Comfort Foods and Indulgences

Daddies, avert your eyes, because this is what your family will be serving you in bed on Sunday morning (Father's Day).  However, it's so good, the kids might help you eat it all.  And Mom, it's so easy to make, the kids can take all the credit...they will love that.

A few months ago, I didn't even know what Biscoff spread was. I kept seeing it everywhere in the blogs and finally I could no longer resist, I just had to try it.  Honestly, I wish I hadn't. It's so addicting, sweet and good...it can only be described as crack.

My favorite way to eat it....with a spoon.  If you are on a diet, I strongly suggest not bringing this into your home.  It will call to you, as it does me, from the cupboard with its creepy siren song....ugh. It always wins. I give in. Every. Single. Time.

I already fed this French toast to my husband and after one bite he looked at me and said, "Good grief, this is dangerous."

We all have our own rituals for fall Sunday afternoons. Some guys sit around and watch football; for me it takes only about a quarter before I need a nap. Others feel inspired to take up household projects; the less said about my ability with a hammer the better.

Instead, I cook. Well, I cook all year round, but when the days start to cool and the light turns golden, I get more ambitious. Rather than 30 minutes at the grill, I throw myself into hours-long kitchen projects. This year, it's been lasagna.

It started in late September. I had just gotten back from the farmers market when I heard that Marcella Hazan had died. I looked over everything that I had bought and in her honor immediately started making dough for fresh pasta. And peeling and seeding tomatoes and turning them into sauce. And making a Parmesan-enriched white sauce. And blanching, chopping and sauteing beet greens. And then putting it all together. All of a sudden it was dinner time.

There's nothing like lasagna from scratch to while away a lazy Sunday afternoon.

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Tortellini has been a part of our family’s Christmas day repast since our kids were … well, since they were kids. We used to make tortellini in brodo, a Northern Italian Christmas tradition. I would make a chicken, beef-bone and vegetable broth on Christmas Eve and then on the day we’d all pitch in to make sheets of fresh pasta and a meaty, cheesy, herby filling out of which we’d fashion hundreds of little belly-button-shaped beauties to float in the rich steaming broth. At the table we’d grate Parmigiano over the top and count our holiday blessings.

One year instead of broth I served the tortellini in a bolognese sauce and it was such a hit we haven’t been back to broth since. I use Marcella Hazan’s classic recipe for the meat sauce and I follow it to the letter because it’s quite perfect. Well, in truth, I add a bit more onion than she calls for. I’m a whore for onions. I tripled the recipe this year because I knew once I tasted it I would want to have more in the fridge for later. This is where the trouble started.

There’s something supremely satisfying about Marcella’s bolognese. Bubbling a cup or two of milk through the meat before adding the tomatoes creams up the sauce and sweetens it. And the five-hour simmer patiently breaks down the components and gives them time to take advantage of each other. It’s a meat sauce to dream about and this year’s version was no exception. The kids and I scarfed down our beefily-sauced tortellini while Jill tucked into her lentils with vegan gusto. Ah, chacon à son goût.

Clafoutis. You've eaten one. You've probably baked one. You've definitely heard of one. But can you define one? What is a clafoutis?

It's not quite a cake or a custard or a flan or a pudding. It has been called lots of names, including "a baked fruit dessert," "a baked custard with fruit," "a crustless pie," "a fruit-fill flan," and my personal favorite, "a sweet frittata." Purists called it a flognarde, but that lacks the panache of clafoutis (pronounced cla- foo-tee).

Clotilde Dusouslier, the charming Parisian food blogger, calls clafoutis "the epitome of the French grandmotherly dessert: unpretentious, easy to make, and blissfully comforting."

Call it what you will, especially if you're high school French is a little rusty. Just be sure to make one.