Embarrassingly enough, I have long thought of Chinese New Year as the day when I head down to Chinatown, watch a dragon-festooned parade and then grab some Chinese food at whatever restaurant is the least crowded. That’s it. That’s as far as my cultural knowledge and experiences extend regarding China’s most important holiday. That is, until this year . . .

On Sunday evening I’ll be joining friends for an authentic Chinese New Year’s Eve feast. To prep myself for the night’s festivities and also rid myself of this horrible ignorance, I’ve been delving into what Chinese folks historically do to ring in a new year.

Traditionally people celebrated the end of the year with religious ceremonies and rituals. At temples they lit candles and incense and paid homage to their ancestors. At home they decorated their dining tables with red tablecloths and their windows and doors with red paper; red signifies happiness and good luck in Chinese culture. They also removed the past year’s kitchen god, offering honey and other sweets to him before burning his portrait, allowing him to ascend to heaven on wisps of smoke.

While these customs continue to this day, family and friends are now just as likely to gather together in restaurants as they are to meet in homes and temples. What they eat is still dictated by tradition, though. To start off the next year on a positive note, they favor sunny foods — foods that are round in shape and gold in color. These include oranges, tangerines, steamed buns and jien düy, fried, sesame-dusted dough balls filled with sweet bean paste.

Crescent-shaped dumplings known as chiaotse feature prominently on New Year’s menus. These small, steamed dumplings are filled with pork and cabbage, foods associated with good fortune in countless cultures. The steamed cake nien kao is also consumed at this time. Made from rice flour and brown sugar, it has a lucky word stamped in red on it.

Fish, which signify moving forward in the new year, clams, dried oysters and pig’s trotters are commonplace. As the Chinese word for fish, yu, also means “plenty,” fish is often served as the last course of the night, hinting that there will be plenty in the next year.

Pork and seafood aren’t the only meats on the menu. Chicken and duck also make appearances. For vegetarians there is Buddha’s Delight, which features mushrooms, bamboo shoots, bean curd and ginger.

Needless to say, people eat well during this period. Fortunately, I will, too. Plus, I’ll be somewhat informed as I celebrate the upcoming Year of the Dragon.

CHIAOTSE
From Elizabeth Luard’s Sacred Food (Chicago Review Press, 2001)
Makes 60 dumplings

for the filling:
2 pounds Chinese cabbage, slivered and chopped
11/2 pounds ground pork
1-3 scallions, finely chopped
2 teaspoons finely chopped fresh ginger
3 teaspoons salt
4 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon sugar

for the dough:
3 cups all-purpose flour
11/2 cups water

Blanch the cabbage in boiling water and then rinse under cold water.

Mix the cabbage with the rest of the filling ingredients, kneading thoroughly with your hands.

For the dough, sift the flour into a large bowl and pour the water into a well in the middle. Work thoroughly with your hands to make a smooth, elastic but still quite firm dough – 10 minutes kneading time.

Form the dough into a ball, cut into quarters and roll each quarter into a thick rope. Keep each rope covered with plastic wrap or a damp cloth as you work. Cut the first rope into 15 equal pieces and work each piece into a ball – flour your hands first – and drop onto a floured board.

Roll each out into a thin disk the diameter of your hand with a rolling pin. Drop in a teaspoon of filling. Pleat one side of the disk to make little gatherings and bring it over the top of the filling to meet the other side. You should have a plump crescent with a seam over the top and one side fatter than the other.

Transfer to a lightly floured baking sheet and continue until all the dumplings are made. Freeze and batches and place in bags.

Drop the dumplings in boiling water and cook for 20 minutes, until the filling is cooked through. Serve with a dipping sauce of vinegar and soy sauce.

At dinner last night with friends someone asked what my favorite thing to cook was. The group roared when I answered, quite sincerely, “Toast.” For years I’ve started my day with a crisp piece of whole grain toast slathered with organic Yum peanut butter and mixed berry preserves. It may be mindlessly easy but it’s also wholesome, filling, tasty and my lifelong comfort food. Sophia Loren may have pasta to thank for her physique but, me, I owe it all to toast.

