For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been easing into fall, waiting for it to be cool enough to warrant the mood I’ve been in. I got a taste of fall when I spent a weekend in San Francisco; their warm, balmy 74 is my blanket-and-jacket weather. (Do you know they don’t even need air conditioning there?) When I got back, I was in full-on autumn mode. I put cinnamon sticks and cloves in water on the stove, on a low simmer, to make my apartment smell festive. The down comforter is back on the bed, justified by the fan that blows on me all night. I made lasagna for some friends, a food that’s hardly appropriate for Texas summer. I even wore a completely superfluous cardigan to work one day.

Although I suspect this soup would be best enjoyed in slightly cooler climes, my optimism that this summer weather will soon pass and my desire for below-80 temperatures prompted me to make this simple, basic, savory soup a few weeks too soon. It tasted wonderful, but I can’t wait to try it when the weather matches the hot, silky richness.

Butternut Squash Soup
Adapted from Food Network
Note: I did not strain the soup before I served it, but I think I should have, as it had a grittier texture than I prefer. An easy way to do this would be to hold your strainer over the bowl and ladle the soup into the bowl through the strainer as you serve it. To make this dish vegetarian, use vegetable stock.

 You will need:
1 medium butternut squash, diced
1 tbsp. olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped
1 tbsp. butter
Chicken stock
Cinnamon, sage, and nutmeg, to taste

Preheat oven to 400. Toss squash with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and spread in one layer on roasting pan. Roast 30 minutes, or until squash is fork-tender.

Melt butter in pot on medium heat. Add onion and cook until tender and transparent. Add squash and cover with chicken broth. Using an immersion blender, blend the soup directly in the pot until smooth, 2-3 minutes. Add more chicken stock to achieve desired consistency. Heat soup thoroughly and add spices to taste. Strain if desired.

Serve immediately, garnished with crème fraiche, fried sage leaves, or other desired garnish.

Photo by Three Points Kitchen, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike License.

It seemed that these pear preserves, as my great-grandpa’s legacy, should have been destined for something great. Maybe the golden contents of this jar should fill a tart. Possibly I could use them to add a surprise flavor to apple pie. Mayhaps I could reduce the preserves and use them to top French toast or pancakes, or to fill a shortbread cookie. So many possibilities, none of which seemed appropriate. So the jelly jar has languished in my fridge for the past couple of years, surviving one refrigerator breakdown and one cross-town move.

I’m more like him and my late great-grandmother than I ever thought I would be. I garden, I bake things, I feed people. I try to be forgiving of other’s faults, being mindful of my own imperfections and shortcomings. I try to be welcoming to everyone– at my great-grandfather’s funeral, his son (my grandpa) said that his motto was, “If you claim us, we’ll claim you.” My family tree is a knotted tangle of stepchildren, divorces, half-siblings, second and third marriages, and a few strays. Each branch, regardless of any blood relation or lack thereof, bears the Williams name in heart if not on paper. For this man, “family” meant more than a marriage certificate or a genetic connection; family was the feeling created when all of us were together in that tiny house, elbowing around each other to get another glass of tea or another slice of chocolate pie.

At Christmas last year, my father’s house was full of people: my dad and his wife; my sister and her boyfriend; my grandparents; my aunt and her two near-grown children; my uncle with his wife, two sons, one daughter, all of their partners and his three grandchildren; my dad’s daughter-in-law with her new husband and their four children; and my boyfriend and I. He whispered to me, “This is when I like having a small house.” I looked around, and saw the half-dozen conversations, the way we all interrupt each other. The way we all helped ourselves to cans of soda from the fridge and watched the little ones open their presents. The way no one watched the TV that played in the background. It made me happy that I’ve never lived in a big house. I’ve always had a big family in small houses, packed together like sardines when we all make the time to be in the same place at the same moment. We bump into each other, wrap our arms around each other, and smile in the warm comfort of wooden floors and warm ovens.

So when I started baking my own bread a few weeks ago with the book, Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, I knew what to do with the pear jelly. I’ve been working through it exactly the way my great-grandfather, my grandpa, and my dad would have: one piece of toast at a time.

Note: I’m not going to post the whole recipe here. Suffice it to say, it’s a reliable recipe and I’ve had success making bread, rolls, and pizza with it. See the introduction to the method on the Mother Earth News web site and give it a shot.

Photo by theaterculture, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.

For example, I really needed to use the zucchini I bought at the farmer’s market the week before, as it was slowly turning to mush on my counter. I needed to take advantage of the incredible bargain-basement price of the red peppers at my local grocery store. And, as always, I needed pizza.

