Chunky Pear Sauce

I've been feeling a bit frantic lately. There's a lot of little things to do, a few big things to do (book proofs, anyone?) and a few things that I want to do, but don't know if I can do. The combination keeps me scurrying from desk to couch to coffee shop, and the coffee keeps me up at night. It's a dreadful combination, really.

Thank goodness, again, and again, for the forced slowness of cooking. Because much like the summer plums, this last week of October, I've had pears staring me in the face.

These pears were from a friend, a friend who had to go dashing off to Paris (the nerve!) and leave bushels -- and I don't think bushels are an exaggeration here -- of pears behind. She suggested making compote, which seemed like a fine idea, except for I never got around to finding the perfect compote recipe.

This is ironic, because not only is a good pear compote recipe not that hard to find, I was also house sitting for the pear giving friend, who has an amazing, covetable cookbook collection. But as I mentioned before, I was lost in manuscript proofs.

So instead this is what I did: Washed the pears, some green, some ripe to the point of rotting, and cored them and cut them into chunks, nearly slicing off my finger as my brain pondered sentences to rework, and book ideas, and love.

Next I put all the pear chunks into a huge pot. I added a little water, a little cinnamon, a little nutmeg, and some vanilla. Then I turned up the heat and walked away, back to desk and computer and to-do list. Soon the spicy smells started to penetrate the house. I tasted, added a bit more nutmeg, and a small amount of sugar.

Under heat, the pears were starting to soften and turn a lovely golden brown. Their flavor intensified, and they became buttery and caramel like. I cooked them some more, and then even a little longer, till I had a chunky sauce.

This chunky sauce was stirred into oatmeal, put on top of milk and cold cereal, served alongside after dinner cheeses, and warm gingerbread cake. This morning I fried a couple of sliced of seed bread, spread them with peanut butter, and topped them with pears.  An unbeatable start to the day.

I've never been a fan of applesauce, but man, this stuff was good, inspiring twice a day servings, and the occasional swiped spoonfuls from the jar. I pureed one batch, but I wouldn't do that again.

There's something about the imperfection of the chunks I love. It's rustic, fallish, perfect in its imperfection. Kind of like life right now. 

Pattypan Squash and Fennel Soup

This week has been a small lesson in failure. Sure, I have a book coming out, but there are so many things I'm not doing. Blogging regularly. Investing the time to take better photos. Befriending bloggers and editors. Pitching freelance stories. Tweeting. Facebooking. Tweeting some more.

Just writing the list makes me tired.

What's unfortunate about our sped-up, plugged in world, is that increasingly, the simple little things seems to be valued less and less. Where's the time to read a book if I'm always on the computer? And new writing projects are rarely, if ever, born from a revelatory blog post.

No. The things that make me want to write, and cook, and write some more, come from real life: the fog covering Twin Peaks. A rain slicked street. Being up early, with only my coffee, and my oatmeal mixed with pear compote to keep me company.

Still, I vow to do better, because that's what we Type-A-Personality-Industrious-Catholic-Girls do. I tell myself I will write more, blog more, and take more photos while I am doing it. All this will be balanced by long walks up big hills, and time spend reading The New Yorker and the best collections of food writing.

And then I fail, fail, fail.

So I cook, because cooking is good, and simple, and no matter what, we gotta eat. I open the fridge. I pull out the veggies that have nearly turned the corner. I find a recipe. I adapt it, roasting the veggies with a little paprika.

The smell of them fills up the house, reminding me again, that what's good in this world isn't always founds through an i-product.

The simple whir of the roasted vegetables mixing with broth and a hint of cream make a velvety soup. It's the color of coffee with lots of milk, but finished with another dot of cream and a spoonful of red wine vinegar, it is complex and warming. We eat in the soft light of Sunday supper, with jazz on and a big glass of wine.

This is real. It's the good stuff, and what I'll try to share more.

 

Pattypan Squash and Fennel Soup

4 or 5 medium Patty pan squash or zucchini

1/2 big red onion

1 medium fennel bulb

Olive oil

Paprika
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 to 4 cups chicken stock, homemade or store bought
1/4 cup heavy or sour cream (optional) plus more for serving.
Drizzle of red wine vinegar (also optional).


Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Cut the zucchinis, fennel and onions into chunks, place in a roasting pan and drizzle with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and paprika. Bake for 25 to 35 minutes, until all the vegetables are tender, turning once.
Remove from oven and using a stand-up or immersion blender, coarsely puree the roasted vegetables. Add three cups stock, and more if needed, until the soup reaches desired consistency. Add cream if you like, and also red wine vinegar to round out the sweetness of the vegetables. Serve with a dollop of cream or yogurt.
Feeds 2. 

Cannelle on The Kitchn (Again!)

I was coasting around on the internet this morning in search of recipes, new fall boots, and writing inspiration, and was pleased to discover that my photo and blog post about baking cannelle was featured in a Kitchn round up about French recipes you should be cooking this weekend. 

Can I tell you how long it took to get the perfect cannelle shot? And how hot it was in my kitchen as I baked cannelle at 400+ degrees during a random summer heat wave in San Francisco? It's a badge of honor I proudly flaunt. 

Speaking of the oven, I've been away from it for a bit. There were two trips to Southern California (Los Angeles and San Diego), one late September heat rush in San Francisco (one week were we ate only salads and I got several mosquito bites), and edits, edits, edits. For more news about the book, please check out my new author website. I'll be updating it more and more as my manuscript inches closer to publication.

Meanwhile, it's lunchtime. There's a loaf of Acme walnut bread, a ripe avocado, and a super crisp, tart apple. Apparently it's fall. Am I the only one who thinks 2010 has gone way too quickly?

P.S. If you're in need of cooking inspiration, here's a few things on my list: lentils with caramelized onions, chunky apple sauce, and sweet potato and black bean burritos. It looks like I'm craving autumn.