Toast has been around for centuries. Cooked over open fires, it was the perfect ancient antidote for stale bread. Want to mask the toughness and dryness of old bread? Just make it hot, golden and crunchy — make it toast.

In the Middle Ages it played an important mealtime role, sopping up meat drippings, gravies, stews and the like. Bread would disintegrate in these liquids but toast held its shape and absorbed the rich mixtures.

By the late Middle Ages cooks figured out that toast provided an edible surface on which foods could be served. Poached eggs, chopped meats, fish, cheese and baked beans all started appearing on top of toast. So, too, did honey as well as cinnamon sugar, which was moistened with sweet wine.

Around this time the wonderful toast dish pain perdu began appearing on French tables. The literal translation of this is “lost bread” but, since childhood, I’ve referred to egg-coated, pan-fried and sugar-dusted bread as French toast.

While the French received credit for this delicacy, other countries did have their own versions. In Spain folks ate torrijas, thick slices of toast drenched in honey, while in Portugal they consumed rabanadas. The 17th century English take on French toast was known as poor knights. Here the bread was fried alongside the egg coating and then decorated with butter, sugar and rose water.

Similar to my preference for toast with PB and preserves, my interpretation of French toast tends to be rather traditional. I dunk my bread in a mixture of milk, egg, vanilla, nutmeg, cinnamon and sugar and then pan-fry it. However, when I’m looking for an exceptional French toast dish, I haul out my copy of The Joy of Cooking (Simon and Schuster, 1997) and make this.

OVERNIGHT BAKED FRENCH TOAST
Adapted from The Joy of Cooking by Rombauer, Rombauer Becker and Becker
Serves 4

1 cup skim milk
6 large eggs
1/4 cup maple syrup plus extra for serving
2 tablespoons firmly packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
8 slices white or wheat bread, crusts removed
1/2 cup raspberries, for serving
1 to 2 tablespoons confectioner’s sugar, for serving

In an 8″ x 8″ baking dish whisk together the milk, eggs, 1/4 cup maple syrup, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg. Dip each slice of bread into the egg mixture, coating both sides, and then place the bread in the dish, making two compact layers.

Once all the bread has been packed into the dish, cover it with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

When you’re ready to bake the French toast, preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a large, shallow baking pan.

Remove the slices from egg mixture and lay them in the greased baking pan. Bake, turning the bread over once, until puffy and golden in color, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove, dust the top of the French toast with raspberries and confectioner’s sugar and then pour maple syrup, to taste, over top. Serve immediately.

At a recent holiday party I got pulled into a conversation about why Belgium is such a fantastic country to visit. According to the Belgium buffs, it possesses everything that anyone could ever desire — quaint cities, beautiful architecture, first rate art, few tourists and loads of excellent food including Trappist beer, fries, mussels and chocolates.

While I wouldn’t rank Belgium as my top vacation spot, I do enjoy much that this historic land and the headquarters of the European Union has to offer. Of course, I love the aforementioned art and architecture. I likewise adore the world class chocolates and beer. What sells me on Belgium, though, is its waffles.

Sold throughout the country in cafes and on street corners, waffles are believed to be a spin-off of the medieval Flemish wafer. Like their small and crisp predecessor, these honeycombed cakes are cooked between two greased, patterned, metal plates.

Originally, folks pulled out their waffle irons only on special occasions. In fact, during the Middle Ages parents of a newborn girl would often receive an engraved one as a gift. It was expected that the daughter would take this press with her when she married and left home. Although still just as celebrated, today waffles irons are bestowed and waffles are consumed at any time or occasion.

Belgium produces two distinct types of waffles — Brussels and Liege. Rectangular in shape and airy in texture, the Brussels version is what Americans refer to as a Belgian waffle. Unlike in America, where this waffle is drenched in maple syrup, in Belgium it gets dusted with a thin layer of confectioner’s sugar.