I also really needed to experiment with the Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day method of making bread and a whole host of other baked goodies. So far, my results from this method are pretty stellar. I’ve only made things from the white base dough, but I’m getting ready to experiment with the wheat base. You should read the article, but the basic premise is that you mix up a batch of dough in a big bowl, leave it on the counter for a couple hours, then refrigerate the whole thing for up to two weeks. When you’re ready for your next baking adventure, you take a knife and lop a hunk off the ball of dough in the fridge and make whatever you want– attractive round loaves with scalloped tops, cinnamon rolls, and even pizza dough.

If you’re not too excited about keeping a couple pounds of wet dough in your fridge for weeks at a time, don’t be discouraged! There is no reason this delicious pizza needs to be made with anything other than whatever dough you usually use. But so far, I’m finding my cold stash of yeasty goodness to be an excellent time-saver (and I’m adding padding for the winter, which is just a bonus).

Roasted Summer Vegetable Pizza
Makes 1 pizza
Crust adapted from Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day via Mother Earth News

You will need:
1 lb. pizza dough, or whatever pizza dough you usually use

Topping:
1 red bell pepper, sliced thin
1/2 red onion, sliced thin
1/2 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
1 zucchini, julienned
6 cloves garlic, peeled and smashed
2 tbsp. olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Shredded mozzarella cheese

Sauce:
8 oz. tomato sauce
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tbsp. dried oregano
t tbsp. tomato paste
Pinch sugar
Salt and pepper, to taste

Let the dough rest and come to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 450. In a baking pan, toss red pepper, tomatoes, onion, zucchini, and garlic with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Spread into one layer and roast about 20 minutes. When tender and caramelized, remove from oven but leave oven on (now we’re making pizza).

Meanwhile, mix all sauce ingredients in a bowl and set aside.

Spread pizza dough out on a pizza pan to desired thickness. Top with sauce, using a spoon to spread sauce close to the outer edges. Top sauce with cheese, and top cheese with roasted vegetables (including the garlic– roasted garlic is so good!). Bake in the oven about ten minutes, until crust is golden brown and cheese is blistered. Let stand a couple minutes (or, you know, don’t), and serve.

Photo by annalibera, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.

The summer has brought one bright spot: I have rediscovered my love of farmer’s markets. I’m blessed to live in a city that is home to a dozen such weekly markets, and there isn’t a night of the week that I can’t find some grouping of stalls through which to wander, sampling wares and contemplating meals. A few weeks ago, I bought more small bushels of peaches than I thought I would ever eat, and my boyfriend and I ate them all in three days. Cherry tomatoes are my best friend, delicious cold out of the fridge and my juicy gateway to easy, ten-minute weeknight meals. (Think pasta with tomatoes and basil, homemade guacamole, tomato-basil salad on toast.) And watermelon.

The bright green, striped exterior of this bad boy called to me. I knew immediately that I wanted to make a cool, crisp drink with him. As I chatted with Courney, the representative from the farm whose stall I was stalking, I mentioned thinking of making agua fresca. She pointed me toward the beast of the bunch, a heavy, oblong thing that reminded me of that scene from Dirty Dancing (“I carried a watermelon?!) as I toted it to my car. Courtney assured me this fruit would yield the pinkest, ripest, juiciest fruit I’d ever tasted, and would yield me more than enough agua fresca. Oh, she was right.

I can’t tell you how easy this is, though it does require a tiny bit of patience and labor. The hardest thing you have to do is strain the pureed fruit, and speeding the process along is easy enough: I squished the pulp through the strainer with my fingers, making a bit of a mess, but enjoying feeling like a kid with a pink mud pie for a moment. When I took it to a party, it astounded my friends. This drink just tastes like watermelon in a glass, it’s so pure in flavor. That purity, if you’re so inclined, means it lends itself well to being mixed with more adult beverages.  While the flavor of vodka mostly disappears into the cocktail, a shot of bourbon was the big winner, lending a spicy kick to the sweet refreshingness.

Watermelon Agua Fresca
Adapted from Eating Well
Makes 1 gallon (I increased the recipe)

You will need:
12 cups cubed and seeded watermelon (for me, this was about half of a large melon)
1.5 c. water
1/2 c. sugar
Juice of three limes
1.5 liters club soda
In a very large bowl, combine the watermelon, water, and sugar. Using an immersion blender, blend until smooth. (For this, you can also use your blender to blend in batches, or use the immersion blender in batches. The watermelon is so soft, I suspect you could also use a fork and a little more time.)

