

The large glass of red wine is a nice touch, too.

radicchio

My deep love for radicchio may have something to do with its glorious color or some feeling that I’m doing my body good, but I chalk it up more to my undying love for all things Italy. Some of the farms around here grow the very Italian radicchio di Treviso, which I buy unfailingly at the market whenever it appears, generally with a quarter pound of pancetta in the other hand.

If you’ve never tried it, let me be the first to tell you that radicchio wrapped in a salty cured meat is one of the best goddam things you’ll ever put in your mouth.

So here’s tonight’s absolutely ravishing, surprisingly quick, and thankfully not-too-bad-for-you dinner (you’ll be glad when you’re licking your plate clean). You’ll need to run to the store for this one, but with only a few ingredients, the trip won’t take long.

What you’ll need for you and a friend:

about 1 cup of polenta
a pat of butter
freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
one or two heads of radicchio
3–6 oz. very thinly sliced prosciutto or pancetta
2/3 c. balsamic vinegar
extra virgin olive oil

Part 1: Make some polenta. I am not fond of the instant variety, and handmade is so, so easy: Just boil some water and salt it. Add the polenta (rough cornmeal) in a slow stream, whisking constantly, then simmer over medium heat, stirring often with a straight-bottomed spoon, for 20 minutes or so. You want it soft, so go with a ratio of 4–5 parts water to 1 part polenta. Add a little milk if you like, and always, always finish with a pat of butter and a good handful or two of Parmigiano-Reggiano. You’ll have more than enough for two.

Part 2: Quarter your radicchio. I prefer the tubular Treviso, but if you can only find round Chiogga radicchio, that will do just fine. Wrap each quarter tightly in a piece of prosciutto (if the pieces are narrow, use two). Heat a little olive oil in a pan and place the wrapped radicchio in the pan, seam-side down. Turn the radicchio often until the prosciutto crisps up. Remove the quarters from the pan and give them a nice sprinkling of pepper.

Now add another tablespoon of oil and the balsamic to the pan and boil it until it has reduced and thickened up a little bit. This is your sauce — wonderful on the food, but don’t hold your face over the pan, or I guarantee you’ll start sneezing.

Time to eat: Spoon some polenta onto your plate, then a couple of quarters of radicchio. Spoon some sauce over both…then eat quickly before your friend steals it off your plate.

I tend to go a little nuts when I have a day off, which partly explains the parade of treats coming out of my kitchen this weekend. My oversupply of clementines explains some of the rest: clementine jam, yogurt (sweetened with the clementine jam), and candied clementine peel, which fortuitously, I learned, turns out to be one of the few things Shelli can stomach in her early pregnancy.

The big news is that after several years of drooling, I finally did it and purchased my first-ever piece of Le Creuset. (Thanks to my always generous brother, who blessed me with a big-ass gift card for Christmas, nudging the decision-making.) I am in love.

I went with the dual-toned red, 5.5-quart size — the most versatile, in my opinion (I really don’t cook massive roasts all that often), and thoroughly manageable, which means I won’t strain my back pulling it out of the oven. I brought it home less than 24 hours ago and have already used it twice.

Le Creuset demands braising, so I headed straight for Bi-Rite for something worthy of the maiden voyage. Beef, clearly, and the Bi-Rite folks actually had boneless chuck roasts, perfect for a lovely brasato al Barolo (beef braised in Barolo wine — or Cabernet Sauvignon if, like me, Barolo is a little beyond your budget). (Later I took my first shot at the now-infamous No-Knead Bread. More on that later.)

If you’re going to go large, you might as well go all the way, so I decided to pair the beef with some homemade pappardelle. Why not? If I had more time on my hands, I’d make pasta all the time. After you dig out the pasta machine and get a little workout kneading the dough (don’t skimp on the kneading!), your work is nearly done. A little rest, a spin through the machine, and a little cutting, and you’re ready to go.

Maybe it was cook’s intuition, but the pasta turns out to have been a great call, since it turns out that I overcooked the beef. Sigh. Backup plan: Shredded and resubmerged in the braising liquid, with some peas thrown in for sweet and color, beef in Barolo makes a brilliant pasta sauce. We’ll call it Pappardelle con Sugo di Bresato…e Piselli.

Despite what any of those right-coasters might believe, California is not really all that warm. If you’ve ever visited San Francisco, you likely made an emergency shopping run to pick up a cozy sweatshirt or jacket to warm up when the fog started rolling in. It’s not foggy now, but it’s damn cold. I mean blowing-on-hands, shoulder-cramping cold.

I know, it sounds like a sissy claim when I tell you it’s in the 30s (”Oh, big deal, we had a blizzard here in Denver!” “It’s pouring muddy slush in New York!”). Well, remember that skiers and East Coasters expect it to be cold in the winter, so they do things like insulate their houses and buy double-paned windows. They might even have parkas and central heat.

In any case, in the weather of two sweaters, jacket, scarf, and gloves, it’s French onion soup time, if you ask me. Skip out of work early, swing by the store, and get a pot going now.

If you’re like me, you probably didn’t get around to making any beef stock this week, so go ahead and use your low-sodium canned stuff. I cheated and made some broth out of the veal demiglace I’ve had languishing in the fridge for a couple of months, but it’s really the onions and cheese that matter.

You need real Gruyère (you’ll blanch at the cost, but buy it anyway) and about five pounds of sweet onions. If you can find only generic yellow onions, or white ones, don’t bother — you need sweet ones, or they’re just never going to caramelize, which means you’ll have oniony soup but not the luxurious browned deliciousness your freezing innards are craving. Some thyme is also nice. And a little bread.

Slice your onions as finely as you can. Your eyes will ache as you sob out a flood of onion tears (unless, as I vow to do next time, you put on some goggles, or you’re just not sensitive to the stuff, in which case I hate you). When you’re done, melt a few tablespoons of butter in a nice big, wide, heavy pot and start cooking your onions over medium heat. You’re going to want them to cook fairly slowly until they start to brown, which can take nearly an hour. Seriously. Just toss them around every few minutes to cook them more or less evenly.

Now here’s a technique I learned from James Patterson, which I think concentrates the flavor a bit: Add a half cup of your broth and cook it down; repeat three more times. I added some sherry at this point, too, just for kicks. Now add 7 or 8 more cups of broth, plus some sprigs of thyme, a bay leaf, and salt and pepper. Simmer for about 15 or 20 minutes, and adjust your salt (don’t skimp on the salt). It’s ready!

I don’t mess around with crocks (well, fine, I don’t have crocks), but you can’t beat cheese toast: Slice some of your bread, sprinkle with Gruyère, and broil for a minute. Add a toast or 5 to a big bowl of the soup, then sprinkle with even more cheese, and pour some wine. Could dinner really be any easier?

(Oh, and to answer your unasked question: Yes, your house will smell like onions when you’re done. But you’ve smelled worse, trust me.)

A beautifully wrapped caramel
(image lifted from Epicurious)

I’m still here! Just quiet. I’ve been cooking like mad since before Thanksgiving — and eating too, which I suppose could explain the lethargy.

Highlight of the season: Made my very own salted chocolate caramels. Oh, mama. Trust me: A chewy, not-too-sweet, teasingly salty caramel a day can ease a lot of post-holiday pain.

Of course they’re not difficult (I rarely get complicated), but it was nice to find a recipe in Gourmet in December. You make your caramel and add some chocolate partway on the path to 255°. A bit of very nice sea salt is key, and I actually don’t regret spending something upward of $9 on a box of the flaky Maldon variety. I just may cook these up all year.

Back soon — and with a new camera to boot, I hope! Look for uncopyrighted photos here soon.