If given a choice, I make a beeline for Liege waffles. Hailing from the French-speaking city of Liege, these waffles are denser, sweeter and more filling than their Brussels counterpart. Chow down on one of these and you’ll feel as though you’ve consumed an entire meal. Truthfully, when I’m in Belgium, a warm and sugary Liege waffle often is my meal.

Liege waffles get their heartiness from their thick, brioche-like dough. The dough itself is studded with pearl sugar, which caramelizes as the waffle cooks. The result? One of the most divine sweets that I’ve ever eaten.

SUGAR WAFFLES FROM LIEGE
From Ruth Van Waerebeek’s Everybody Eats Well in Belgium Cookbook (Workman, 1996)
Makes 10 waffles.

Note: You’ll need to create two separate batters for these waffles.

For batter 1:
1 1/4 ounces fresh cake yeast or 2 1/2 packages active dry yeast
1/4 cup warm water
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 large egg, beaten
1/3 cup milk, warmed

For batter 2:
9 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, optional
Pinch of salt
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1/2 cup pearl sugar or 3/4 cup crushed sugar cubes

To prepare batter 1, dissolve the yeast in a small bowl with warm water and 1 tablespoon flour and sugar. Let stand for 5 minutes until foamy.

Sift the remaining flour into a large mixing bowl. Make a well in the center and add the yeast mixture, egg and milk. Mix well with a wooden spoon to make a smooth batter. Cover with a kitchen towel and let rise in a warm place until the batter has doubled or tripled in volume.

Meanwhile, for batter 2, mix the butter, flour, salt, vanilla, baking powder, optional cinnamon, granulated sugar and pearl sugar into a paste.

Using your hands, work batter 2 into batter 1 until well mixed. Shape the dough into 10 balls approximately 2 1/2 to 3 ounces each. Flatten each ball into a disk and dust lightly with flour.

Bake the disks in a medium-hot waffle iron. Don’t let the iron become too hot or the sugar will burn. Bake until the waffles are golden brown but still slightly soft, 3 to 4 minutes. Serve lukewarm or cooled to room temperature on a rack.

Canal House Cooking by Christopher Hirsheimer and Melissa Hamilton (Canal House)
Created by a founding editor of Saveur and the head of that magazine’s test kitchen, Canal House Cooking is a cookbook-cum-food magazine. It comes out three times per year, covering summer, fall and the holidays and winter and spring. Clothbound, ad-free and chocked full of wholesome recipes, it’s a culinary publication unlike any other. Filled with gorgeous photos and warm, funny anecdotes, it’s also a gift that your recipient will cherish throughout the year.

River Cottage Handbook No. 8 Cakes by Pam Corbin (Bloomsbury, 2011)
For bakers and sweets fans consider the latest offering from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s River Cottage Handbook series, Cakes. In this straightforward and delightful tome writer Pam Corbin explores the techniques for making great baked goods each and every time. Classic British confections such as fairy cakes and Grasmere gingerbread appear alongside such modern goodies as mocha cake and dog bone biscuits. Fascinating and fun, Cakes is a lovely addition to anyone’s cookbook collection.

660 Curries by Raghavan Iyer ( Workman, 2008)
Know someone who loves Indian food? Then 660 Curries is the cookbook to give. In it James Beard finalist and IACP award winner Raghavan Iyer provides readers with tips, techniques and recipes for making over 600 outstanding Indian curries. With this comprehensive yet user-friendly cookbook in the kitchen they’ll never order out for chicken tikka masala or naan again.

Artisan Cheese Making at Home by Mary Karlin (Ten Speed Press, 2011)
The perfect book for the cheese lover or ardent DIY cook, Artisan Cheese Making at Home takes readers through making their own dairy-based products. For more details on this fascinating book check out my review at Zester Daily.

Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi (Chronicle Books, 2011) and Ottolenghi by Yotam Ottolenghi (Ebury Press, 2008)
I reviewed Yotam Ottolenghi’s wonderful second cookbook in late 2010 and then received his first book, Ottolenghi, earlier this year. Unlike the vegetable-focused Plenty, his eponymous book focuses on the array of Middle Eastern-inspired foods featured in his London restaurant. Like Plenty, Ottolenghi includes gorgeous photos and sumptuous, creative dishes. Unlike Plenty, the recipes must be converted from metric.