Into a large pitcher, strain the pulp in batches using a coarse strainer. Add the lime juice and chill at least 4 hours. When ready to serve, add the club soda and mix well.

The watermelon pulp will settle in the bottom of the pitcher, so stir it before each pour or serve it out of a punch bowl.

Photo by ehfisher, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.

You will need:
1 pint cherry tomatoes
3 cloves garlic, peeled but whole
3 tbsp. olive oil, divided
Salt and pepper, to taste
1/2 lb. small pasta, such as rotini
1.4 c. pesto
1/4 c. freshly grated parmesan cheese

Halve the cherry tomatoes. Toss tomato halves and garlic with 1 tbsp. olive oil, salt, and pepper. Roast on a cookie sheet in a 450-degree oven for about ten minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare pasta according to package directions and drain. Toss pesto, remaining olive oil, and tomatoes with pasta. Serve immediately, topped with parmesan cheese.

Photo by hddod, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.

One note about the recipe: The recipe I used called for pine nuts, but you could also substitute walnuts. But whatever you do, please don’t waste five dollars’ worth of pine nuts by toasting them on the stove, looking away for a moment, and burning all of them. My pesto did not contain nuts of any kind (possibly because I made this mistake, but I’ll never tell), and I also omitted the parmesan cheese since I was freezing the pesto. If you’re using pesto fresh, feel free to add parmesan or romano cheese, and experiment with the nuts.

Homemade Pesto
Adapted from Simply Recipes
Makes 1 cup pesto
Note: If you are freezing the pesto, the lemon juice helps keep the basil from oxidizing in the freezer.

You will need:
2 cloves garlic
2 cups washed and dried fresh basil leaves
1/4-1/2 c, olive oil
Juice of half a lemon (optional)
Salt and pepper, to taste

In a food processor, process the garlic until minced well. Add basil and a small amount of olive oil, processing until smooth between each addition. Once the basil has all been added, add lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Store in the refrigerator up to one week.

To freeze: Line an ice cube tray with plastic wrap. Spoon pesto into the tray and freeze. Life plastic wrap from tray and store frozen cubes in a zip-top plastic bag in the freezer. Defrost before using.

Photo by Evil Yoda, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.

A few weeks ago, I spent over an hour at the sink rinsing and stemming the basil I’d cut from my garden, and I wound up with a mixing bowl packed with fresh basil. You would have thought I had massacred the garden for this basil, but the garden appeared untouched, despite my ten cups of basil leaves. I then spent a long, long time with my mini-Cuisinart making small batches of pesto. I froze some in ice cubes, so I now have enough pesto on hand to last me through next year.  I also oven-dried some of the basil, with great success. So now, I and the basil gods offer you pesto roasted chicken.

Once you’ve made the pesto (which goes really fast if you have a larger food processor, and are not stemming and washing a zillion cups of basil, but rather a more manageable amount), this dish comes together super easy. All you do is spread the pesto on the bird, pop it in the oven, and wait. A juicy, fresh, summery roast chicken greets you after about an hour.

Pesto Roasted Chicken
Adapted from About.com: Southern Food
Serves 4

You will need:
1 roasting chicken, washed and dried
1/4 cup pesto (See this recipe to make fresh pesto, or just use the jarred stuff)
1 lemon, cut into wedges
Fresh basil leaves
Salt and pepper

Rub about half of the pesto under the skin of the chicken, and about half on top of the chicken. Put the sliced lemon and fresh basil leaves in the bird cavity. Sprinkle the bird with salt and pepper. Roast in a 425 degree oven until the meatiest part of the thigh registers 165 degrees. Remove from oven and let rest about ten minutes before carving.

I’ve been Facebooking about this all summer. Apparently, I have an uncle who is an excellent canner and has directed me to a few online resources, such as PickYourOwn.org. I’ve been stalking and bookmarking every post on preserving from one of my favorite blogs, Simple Bites. My father has offered to set me up with a beginner’s canning set, like this one. I’ve been keeping an eye out at used book stores for one of the books in the Ball canning series.  I admire the cans in local housewares stores– the jars remind me of the glass jelly jars I used to drink juice out of when I was little. Some have the familiar diamond pattern, and others are simpler, smooth with one raised floral design. Some are large, some are short and squat, and some look so standard. But I haven’t actually canned anything.

I have a million excuses. My boyfriend and I recently moved, and who wants to move a dozen or more jars, in addition to the fourteen (!!) boxes of books? Now that we are settled in, we are still waiting for the apartment complex to finish installing our pantry. In the meantime, where would I put the cans? Not to mention, who wants to stand over a hot stove for more than an hour when it’s over 100 degrees outside? Also, I can’t afford a pressure cooker, and don’t you need one of those? But these are all just excuses, a way for me to get out of trying something new.

