The other day, Brian got off work early and we took a trip to park with the girls, including a pretty magical hike. We meandered according to the whims of our toddler, spotted lots of deer, and took in the just-changing season. I learned on a recent trip to Vermont that they call it stick season –– the time after the leaves are gone but before the first snow falls. Up there, stick season is a time to prepare for the winter ski season and take care of things at home. Here in the Mid-Atlantic, with only occasional snow, stick season just means winter. Happily, we’re still enjoying mild, completely gorgeous weather, making it a pleasure to be outside, leaves or no.
But I’m also ready to head inside. Reflection, cooking, and quieter times all sound pretty great. In the kitchen, I’ve been doing a better job of digging into the fall produce. Today’s project: Brussels Sprouts. read more »
If you’re a regular reader, you’re probably asking yourself right now “Wait, am I going crazy? Doesn’t Brooklyn Supper already have a roast chicken recipe? I thought we were just discussing that in my blog club the other day. That was, like, their second post. A classic.” Let me explain. You’re not going crazy. We do have a roast chicken recipe. That’s a very good memory you have there. It was actually our fifth post, but you were pretty close. We posted it all the way back in July of 2008, which was really a different time. Like people were already really annoying about bacon but they hadn’t gotten all weird about pumpkin pie spice yet.
In the intervening years, though, a few things happened that made us want to redo our roast chicken piece. read more »
As apartment-dwellers grilling with a tiny grill on the balcony of a building we knew from personal experience to be flammable, our adventures in charcoal were limited to things that could be cooked quickly so that coals could be extinguished immediately. Now that we have a little space, though, Brian and I have wanted to get serious with our new(ish) full-size grill and smoke some meat. Last weekend, we finally made it happen. read more »
Today, it’s undeniable. The maple trees, still green last week, are quickly turning orange. In fact, all of the trees have begun to take on a hint of ochre. Sunlight has starting shining in from the southern-facing windows. Our back yard, having enjoyed full-on sun all summer, is now darkened by shadows most of the day. Autumn is unquestionably my favorite season, but I’m not quite ready to jump in this year. Living in a new place, a not NYC kind of place, has me worried about what the winter’s going to look like. I imagine it will be quiet, probably too quiet, with plans cancelled due to bad weather, and parks and trails abandoned for long stretches. read more »
Earlier in the week, we shared this story and recipe with readers over on Food 52, and are now happy to share it here. Chow chow is a great recipe with which to bridge the seasons, and it makes delicious use of green tomatoes (which I happen to have in spades).
Let me start by saying that my Nana was an incredible baker, responsible in some part for every pie I’ve ever made, and I will forever regret not cooking more with her when she was alive. Alas, I was a difficult tween. I include this preface because, for a post on an heirloom recipe from my family, I’ve made something from my husband’s. Like most who lived through the depression, Brian’s grandmother, Mama E, was thrifty and smart and capable. She died a few summers ago, and I’ll always remember that even though she was terribly ill, she had a well-tended little garden on her back porch. Just because you’re sick doesn’t mean you can’t do a little canning. read more »
If my rural southern forbears found out that each year I seek out the chance to pick apples, they’d probably be disappointed that I didn’t own the orchard but glad that it was something easy like apples instead of something gross like tobacco. But when they found out that I actually pay for the privilege of doing farm work, they’d all keel over dead on the spot (hopefully after producing whichever offspring ultimately led to my existence). Why on Earth, they would wonder, would I pay to harvest fruit? And even worse, why would I drag my children into it?
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