Tender by Nigel Slater (Ten Speed Press, 2011)
Another cookbook that I reviewed earlier this year, Tender shares the gardening and cooking experiences of British food writer Nigel Slater. The first of two volumes, Tender covers 29 vegetables. The subsequent volume, which is only available in Europe at present, looks at fruit. Each provides a beautiful, insightful exploration of growing and cooking your own foods.

I confess — I’ve struggled with a lifelong addiction to books. You need only look at my overflowing bookshelves, desk, nightstand, coffee table . . . really any flat surface in my house and you will see the ridiculous number of books on which I’ve become hooked.

Culinary narratives are invariably part of my stash. Call it an occupational hazard or personal weakness but I just can’t escape the lure of food writing.

Below are the high points of my 2011 culinary reading list. Some are recent releases. A few are a bit older. All would make great gifts for the food lovers and ardent home cooks in your life. Look for these titles at your local independent bookstores or online from such independent sellers as Kitchen Arts and Letters, Powell’s and The Strand.

A Day at El Bulli by Ferran Adria (Phaidon Press, 2008)
Although Chef Ferran Adria has shuttered his world-renowned restaurant, you can still get a glimpse inside his temple to molecular gastronomy, El Bulli. A Day at El Bulli provides 600 beautifully illustrated pages covering a day in the life of the restaurant. By the time that you’ve reached the final page, you’ll feel as though you’ve not only dined many times but also worked behind the stove at this seminal restaurant.

Bringing It to the Table by Wendell Berry (Counterpoint, 2009)
Long before Michael Pollan got folks to question how and what they ate, there was Wendell Berry. Longtime writer, scholar and farmer, Berry has extolled the virtues of sustainable agriculture and eating for over five decades. This collection presents some of Berry’s best non-fiction writings on these topics. It’s essential reading for anyone concerned about mindful eating and living.

Food Play by Saxton Freyman and Joost Elffers (Chronicle Books, 2006)
My guilty pleasure and culinary photography recommendation for the past five years, Food Play provides the most fun that anyone will ever have looking at food. Featuring whimsical tableaus of fruits and veggies, this colorful book will delight readers of any age. I mean, really, who wouldn’t adore looking at strawberry dogs or a flock of cauliflower sheep?

Four Fish by Paul Greenberg (Penguin, 2011)
Anyone who eats fish should receive a copy of Paul Greenberg’s book. Intelligent, witty and always fascinating, Four Fish explores man’s long, troubled relationship with cod, salmon, sea bass and tuna, the four fish that dominate our menus. Greenberg, who is a lifelong fisherman as well as a seasoned writer, provides a balanced yet page turning account of the crises facing fish today.

Blood, Bones & Butter by Gabrielle Hamilton (Random House, 2011)
Whether you’re a fan of her writings in the New York Times or of her Lower East Side restaurant Prune or just looking for a good culinary memoir, check out Gabrielle Hamilton’s long-awaited first book. Entertaining and sharp, Hamilton shares her unique, often rocky path to becoming a chef. As with any good chef or writer, her memoir will leave you hungering for more.

What Caesar Did for My Salad by Albert Jack (Perigee Trade, 2011)
Ever wonder how pasta or picnics came to be? What gave rise to and constitutes a full English breakfast? Why we call small, cooked sausages hot dogs? If so, Albert Jack’s fascinating tome is the book for you. What Caesar Did for My Salad looks at the origins of and fabled tales about some of our favorite foods. It’s a fun book for trivia lovers as well as diehard foodies.

Eating Mud Crabs in Kandahar Edited by Matt McAllester (University of California Press, 2011)
Even if your gift recipients didn’t have that childhood dream of becoming a war correspondent as I did, they will enjoy McAllester’s compilation of food tales from reporters in conflict zones. His riveting book looks at what it means to eat and what folks resort to eating in times of extreme hardship and violence. Intimate and engaging, these stories will stick with readers for months to come.

