The cherimoya (pronounced chair-uh-MOY-yuh) is the king of fruit. This is no surprise given that this ancient Incan fruit was originally reserved for royalty.
From external appearances, the cherimoya isn't exactly captivating. It looks more like something out of The Flintstones rather than an exquisite fruit. Don't let its pre-historic appearance put you off. Slice open a cherimoya and you will discover a fragrant, ivory, custard-like flesh, hence its common name "custard apple."
When selecting cherimoyas, look for green skin with a gold hue. Some fruits may be tinged with brown, which is ok; however, avoid fruits that are black or shriveled. Allow cherimoyas to ripen at room temperature. A ripe cherimoya, like a ripe avocado, should yield to gentle pressure, and will have a browner skin. (Note: In the first photo, the green cherimoya in the forefront needs a couple more days to ripen, while the browner cherimoya in the back is ready to eat.)
Winter
Winter
This Creamy Mushroom Chestnut Soup Is Like a Best Friend
Mushroom soup should be like a good friend -- there for you when you need it, full of understanding and comfort, and spicy enough to make you laugh. Consider this Creamy Mushroom Chestnut Soup a best friend.
We met rather informally last fall in my kitchen while I was entertaining a number of other friends including tender red bliss potatoes, earthy chestnuts, and aromatic sage. We liked each other instantly, and our friendship has continued to grow.
Meaty, smoky chestnuts and savory fresh herbs add depth to an otherwise ordinary, creamy mushroom soup. Use bottled, dried, or -- if you're up for the challenge -- freshly roasted chestnuts. For a richer soup, I suggest using cream; 2% milk is best if you're looking to save calories.
I'm not a possessive person, so I'd like to introduce you to her. She'll be one of the truest friends you've ever had.
Fish Chowder
I can't think of anything more American than chowder. This seafood soup is synonymous with chilly days and large family gatherings. Even though we're almost into spring, the weather has continued to be cold and dreary here in the Northeast. I've been craving hot bowls of soothing soup. There are many different recipes for chowder, including the little-known Rhode Island-style made of clear broth. But the one I'm a fan of is creamy New England-style, which was probably the first recorded chowder recipe, dating back to the 18th century. It just so happens that I'm the outlier in a family of all Manhattan-style lovers. Still for me, the fish broth enriched with cream holds the most appeal. That richness is what makes this chowder so soul-satisfying.
The recipe for chowder originally came from France ("chowder" comes from the word chaudière, meaning cauldron) and eventually made its way to England and over to the New World with the colonists. The recipe evolved according to the surroundings, availability of seafood, and the specific tastes of the region. Somewhere along the line certain recipes became more popular than others. Immigrants added their particular spin: the Portuguese added tomatoes to clear-broth chowder and invented what we know as Manhattan-style. That began the epic rivalry between New England- and Manhattan-style chowders, now typically made with clams. But the first chowders in America were made with fish.
Inspired by Pomegranates
We cannot let November pass without a pomegranate!
I love to cook and I love cookbooks, for they seem to hold sorcerer’s spells between their pages. I don’t use them when I cook, however.
I may glance over the ingredients list or temperature/time chart, but the book closes when I begin preparation. Nothing I do gets done exactly the same way twice as I cook by feel and what is in my kitchen at the time.
I say this only to encourage you to treat the following recipes casually – more as an inspiration than as a contractual obligation.
Alaskan Halibut in a Roasted Tomato-Spinach-Mushroom Sauce
When the Deadliest Catch first aired, I watched with morbid curiosity as the crews manhandled heavy metal cages. Those cages sometimes swung wildly in the air, smashing against the ship's bulkhead, threatening to hospitalize crew members.
Many times, risking life and limb did not have the hoped for payoff when the cages contained the ocean's odds and ends rather than the prized catch of Alaskan king crab. When luck was with them, a cage would be filled with crabs, their pointed, armored legs poking out at any hand that risked a close encounter.
After that, when I ordered a crab cocktail I had newfound respect for my food. The crab meat might be delicate and sweet, but the effort it took to snatch it from the icy, turbulent ocean was marked by sweat, fear and danger. On so many levels, when I am cooking or about to eat, I am happy to be ignorant of the difficult work it takes to get the food from ocean or farm to my table.
Recently, the Alaska Seafood Marketing Institute made it easy for me. They offered to send a box of Alaska seafood for me to prepare and write about. Certainly I had bought, cooked and eaten Alaskan seafood before because it is available from local purveyors big (Ralphs and Gelson's) and small (Malibu Seafood).
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