Lidia Bastianich & Judith Jones discuss their relationship in food

Two doyennes of the food world came together last night at the Brattle Theatre to discuss the release of their new cookbooks as well as the history of their long relationship (the venerable Ms. Jones, once Julia Child's editor and mentor at Alfred A. Knopf, is now Lidia's).

Lidia began by remembering her initial discomfort with writing: "I could communicate with food," she said. "But I was insecure with words; I was editing myself before I even sat down to write."

It was touching to watch her turn to Judith Jones, now in her eighties, and say, "The most precious gift you gave me was liberty--the feeling that I can express myself in words."

In her newest book, Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy, she explores ten lesser known regions of Italy--by literally going into people's kitchens and talking and cooking with them. Many of her own photographs of the regions she visited appear in the book.

But as the two women tested recipes together, Lidia explained, it was clear that Judith had her own agenda--she wanted to know how to prepare each dish for one.

Now a widow, Judith lives alone, and she said that cooking for herself is a way of "treating yourself well." Describing her own rituals, she mentioned preparing simple meals that fill the house with good smells, and lighting candles. "It brings a lot of joy, and it makes you feel less alone." Thus, her new book: The Pleasures of Cooking for One. With more single households in America now than ever before (Judith cited the statistic that 51% of New Yorkers live alone), her message is timely.

As the evening concluded, an audience member asked where they'd be eating in Boston. Lidia mentioned Jody Adams and Lydia Shire as two of her favorite local chefs, and then revealed that she and Judith would be dining at Michael Schlow's Alta Strada in Wellesley tonight.

As for her favorite meal, Lidia said, "I love a perfect fig. Perfectly ripe, slightly cracked, with a drop of nectar on it. That is perfection for me."

Enchantment in the countryside at Gilson's Herb Lyceum

We'd read on the Herb Lyceum's website to expect a magical night. And as four of us arrived on a chilly Saturday evening to a restored barn from the early 1900s, decorated with antiques, and three long tables set with candles, we could tell this promise would be fulfilled. There were dried herbs hanging on the walls, along with old farm tools. Vases of dried flowers stood alongside black-and-white photographs and gourds of various shapes and colors. A kind woman named Cathy (Chef Will Gilson's stepmom, it turned out) gave us a warm welcome and told us about the history of the property--including its long tradition as a Gilson family homestead (though others have lived there), and the work it took to renovate the barn and restore it using antique fixtures and recovered wood.


There were four of us who'd come together, but she encouraged us to mingle amongst the mostly older crowd as though it were a dinner party. Cathy told us that many of the diners who come to the Herb Lyceum subsequently try Will's restaurant, Garden at the Cellar, in the city--but every now and then she gets people who go to Garden first and then make their way to the Lyceum, as we had done.

We were amongst the only city dwellers dining that night--and it was fascinating to hear the new resident chef, Paul Callahan, talk about his experience of moving to a nearby farm in Groton as a result of his job at the Lyceum. Instead of seeking out ingredients as most chefs do, he told us, the local purveyors call him--offering grass-fed beef, or heirloom cabbage, or whatever is fresh and abundant. Chef Callahan's past experience includes such Boston institutions as L'Espalier and The Butcher Shop, and it's not hard to tell that working as the first full-time chef at the Herb Lyceum is a far different atmosphere.

"The difference is the people," he said. "I get to come out of the kitchen and interact with people--nobody is just a number here or a table that needs to be flipped--and I get to know the local purveyors." For a chef who loves to experiment with local ingredients and wants to have a dialogue with diners about the choices he's made in creating the six courses served at Friday and Saturday-night herb dinners, it's a pretty ideal fit.


All of the herbs used in preparing these dinners come from the gardens and greenhouses on the property. In the future, more of the produce will be grown on the grounds at the Lyceum too, and plans are in the works to start a CSA and expand the buildings to include space for bigger events (the current barn holds 32 people, maximum).

The menu at the Lyceum changes monthly, and diners bring along their own wine or beer. Highlights of our November meal included a sweet kraut made with apples and heirloom arrowhead cabbage from nearby Springdale Farms, and a day boat scallop that had been skillet-roasted with sage and brown sugar for a tasty sweet-savory crust. Cathy had told us that "clean platers get dessert," and it wasn't hard to fulfill her mandate as we spooned into a creamy roasted chestnut bisque, made with parsnip puree and dried cranberries.


