So, first of all… I’m back! From Vegas (yes, again, but this time for work), and from settling into the new job…

So, for this first post since the little Besotted break, I wanted to pay homage to some fantastic holiday gifts I received this year and in years past. From friends who had only known me a couple of months to a couple of decades, they were all perfectly suited for me, and happened to have made their way – in one way or another – into this Pork Chop with Fresh Bay Salt, Crackling, and Squashed Purple Potatoes dish.

I’m always curious to know what people shop for in a supermarket and why? What one person considers a staple, another considers a rare occasion treat. I remember being 13 years old, being at a friend’s house, and they had an enormous, family-sized bag of M&Ms in the pantry… 2 hours later, they didn’t, because I had managed to polish off the vast majority of the bag – I was both permanently hungry and had a much faster metabolism as a teenager. Sadly, only one of those things has changed… but I digress…
The reason for my voracious and greedy appetite was the fact that a bag of M&Ms never entered my own pantry. This was a treat and luxury that I could never have dreamed of – candy, open and available at a moment’s notice – and the cunning little imp in me couldn’t pass up the opportunity to over-indulge.

Ufff… Finally home and back to a regular schedule. Thanksgiving down on the Cape and a few relaxing days up in the New Hampshire White Mountains made for a lovely Thanksgiving weekend, which included my final recipe for the Gourmet-only month of November.

I have to say that my intention for this homage to Gourmet was to be just that, a homage, but I feel like I’m griping about it more than praising it. Here’s the thing about Gourmet… it’s spectacular to look at, day-dream about all of the wonderful urban restaurants and cozy, convivial bed and breakfasts that cure their own bacon, but I’ve found it a touch challenging (and disappointing – I’m sorry!) to cook from.

There are certain cookbooks in my library that are stained, dog-earred, and otherwise, lovingly mistreated with their overuse. And then there are those that are not. This latter number is far smaller, and there is one reason why 3 or 4 of my cookbooks are rarely opened…. these cookbooks scare me.

They are all derived from famous restaurants around the globe, were all bought in a fuzzy haze of culinary ambition bordering on delusion, and have fantastic, exotic sounding recipes that, as it turns out, are a bit of a pain in the ass to actually make. When a cookbook actually dictates the type of green you must use (lamb’s lettuce, butter lettuce, red perella, perhaps) as opposed to the quotidian “mesclun mix”, you know you’re in trouble.

There are certain recipes that, for no very good reason, we keep in the culinary attic – treasures that remind us of good-times gone by, but that we oh-so-rarely trot out. Stuffed peppers are just that type of treasure – a meal that my mother cooked perfectly and frequently that is as unpretentious as it is delicious.

Herbed and spiced meatballs stuffed inside of fresh peppers, blanketed in a light, fresh marinara sauce and baked until bubbly and aromatic. Serve with a big heaping of garlic bread, a big glass of red wine, and lots of napkins (they tend to get messy!) and enjoy a little march down memory lane.

Some much anticipated and celebration-worthy news flowed into the Besotted kitchen last week, to which, the only appropriate response was a confection that screamed “CELEBRATION!”

Now, normally, when eyeing the dessert section of my cookbooks and magazines, I tend towards the rustic sophisticate desserts – things like modern Apple Tarte Tatin, Honey Cream Peach Pie, Strawberry Rhubarb Pie – basically, anything that is part throw-back, part modern chic, baked into a buttery crust.

I know I’ve been bad about posting lately, but, it’s been with good reason. It’s not that I haven’t been cooking – I have – I’ve just been cooking some of my favorite, comforting, familiar dishes. I love those dishes that I’ve cooked a couple dozen times, don’t need to look at a recipe, don’t need to make a grocery list before heading to the store, and can cook lazily and absent-mindedly, while letting my mind ponder other things.

Unfortunately, repetition and familiarity don’t produce any new Besotted posts…. So, I thumbed through my cookbooks and magazines until I found the dish that would snap me out of my culinary lethargy and back into the exciting world of experimentation, and this recipe was it.

I’ve come to the realization lately that my farm share may be taking over not only my fridge, but also a large portion of my life. As one friend put it, “the pressure to consume” all of the wonderful veggies can be a bit overwhelming, and I did find, as I looked back through the latest Besotted posts that they almost exclusively dealt with vegetables – noble and lovely as they are, I started to feel that there was something a bit lacking.

I spent a couple of quiet hours on Sunday pouring through my cooking magazines and books and came up with a lot of happy inspiration for delicious (and omnivorous!) meals. And, to get the ball rolling, I decided to start-out with one of my favorite carnivorous meals – Fried Chicken.

For those of you that think that vegetarian dinners consist of greater amounts self-righteousness than flavor, let alone decadence, meet the Veggie Popover and…. Eat. Your. Hearts. Out.

Hearty veggies steeped in a deep, rustic wine sauce, baked inside a flaky, buttery pastry shell and drowned in a gorgonzola cream sauce obliterate any notions that vegetarian dinners are an ersatz gourmet experience. Every bite is more delicious and satisfying than the last, and if you also happen to feel a little self-righteous for getting so many veggies into your diet, all the better.

After two previous attempts – one solid, one mildly disastrous – I think I’ve finally got the hang of my ice cream maker. The main take-aways from the first two attempts were:

Follow directions
Re-read the directions and make sure you’re following them as they are actually stated on the directions, and not concocting new directions in your own head.

Once those two directives were firmly planted in my brain (along side the horrid memory of the ice cream maker bouncing and spurting all over my counter), I managed to turn out a really, REALLY good batch of ice cream.