So I’m putting it out there. Sometime in the next few weeks, I’m going to do some sort of small-batch canning. (I mean, who needs a zillion jars of tomato sauce? Not me. Small steps, people.) A friend of mine is also excited about canning, so she and I are going to have an afternoon canning party, and I will finally get over my irrational fear of food-borne illnesses and boiling water baths. What I need from you, dear readers, are ideas.

What should I can as my first project?

Photo by 3liz4, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.

I also am not the designer of this dish. This dish came together after my boyfriend realized that some of the peppers from our garden needed to be eaten like, now, and we had a few other leftover veggies that were running low on shelf life. So he sautéed them in a pan with oil, boiled some water, and made me dinner. And it was delicious. And took about twenty minutes.

Creole-esque Pasta with Shrimp
Serves 2
Note: We tend to use frozen, raw shrimp. When we can find them already peeled and deveined, we do that as a time-saver. This week, we could only find deveined, but peeling them is a cinch. Just put them in a colander under running cold water (or, if you’re in Texas and in a drought, in a colander in a sinkful of cold water) and in about ten minutes, they’re soft enough to peel.

You will need:
1/2 lb. pasta
10-12 large shrimp
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 tbsp. butter
1 red bell pepper, diced
1/2 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
Cayenne pepper, to taste (substitute with red pepper flakes, if desired)
Creole seasoning
Splash of heavy cream
Salt and pepper, to taste
Freshly grated parmesan cheese, to taste

Boil a pot of water and cook pasta according to package directions. Set aside.

Heat the oil and butter in a skillet over medium-high heat, but don’t let the butter burn. Add the shrimp and cook about 1 minute. Turn all shrimp and cook about 30 seconds. Remove from heat.*

Add onion, pepper, garlic, and spices, and cook until softened and slightly caramelized. Add pasta and shrimp to skillet and toss to coat pasta in oil and vegetables. Add cream and toss to evenly distribute. Taste and adjust seasoning, if necessary. Serve in bowls and top with parmesan cheese.

*The key to not overcooking shrimp is to undercook them. When you remove them from the heat to a bowl, they will continue to cook each other for a few more minutes. For pasta, they also continue cooking when you add them to the hot noodles. You want them to be just barely opaque when you cook them initially.

It’s completely different.

Actually, it’s not, but it’s nice to think it would be. And currently, my garden is bursting with fresh tomatoes. I may post about my first foray into canning in the next few weeks, but in the meantime, my every meal revolves around tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes are halved and sauteed to go into tomato-basil pasta, or diced, mixed with olive oil and basil, and spooned onto toast for cool bruschetta. Larger tomatoes are sliced and eaten raw or roasted to top a pizza. Green tomatoes are chopped fine and mixed into guacamole. Several pounds of tomatoes were exported to Mississippi and dropped with my grandparents, where they were sliced onto homemade doughburgers. And last week, 5 or 6 ripe tomatoes were sliced, diced, tossed in a pot, and blended into spicy tomato soup.

I know soup isn’t a summer food, but it had rained for the first time in months so it was an unseasonably cool 87 degrees outside! Bookmark this and make it in November, ok?

Tomato Soup with Fresh Tomatoes
Adapted from Allrecipes.com

Note: The original recipe called for processing the soup in a food mill. If you own one, do that. I don’t, so I used an immersion blender. Some of the reviewers strained the soup through a fine-mesh strainer for a smoother texture. I don’t mind my soup a little chunky, so I also skipped this step, but feel free to go for it!

You will need:
4 c. diced tomatoes
1 quarter onion, diced
1/2 celery stalk, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 c. chicken broth
2 tbsp. butter
2 tbsp. flour
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. sugar
1-2 pinches red pepper flakes (optional)

Combine the tomatoes, onion, celery, garlic, and chicken broth in a large saucepan. Cook over medium heat about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.  Using an immersion blender, blend the soup until smooth.

In a separate saucepan of similar size, melt the butter over medium heat. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, to make a roux. When the roux is medium-brown, add a small amount of the soup and stir constantly to avoid lumps. Add the soup in small batches to the roux, stirring constantly. Add the salt, sugar, and pepper. (I was unable to avoid lumps, so I just gave the soup another shot of the immersion blender. It was fine.)

Serve immediately garnished with basil, chives, grated cheese, or croutons, and alongside a grilled cheese sandwich or some cheddar-scallion biscuits.

Photo by roboppy, available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License.