Our main course was a rich, herbs-de-provence-braised short rib wrapped with spinach and foie gras inside homemade puff pastry, Wellington-style. A delicious smoked potato fondue (accomplished, the chef admitted, with an improvised smoker on the stove-top) and a variety of local squash in hearty, brown Perigueux sauce came alongside. By then we were totally sated, but the cheese plate proved irresistible: a wedge of creamy French cheese alongside Port wine-soaked bing cherries and honeyed pine nuts with lemon verbena. We finished with an upside-down quince cake drizzled with bourbon-spiked caramel and vanilla chantilly cream (made with vanilla bean, not extract, Chef Callahan was careful to emphasize) studded with thyme.



My only regrets were that we didn't get to stroll the grounds in daylight, and that two of our table companions were loud, overbearing, and increasingly drunk regulars who detracted from our focus on the delicious food and lovely atmosphere (if you go, steer clear of Grace & Tim). The other folks we sat with were quite friendly, and meeting new people at the table is a fun idea. But our experience ensured that when I return, it will be with enough friends to occupy one of the smaller tables.

Otherwise, though--thanks to Cathy and Dave Gilson and the fantastic Chef Callahan, along with good friends and outstanding food--the night was a magical one, indeed.

A Night in France, with Cheese & Wine & Ratatouille (but not the film version)

My friend Alli's recent trip to Paris (where she did not take a single picture, it must be noted) prompted her to cook an enormous pot of ratatouille and share with us the cheese and chocolates she brought back.

As we spooned up portions of the fragrant stew, a few of the guests admitted to being familiar with ratatouille only because of the popular animated movie of the same name. At this, Alli and I were both a bit aghast.

But our conversation made me curious about the origins of the dish, and with a little digging, I found this explanation from La Tartine Gourmande, a well known French food blogger in Boston:

What is Ratatouille?

In the 18th and 19th centuries, the name was used to refer to a coarse stew. It derived from tatouiller and ratouiller, both expressive forms of the French verb touiller which means to stir up. This dish originated in Nice and is known all around Provence and France now, with a lot of different variations. The base however stays the same: zucchinis,eggplants, tomatoes, peppers, garlic and onion cooked in olive oil. All the beautiful flavours of the South of France. It is known that the word ratatouille was in use in Nice whereas the word bourbouillade was used in Nîmes.

For Beatrice's recipe for Ratatouille Tatin Tartlets, you can visit her blog.

For Alli's recipe, you will first have to get to know her.

But under no circumstances should you consider seeing the film an appropriate substitute for trying this dish.

Chef Richard Garcia Pairs Fair Trade Coffee with Sustainable Sea Urchins

The first time I really became aware of sea urchins it was because I was spending the summer in Greece, and not stepping on one in the Aegean Ocean became a high priority. A little Greek girl taught me to call them echinos, which means both "sea urchin" and "hedgehog" and refers to their pointy spines. But I'd never tasted the fleshy inside of an urchin, and so I was fascinated to watch Chef Richard Garcia (of Tastings Wine Bar & Bistro in Foxboro) prepare them recently at an event called Eat, Drink & Be Fair at the Artists for Humanity center in South Boston.



First he snipped into a locally harvested urchin with a pair of scissors to reveal the meat inside. Chef Garcia told me these sea creatures are abundant off the shores of Massachusetts.



Then he scooped out the prized orange flesh with a spoon.





And finally, Chef Garcia filled the leftover shells with a parsnip-sea urchin-cappucino soup he had created using the meat of the urchins.



All of the chefs at Eat, Drink & Be Fair had been tasked by Green Mountain Coffee (those are coffee filters hanging from the ceiling, below) with using Fair Trade certified ingredients to create a winning meal, but Chef Garcia's was by far the most inventive. And while I can't say the flavors of slightly bitter coffee and briny sea urchin were my favorite combination, I'd still rather eat an echinos than step on one in the ocean.

Celebrating Fall in Ipswich, MA

Ipswich's Crane Beach is one of my favorite summer weekend destinations. Little did I know that autumn here is spectacular too.