A History of the World in 6 Glasses by Tom Standage (Walker Publishing, 2006)
If you have history buffs on your shopping list, consider giving them A History of the World in 6 Glasses. Here British journalist Tom Standage explores six drinks — wine, beer, spirits, coffee, tea and soda — that shaped world history. Once your friends and loved ones have read Standage’s compelling book, they’ll never look at, or drink, a can of Coke the same way.

I feel sorry for the cranberry. Each holiday season it slides out of its tin can with a gelatinous plop. Just when it thinks, “I’m free to do something amazing culinarily,” someone grabs a spoon and turns it into a jellied, crimson mush. If it’s lucky, it might show up later in a wizened, albeit more true-to-life form in muffins, scones, or salads. When it’s unlucky, it appears in my breakfast juice glass. That seems to be all that we can come up with for this amazing fruit.

Long before it was known as a cranberry, this Vitamin C-rich berry was called a cowberry. As you might have guessed from the name, cows adore it. Thinking that the fruit’s pink blossom resembled the head and bill of a crane, Pilgrims later named it a craneberry. Because it bounces when ripe, it’s also referred to as a bounceberry.

The hardy offspring of low, scrubby plants, the cranberry can be found in some of Northern Europe’s and America’s poorest, most acidic soils. You’ll see it growing wild in bogs and on mountainsides and moors.

Along with thriving in lousy conditions the cranberry can survive a long time off the vine. Its durability comes from its deep red, waxy skin, which contains benzoic acid, a natural preservative that keeps it fresh for months after picking. Because of its sturdiness, sea-going sailors and whalers used to take along the tart berry to prevent scurvy. Fresh cranberries will keep for over two months in my refrigerator or a year in my freezer.

Native Americans taught early American settlers to eat fresh and dried cranberries. They used them in preserved meats and made them into sauces. Perhaps this is why I associate the fruit with Thanksgiving and as the dressing for my roast turkey.

Although we most often see cranberries either dried, as a juice, or in a can, they are phenomenal when featured fresh in chutneys and preserves. Fresh cranberries make fabulous pies, cobblers, crumbles, and tarts. They also do a great job flavoring meats and stuffings and perking up cocktails.

CRANBERRY FOOL
From The Gourmet Cookbook (Conde Nast Publications, 2004)

Serves 4

1 1/2 cups fresh cranberries, picked over and rinsed
2/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup water
2 tablespoons Grand Marnier or other orange-flavored liqueur
2/3 cup very cold heavy cream

Combine the berries, sugar and water in a 1-quart saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for 5 minutes.

Transfer the cranberry mixture to a food processor or blender and puree. Force the puree through a fine-mesh sieve into a medium metal bowl. Discard the solids. Set the bowl in a larger bowl of ice and cold water. Let the puree stand, stirring occasionally, until just cool.

Transfer 1/2 cup cranberry puree to a small bowl. Beat the heavy cream in a medium bowl with an electric mixer until soft peaks hold. Stir one quarter of whipped cream into the puree remaining in the medium bowl then gently but thoroughly fold in the remaining whipped cream. Fold in the reserved puree just until marbled through the cream mixture.

Spoon the fool into 4 stemmed glasses. Refrigerate for 20 minutes or freeze for 10 minutes before serving.

Whether you host or are being hosted for Thanksgiving, you’ve probably begun mulling over your holiday menu. In some households, such as my parents’, you go over the list of what you had offered the previous year, toss out an item or two, and add in something new. You then start shopping, cooking and, in my mother’s case, swearing that – enough is enough – next Thanksgiving you’re going out to dinner.

Each year a few brave souls start from scratch, forgoing the last year’s stuffings and mashed potatoes in favor of creative, new fare. I’ve learned that this is not the time to try out your cutting edge chilled cardamom lentils, truffle-dusted parsnip chips, or pumpkin-ginger puree. On a day steeped in tradition folks want and expect customary Thanksgiving foods.

