have yourself a merry little christmas

Merry Christmas, friends. I'll see you in the new year with lots of new recipes to share.

PS, head over to terrain to see my favorite mulled wine recipe. Perfect for your Christmas Eve.

Roasted Kabocha Squash Soup

Confession: I'm a thanksgiving traditionalist.  I'm happy to try new recipes all year long, but when it comes to that Thursday in November, I want nothing more than turkey, cornbread & biscuit dressing, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, and cranberry sauce out of a can.



I love thanksgiving to taste like home. It might be my favorite thing about the holiday, actually. The ritual of same. I love making the same pie, the one I know my dad loves, I love the familiar taste of each dish. While I know it's far from the most important thing about the day - it's a part that makes me happy.



This soup? Most definitely won't be on my thanksgiving table. But it's perfect for these chilly days just before.



I originally picked up a kabocha squash at the market because I loved the color, dark green with splotches of orange, but now is my new favorite thing. It's sweet and creamy, and wonderful roasted. I had some sad-looking sage hanging around at the back of fridge that needed to be used, so I added it in and I love how the flavors combine.





What about you? Thanksgiving traditionalist or are you all about trying new methods & flavors?



Roasted Kabocha Squash Soup
from epicurious

1 (4-lb) kabocha squash halved and seeded

1 cup vegetable oil

20 whole fresh sage leaves plus 1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh sage
 
1/4 lb sliced pancetta coarsely chopped 

1 tablespoon olive oil 

1 large onion chopped
 
2 garlic cloves minced
 
3 1/2 cups chicken broth
 
3 1/2 cups water
 
1 tablespoon red-wine vinegar


 Roast squash:


Preheat oven to 400°F.
 Roast squash, cut sides down, in an oiled roasting pan in middle of oven until tender, about 1 hour. When cool enough to handle, scrape flesh from skin.



Fry sage leaves while squash roasts:


Heat vegetable oil in a deep small saucepan until it registers 365°F on a deep-fat thermometer. Fry sage leaves in 3 batches until crisp, 3 to 5 seconds. Transfer leaves with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain.



Cook pancetta and make soup:


Cook pancetta in a 4-quart heavy pot over moderate heat, stirring, until browned. Transfer pancetta with slotted spoon to paper towels to drain.

 Add olive oil to pancetta fat remaining in pot, then cook onion, stirring, until softened.

Stir in garlic and chopped sage and cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add squash, broth, and water and simmer 20 minutes to blend flavors.



Purée soup in batches in a blender, transferring to a bowl. (Use caution when blending hot liquids.) Return soup to pot and reheat. If necessary, thin to desired consistency with water.

Stir in vinegar and salt and pepper to taste.

Serve sprinkled with pancetta and fried sage leaves.

of apple orchards and pie parties.

I consider myself lucky to live in the place I do. I'm surrounded by beauty - mountains, rivers, trees and good, generous people. There's an apple orchard not too far down the road, and when I received an invitation to visit, to explore, I knew it was something I couldn't pass up.

Luke at Mountain View Orchards is one of those good people. We stomped around, stepping over the high grass and fallen apples, taking in the last of the days sunlight, shining and glittering around the trees, apples heavy on their branches, their scent perfuming the air. He told me all about the orchard in a way only a man passionate about a place can. Not all fact, but feeling.

 

He lamented that the old variety of apples, the tasty, imperfect sort, were being passed over for the shiny, flawless-on-the-outside, less flavorful varieties. He told me about his passion for Appalachian culture, and we agreed that this, growing real things in a place they are meant to be grown, is far more interesting and cultural than the new Starbucks in town.  All while we snacked on apples, freshly picked. It's a truth universally acknowledged that fruit plucked straight from the tree just tastes better.

Luke sent me off with a basket full of apples we'd picked, and I came home with a plan. A pie plan. As much as I love this place I call home, I also love this community, this microcosm we call the food blogging world. It's full of the same sort of good people. People like Stephanie, Beth and Sarah, who, when I sent out a tweet about needing pie, all understood and excitedly passed emails back and forth about a virtual pie party.  Ladies, I cannot wait to sit down and share a slice with you one day.