Pumpkins for sale at Russell Orchards. Their annual Apples & Wine festival will be Nov. 7-8.

Here you can also find the famous cider donuts that grace the cover of this month's Edible Boston. Unlike the cider donuts of my youth in New Jersey, these don't come covered in cinnamon sugar. But they are very cakey and perfect with a cup of coffee.

Twenty-five varieties of apples grow here too. According to Michael Pollan in Botany of Desire, there used to be many more. Learn more about the apples at Russell from how2heroes.

A view over the fields and salt marshes all the way out to the sea, from the Inn at Castle Hill. The colors of fall on this part of the North Shore are absolutely stunning.

A toast to Portugal's Borba wines

The New York Times recently called Portugal's affordable Douro Valley wines a "harbor in an economic tempest"--and with good reason. But Douro is not the only region in Portugal that is producing amazing wines at incredible value. As I found out at a wine-tasting dinner hosted by Adega Coop. de Borba at Grill 23 last week, the lesser known Borba wines of the Alentejo region are every bit as tasty and Recession-friendly.

Borba is one of the oldest wine-making regions in the world--with roots tracing back to the Roman occupation. It is situated in the heart of the Alentejo, an agricultural center located in the south of Portugal, close to the border with Spain. The wines of Borba take their unique character from the valley micro-climate in which several native varieties of grape grow--including Aragonez (the same varietal as Tempranillo in Spain), Trincadeira, Touriga Nacional, Castelao, and others. As Luis Gaspar of Adega Coop. de Borba told us, "Portuguese winemakers don't do single varietal wines--they prefer to make blends of the best of the various varietals."

The Adega Coop. de Borba, founded in 1955, was the first wine cooperative in the Alentejo, and today it consists of 300 members--many of them tiny, family-run vineyards. Recently, grants from the European Union have allowed the cooperative's winemakers to utilize new technologies and improve the quality and consistency of the wines. As a result, Wine Spectator rated a wine from Borba for the very first time: Adegaborba.pt White 2008 (which retails for $8 a bottle) was awarded 87 points.


I can recommend three bottles I tasted myself--all of them usually available locally at Prospect Liquor in Inman Square, as well as Kappy's and Yankee Spirits outside the city.

• Adega Coop. Borba Reserva Red 2005 (~$10-15) Look for the classic cork label (made from actual cork) that has graced this bottle since 1955. In Portugal, people associate this label with the Reserva wine's full flavor and aroma.

• Adegaborba.pt Reserva Red 2004 (~$10) A more modern and very aromatic wine made from a blend of Trincadeira, Alicante Bouschet, and Cabernet Sauvignon.
  

• Adega Coop. Borba Garrafeira Red 2002 (~$20-25) This more expensive wine is only produced in years in which the grapes are exceptional, and its flavor is complex, with hints of spice.
  

Homemade applesauce

Nothing reminds me of my mom more than making applesauce at home. First, because it was a staple of our family dinners growing up. My mom would plan our meals based on a color-code she learned in Home Ec class: one protein; one white (rice, potatoes); and one bright color (green, say for salad, purple for beets, or the vibrant pink of homemade applesauce). And second, because she gave me the food mill I now use to press apples in my own kitchen. And third, because she's right when she says that homemade applesauce is one of the most simple yet utterly satisfying foods you can make.


All it requires is buying a bag of McIntosh apples (or picking them yourself, if you're farm-ish), quartering them with a knife (leaving skins, seeds, stems attached, no fuss) and putting them into a sautee pot along with about a 1/2 cup of water. Cover with a lid, and turn the heat up to about medium, then putter about for ten minutes or so, checking on the apples every now and then to see if they've gotten soft and the skin has started to pull away. Once they start to look as though you could mash the flesh with a fork, the apples are ready. You'll simply drain away most of the water, then dump the apples into your food mill and spin like mad until as much of that sweet flesh (but none of the skins, etc) as possible presses through to the bowl beneath. And that's it, my friends.


The sauce you're left with won't really resemble anything that comes from a jar. You won't need to add brown sugar or cinnamon, but you can. Either way, it will be warm and delicious, and it will taste like God's own food.