Increasingly, hosts have begun turning to their guests for their menus. “I’ll provide the turkey. You bring a side or two.” Closer in action to the original feast, this practice encourages everyone to share the responsibility of cooking.

That brings me to today’s topic — what sides to take to a Thanksgiving potluck. Whatever you bring, remember that it has to transport and reheat well. Fortunately, the following side dishes do both.

THREE-CRANBERRY CONSERVE
Recipe courtesy of the November 2004 Thanksgiving issue of “Food & Wine”
Makes about 3 cups

I love that you can make this recipe ahead of time and that, refrigerated, it keeps for up to 2 weeks.

1 cup cranberry juice
1 cup sugar
zest of 1 orange, removed in large strips
4 cups frozen cranberries
1 cup dried cranberries

In a medium saucepan combine the cranberry juice with the sugar and orange zest and bring to a boil, stirring until the sugar dissolves.
Add the frozen and dried cranberries and cook over moderate heat, gently crushing the fresh berries against the side of the pan until the conserve is thick and jam-like, about 10 minutes. Let cool and then discard the zest.

CREAMY SHALLOT-CORN
Serves 8

5 1/2 cups corn, fresh or frozen
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup minced shallots
1 cup creme fraiche
Sea salt, to taste
Freshly ground white pepper, to taste

In a large saute pan on medium heat melt the butter. Add the shallots and cook until softened, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add the corn and creme fraiche and cook over low heat, stirring as little as possible, until the sauce has thickened, about 2 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. To reheat, placed the creamed shallot-corn in a non-stick saucepan and simmer over medium-low, stirring occasionally, until warmed, about 5 minutes.

APPLE-CRANBERRY-CORNBREAD STUFFING
Serves 6 to 8

4 cups crumbled cornbread
2 cups wheat bread crumbs
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup finely chopped white onion
1/2 cup finely chopped celery
1 cup diced Macintosh apples
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup apple cider
1/2 cup chicken stock

Place cornbread and wheat bread crumbs on a baking sheet and toast under a medium broiler until browned. Remove and place in a large bowl.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a large baking dish.

In a small sauté pan heat 2 tablespoons of butter. Add the onion and celery and sauté for 10 minutes, until softened but not browned. Place the sautéed vegetables in the bowl with the breadcrumbs. Add the apples, cranberries, thyme, rosemary and salt and stir until the ingredients are well combined. Evenly pour the apple cider and the stock over the stuffing and toss together.

Loosely layer the stuffing in the buttered baking dish. Dot the top with the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter. Cover the dish with foil and bake for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes remove the foil and continue to bake for another 10 minutes until browned. If reheating, preheat an oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Dot the top of the stuffing with a smidgen of butter and cover with foil. Heat for 10 to 15 minutes and serve.

CHESTNUT STUFFING
Serves 10 to 12

1/4 cup olive oil
1 onion, diced
3 celery stalks, washed and diced
1 cup chestnuts, roughly chopped
2-3 tablespoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped
dash of dried thyme
ground black pepper
1 1/2 bags of seasoned bread cubes
2 1/2 to 4 cups chicken stock, warmed
butter, for dotting the top of the stuffing

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a large baking dish.

Heat the olive then saute the onion and celery until soft and translucent. Add the chestnuts, rosemary, thyme, and pepper and cook for a few minutes. Add the bread cubes and toss to coat them with oil and to distribute the onion-celery-chestnut-herb mixture evenly.

Pour in the stock 1/2 cup at a time, stirring to moisten all the bread cubes. You may not use all the stock but you do want to use enough to ensure that the stuffing isn’t too dry.

Tumble the stuffing into the buttered baking dish. Dot the top of the stuffing with butter, cover with foil and bake for approximately 30 minutes. Remove the foil and bake for an additional 10 minutes until the top is golden brown. If re-heating, preheat an oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Dot the top of the stuffing with a smidgen of butter and cover with foil again. Heat for 10 to 15 minutes and serve.

