Winter

My one favorite thing about the winter season is citrus fruit. When I have a good lemon or orange in hand, I almost forget about the mountains of snow and the blistery weather. I always seek out unusual citrus fruits, from Meyer lemons to blood oranges. But the one citrus fruit I use most is the standard lemon. The ones available in the supermarket are typically the Eureka variety. I use those juicy yellow orbs in practically every recipe. Salad dressings, baked goods, and stews all benefit from a little lemon, be it the juice or zest. The aroma and flavor of lemons are what make them so special and revered in many cuisines.

Luckily we can get lemons year-round in the supermarket, but there are also ways to preserve them. Many cultures preserve lemons when they are in season for later use during the rest of the year. North African cuisine, particularly Moroccan, and even Indian and Southeast Asian cuisines utilize preserved lemons in many savory recipes. They are added to the famous Moroccan tagines. They are also great in standard stews, braises, and roasts. Just as with the fresh citrus fruit, the possibilities are limitless with preserved lemons.

The savage weather has reached Biblical proportions. Yes, I am exaggerating, but today it is blowing so hard that I am fully expecting Auntie Em to ride by my window on her bicycle at any time. Frankly, I’d rather look out and see her than some random farm item that was once tethered to the ground.*

Well, there is no antidote to all this other than good warming winter food. (And chocolate—I have my new favorite, a 77% percent cocoa bar from Chocolove, by my side.) In the kitchen today I am making a cauliflower gratin, because I am still having cruciferous cravings. Don’t worry, I am not eating the chocolate and the cauliflower at the same time.

Because of my sweet tooth, I prefer cauliflower roasted, rather than prepared any other way. So today I was thinking about taking the extra step of putting roasted cauliflower into a gratin with Gruyère and rosemary—and then I realized I’d already developed a recipe like this for The Fresh & Green Table.

It happens every week. As I'm selecting my Swiss chard, kale, or collards, someone inevitably sidles up to me and asks, "What do you do with that?" Then after I share a recipe idea, she usually follows up with, "To me, they're all the same."

No wonder people get confused. Every time you go to the supermarket all the winter greens are mixed together in one big, undivided, forest green section, with seemingly randomly placed signs and prices scattered above and below them.

It's like a game: Match the green on the left column with the correct name and price on the right column. Chances are you probably just select the green that your mom made when you were growing up because it's the one you actually know how to cook.

Wouldn’t you know it, I went skipping off to the grocery store yesterday, smugly thinking I’d pick up some fiddlehead ferns and/or baby artichokes and blog about cooking one or both of them this week. The grocery store had other plans. In other words, it had neither.

I swear I saw fiddleheads somewhere recently, even though I know the wild ones aren’t up yet around here. But I must have been imagining things (not surprising). I’m sure I didn’t imagine the baby artichokes; they’re at the other grocery store—the one I didn’t plan to go to yesterday. Oh well, soon enough for both.

Instead I bought broccoli. I know, broccoli. But it was, truthfully, the best looking thing at the store. And I think maybe I had a tiny cruciferous craving, as suddenly I had to have several of the perky purple-green crowns to roast for our dinner. (And a couple to put in a vase near the daffodils–weird but true.) I realized, too, that I needed something I could throw together pretty quickly, with a minimum of hands-on time, as I was probably going to be unloading the rest of my groceries all night!