 

This pie is bare bones, as simple and stripped down as possible. It’s just apples, sugar, salt, and a bit of brown butter. Not even a dash of cinnamon. These are the sort of apples my autumn daydreams are made of and I wanted them to shine. It's best served up with a side of The Avett Brothers (particularly this track and this one) - their new album has been my constant companion since it's release, and was playing as I baked this up. Be sure to check out Sarah, Beth, and Stephanie's posts for their lovely pies & music picks.

  

 Brown Butter Apple Pie

pie crust (crust recipe from Martha Stewart):

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces
1/4 to 1/2 cup ice water

In the bowl of a food processor, combine flour, salt, and sugar. Add butter, and process until the mixture resembles coarse meal, 8 to 10 seconds.

With machine running, add ice water in a slow, steady stream through feed tube. Pulse until dough holds together without being wet or sticky; be careful not to process more than 30 seconds. To test, squeeze a small amount together: If it is crumbly, add more ice water, 1 tablespoon at a time.

Divide dough into two equal balls. Flatten each ball into a disc and wrap in plastic. Transfer to the refrigerator and chill at least 1 hour.

Filling:

6 medium-large apples, I used granny smith, peeled, cored and sliced thinly
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons flour
5 tablespoons butter

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. On a lightly floured surface, roll one disc of dough into a 12-inch round, 1/8-inch thick. Fit into a 9-inch pie plate. Set aside in the refrigerator.

In a pan, melt butter over medium-high heat and cook until it begins to brown, it will smell nutty and fragrant.

In a large bowl, combine the apples, brown sugar, salt, flour and brown butter. Pour into pie plate, mounding in the center. Roll second disc of dough into a 12-inch round, 1/8 inch thick. Wet edges of the crust in the plate, then lay dough on top, pressing at edges to seal. Cut vents into top crust.

Place on a parchment paper lined baking sheet. Bake at 400 for 15 minutes, until crust is browned at edges. Turn oven down to 350, bake for another 40-50 minutes.

oh my darling muscadine

There was a fine drizzle of rain as we walked down the dirt road that runs in front of our house, looking for the muscadines that grow wild this time of year.



The vines were tangled high in the evergreen trees, we stood up on our tiptoes to grab handfuls, tumbling them into our basket. Their colors vary from nearly black to the prettiest shade of purple I've ever seen.

Muscadines are so fragrant, deep and rich, vaguely winey. I brought them inside, cut them open, and set them to simmer down into a syrup, the scent filling the house, lingering in every corner.

 

My mom has been telling me about her grandmothers muscadine jelly since I was a little girl. She waxes poetic about the sweet stuff, but I never had the chance to meet my great-grandmother, or taste her jelly. As I was standing over the bubbling pot, I felt connected to this woman I never met. It's funny (and wonderful) how food can do that.



I didn't have quite enough juice to make jelly, so I decided on a syrup, ruby red & sweet. It'd be great over biscuits or pancakes, even ice cream. I stirred a spoonful into a cup of hot black tea. Next time I'm going to turn it into muscadine sorbet.



Muscadine Syrup

1 cup muscadine juice*
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon lemon juice

To release the juice, cut open your muscadines and place in a stock pot. Fill pot with water, just covering the muscadines. Simmer for 15 minutes, mashing occasionally with a potato masher. Pour fruit through a mesh strainer, pressing hard on the solids, (I then placed the skins in a lemon juicer, to extract as much juice as possible), into another stock pot. Add sugar and lemon juice, and bring the juice to a boil, then allow to simmer. Cook until it coats the back of a spoon. Pour into clean jar. Can be kept in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.

*You want equal parts juice & sugar. If you have more/less juice, just add the same amount of sugar. I started with about 4 cups of muscadines and got 1 cup of juice.