The downside to be married to, or even knowing, a writer is that inevitably you get pulled into one of her stories. Three years ago that very thing happened to my husband. Not only did I mention him in an article about root vegetables but also did an editor make him the star of the headline: At 38 man finally tries parsnips.

The good news is that he now likes this pale, oblong vegetable. That is good news, indeed. High in starch and fiber as well as potassium, this relative of the carrot has long provided nourishing, filling meals.

Although it took my husband almost four decades to appreciate this frost-hardy plant, much of the Western world has consumed it since ancient times. Growing wild throughout Europe and western Asia, the parsnip was first farmed during Roman times. Because it prospers in cooler climates and sandy or impoverished soils, it is ideal peasant food.

Parsnips served a vital role in medieval European cuisine. At a time when sugar was a rare luxury, these honeyed veggies acted as the sweetener in pies, pastries and even fermented drinks. In Northern Ireland they formed the basis for beer, while the rest of Great Britain used them in wine.

With the arrival of sugar, parsnips gradually fell out of favor. The introduction of potatoes likewise reduced their popularity. I find this a shame for these sweet vegetables have much to offer.

Easy to prepare, parsnips can be baked, stewed, steamed or pureed alone or with other root vegetables. Often they are boiled and mashed with butter, just like their usurper, the potato. I prefer to cut them into chunks and bake them with fresh rosemary, a sprinkle of salt and olive oil, or turn them into a creamy, rich soup.

I’ve also been known to turn them into hearty and healthful parsnip chips. Just slice the parsnips and toss them with olive oil and salt. Spread them across a cookie sheet and bake them in a 375 degree Fahrenheit oven until slightly caramelized, about 10 to 15 minutes. Without question, parsnip chips are my ultimate salty-sweet snack.

Parsnips reach their prime after the first frost. Considering the East Coast snow of last weekend, they should now be perfect for picking and eating.

PARSNIP AND FENNEL SOUP
Serves 4 to 6

1 pound of parsnips, peeled and diced
About 1 pound of fennel bulb, diced (save tops for garnish if you want); adjust accordingly, as not everyone enjoys the taste of fennel
1 medium onion, chopped
4-6 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
5 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup heavy cream
1/8-1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Generous handful of hazelnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped

In a Dutch oven, cook the parsnips, fennel and onion in butter over moderately low heat, stirring periodically for about 15 minutes, or until soft

Add the flour, stirring 3 or so minutes

Add the stock and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes

Add the cream, salt and pepper. Stir until heated through. Top with chopped fennel tops and hazelnuts and serve.

During medieval times the English believed that if they toasted their animals and crops with drink, prosperity would be theirs in the upcoming year. Eventually this tradition focused specifically on apple production with British farmers dousing the roots of their oldest or most prolific apple tree with cider. Some went so far as to place cider-soaked bread in the tree limbs to ward off bad luck and encourage good crops. Others simply sang songs to the health of their trees. All imbibed in the warm, punch-like drink known as wassail.

By the 17th century wassailing had moved beyond crops. Folks left the fields and instead drank, caroled, and spread good wishes in their neighborhoods. Just think of the song “Here We Come A Wassailing” and you’ll understand the transformation that wassail underwent.

Since my caroling days ended long ago, I focus instead on the warming drink. Although wassail can be made with ale or wine, I look to the past and go with a seasonal brew of apple cider and white rum.  Whole cloves, cinnamon sticks and ground ginger spice up the tart cider while an ample amount of sugar sweetens the mix.

Traditionally, this toasty beverage was placed in a large, goblet-shaped bowl and garnished with small apples.  Since I lack an authentic wassail bowl, I pour my concoction into a punch bowl and dole out the fragrant libation in matching punch cups.  Any leftovers I refrigerate and then gently reheat on low before serving it again from a decorative pitcher.

The following wassail recipe originally appeared in a January 2008 blog entry on community cookbooks.  However, as it’s such a simple yet delectable recipe, it deserves yet another mention.

WASSAIL from Cook’s Choice (Junior Guild, 1978) and Nancy Williams

1 cup sugar
2 cups water
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 1/2 cinnamon sticks
1 teaspoon ginger
2 cups orange juice
1/2 cup lemon juice
1 quart cider
1 cup white rum

Combine the sugar and water and boil 10 minutes.  Add the cloves, cinnamon sticks and ginger.  Let stand at least 1 hour.  Strain.  Add the orange juice, lemon juice and cider and bring to a boil.  Remove from heat and add 1 cup white rum. 

Growing up, I had little respect for the pumpkin. Blame it on lack of exposure. It showed up once a year in my mother’s Thanksgiving pie and then quickly disappeared from our menus and my mind. If I did see it more than once, it was usually at Halloween. At that time it was carved up, stuffed with a candle and dumped unceremoniously on our doorstep only to be forsaken after the holiday. It’s no wonder I now feel a bit sorry for pumpkins.

A part of the gourd family, which also claims cucumbers and melons as members, the pumpkin hails from the Americas. Sensitive to cold in spite of its tough skin, it requires temperate weather, regular watering and lots of space to flourish. As evidenced by a predicted pumpkin shortage in the Northeast, it does not fair well in floods or hurricanes.

What to do once a hefty, blemish-free pumpkin had been bought from a local farm stand or plucked from my parents’ garden used to baffle me. Cleaning and chopping this unwieldy ball without severing a finger, well, that seemed next to impossible. Then there were the quantity questions. How much pumpkin would I get from a whole pumpkin? What was the weight/quantity difference between raw versus cooked? Fresh versus canned? No wonder my mother stuck with dessert recipes calling for canned pumpkin.

To answer these pressing questions, I consulted my dog-eared copy of The Joy of Cooking (Scribner, 1997). According to Rombauer, Rombauer Becker and Becker, one pound of pumpkin provides 13 ounces of trimmed meat. Cooks should allot 8 to 12 ounces of untrimmed pumpkin per serving.

That left the mystery of what to do with my pumpkin. Much of the world uses it in savory and sweet dishes. The French put it in soups and in bread, pain de courge, which is consumed at breakfast or as a snack. For breakfast, Cypriots may choose kolokotes, a small pie resembling a Cornish pasty, filled with chopped pumpkin and golden raisins. Caribbean cooks pair it with chilies and legumes and use it in hearty, fragrant stews. Moroccans dine on couscous dotted with chunks of pumpkin, and Turks end their dinners with bowls of pumpkin poached in a simple syrup and topped with pistachios or walnuts.

Me? I like to put it in curries, breads, puddings and, of course, soup.

PUMPKIN SOUP
I find this works perfectly without the addition of cream but if I feel like dressing up or stretching the soup, I will add a few tablespoons right before serving and claim that tonight I’m featuring “pumpkin bisque soup.”

Serves 6 to 8

4 tablespoons butter
1 white onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1½ tablespoons dried thyme
½ cup apple cider
2 quarts chicken or vegetable stock
2 large potatoes, washed, peeled and chopped
1 pound, 13 oz can of pure pumpkin
1 tablespoon onion powder
1 tablespoon garlic powder
2 tablespoons honey
Salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
⅛ to ⅓ cup whipping cream, optional
Creme fraiche, optional

Melt the butter in a medium-sized saute pan. Add the onion and saute until soft. Add the garlic and thyme and cook until the onion becomes translucent and the garlic golden but not dark brown.

Pour the cider, stock, potatoes, pumpkin, onion powder, garlic powder, honey and garlic-onion-thyme mixture into a large stockpot. Bring to a boil then lower the temperature to medium-low. Simmer for 40 minutes, adding water if soup boils down too much.

Using a blender or food processor, puree the soup in batches, placing the finished soup in a clean stockpot. Once it has been pureed, add salt and pepper to taste. If adding cream, do so at this time, then simmer over low for another 5 to 10 minutes.

Ladle into warmed bowls and top with a dollop of creme fraiche.