Lemon Limoncello Ricotta Mousse

A QUIET CELEBRATION

New Year's eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights. 

- Hamilton Wright Mabie 

A quiet night in, just the two of us. The coffee table is spread with a festive cloth, candles lit and wine glasses placed next to plates and the best cutlery. Corks are popped and glasses filled, a time to toast our new year. JP has spent the afternoon making a traditional potée, slow-cooked potatoes, carrots, cabbage and sausages until tender and savory, leaving behind a wonderful, flavorful, warming broth to sip before the meal is served. A great Muscadet from La Domaine le Fay d'Homme has been chilled and we snuggle up together for a cozy, quiet celebration. The following day, the first day of the new year, may be gray and dreary, the drizzle of rain tapping delicately against the window panes, but the traditional New Year’s Day boudin blanc (white sausage) with apples which have been cooked and caramelized until tender is served for lunch and has added a certain brightness, something festive to the day.


Since the Edict of Roussillon was written and signed in 1564 when Charles IX officially selected and set January 1st as New Year’s Day, the French have been celebrating this day with family and close friends. La fête du réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre, New Year’s Eve and the night of Saint Sylvester, was a joyous festive celebration, bringing together, merging many traditions from many cultures.

Mistletoe has been hung since the time of the druids when it was said to bring good luck and kissing under the mistletoe – on New Year’s Eve, not at Christmas – promised sentimental happiness. I saw my first mistletoe at the market, at the flower stalls, gorgeous branches ballooned out like debutants’ gowns as they hung head down, tied to metal bars with string, lovely faded white beads clinging between the green, not at Christmas but just before the New Year. “Mistletoe?” I asked. “Yes. In France we hang the mistletoe on New Year’s Eve, not at Christmas” JP explained. (How is it in 26 years of living here I never knew this?). “Will you kiss me?” I asked, as I leaned in towards the branches and puckered. “It isn’t New Year’s Eve yet,” he responded as he turned his back and walked away.

It has long been a time to give small gifts, sweets or coins to children, a practice that over the years has extended to the concierge, the postman, the firemen, echoing the centuries- old practice of offering good luck charms and then food, clothing or money in Roman times. I wonder why we have not yet received our visit from the local firemen, offering their choice of calendars with the images of chalets in the snow and kittens posing next to vases of daisies for “purchase”? 

Of course, the most widespread traditions for seeing in the New Year have to do with food! New Year’s Eve is celebrated with the Feast of Saint Sylvestre, organized in abundance and joy! Oysters, smoked salmon on blinis and wedges of foie gras sweetened with a dab of onion confit or jam, pear chutney or another sweet and sour accompaniment are all well known New Year’s specialties enjoyed by the French, celebratory each one. From there, some eat turkey with chestnuts, others boudin blanc, white sausage with caramelized apples, others choose something completely different as we did, choosing pure comfort food in the form of a potée.

A little bit of Christmas cheer in Nantes.

And the joy then traditionally overflows on a wave of warmth and alluring scents from the feasts within out into the streets where folks will spread good cheer, joy and wishes for a Happy New Year to the sound of car horns and under the lights of fireworks. And be woken up in the wee hours of the morning by the snap of the front door as son tiptoes home and the drunken wailing and singing of joyous revelers in the streets below.

The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year. 

It is that we should have a new soul. 

- G. K. Chesterton 

In 26 years of being together, JP and I have gone to one single New Year’s Eve party. It was the first year that we were a couple, the December before we married. We traveled into the city to attend the party thrown by an acquaintance, a friend of a friend. We arrived and pushed our way through the crowd, a jumble of people gathered together to chatter excitedly about nothing, laugh loudly, show off and drop names, or so it seemed to the two of us. The artsy fartsy crowd. We sipped Champagne as we were jostled this way and that, the music deafening, the mob rowdy, and all we wanted to be was alone. And so after a short stay, a few hellos, and well before midnight, we slipped quietly out and sped home, to see in the New Year in each other’s arms.

Since that December 31st all of those many years ago, spending the evening alone, just the two – or the four of us, as the case may be - has been a tradition, our New Year’s Eve tradition, allowing us to celebrate just as we like it: quietly, peacefully and in each other’s arms. Early that morning, we stroll over to the market (trying to beat the crowds) and, skirting in and out among those lined up at the fruit stalls or pressed against the chill case of capons and duck or foie gras, we purchase paper-thin slices of smoked salmon, wedges of cheese, tome, comté and camembert, hors d’oeuvres of stuffed olives, tiny marinated artichokes, goat cheese wrapped in papery, smoky strips of speck and a platterful of oysters straight from the Brittany coast, picking up a dense, chewy loaf of brown bread on the way home. Son will arrive later with a press of foie gras and a jar of onion confit, sweet and savory, and we dress our table in finery, turn on a movie and ring in the New Year.

A little Christmas sparkle in Nantes.

And six days later, on Epiphany, we will all cut into a homemade galette des rois that I have filled with traditional frangipane, or maybe apple purée or sweet pastry cream, the puff pastry a deep golden brown, shattering at the first press of the knife, flicking bits all over the tabletop, all over our laps, all over the carpet. One of us will discover the fève, the tiny ceramic charm, in his or her slice, earning the title of King or Queen and the honor of wearing the paper crown on his or her head for the rest of the day.

Following a warming, hearty potée, one must finish the meal and the evening on a cool, light note. I concocted a lusciously light lemon mousse using the ricotta I had in the refrigerator. I kept both the sweetness and the tartness to a minimum, but feel free to increase either with the addition of more sugar and/or more lemon juice. Mound in tiny pre-baked pastry shells or add a ring of homemade ladyfingers or lemon sponge to create a beautiful charlotte. Something this simple to make and light and delicious and the possibilities are endless.

LEMON LIMONCELLO RICOTTA MOUSSE
Serves 4 – 6

1 cup (250 g) ricotta cheese, drained if wet
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of ½ lemon and more to taste
1 Tbs limoncello, optional
3 Tbs powdered/icing sugar and more to taste
¼ - 1/3 cup (100 ml) cold heavy whipped cream
1 egg white (for body)

Beat or whisk the ricotta with the lemon zest, lemon juice, limoncello and 2 tablespoons powdered sugar until smooth and creamy. Beat the cold heavy whipping cream until thick and soft peaks hold. Gently and delicately fold into the ricotta mixture.

Using clean beaters in a clean bowl (I prefer a plastic bowl for beating whites), beat the egg whites until opaque; add one more tablespoon of the powdered/icing sugar and beat until peaks hold. Gently and delicately fold into the ricotta-cream mixture until well blended. Do not overfold as the mousse should be light and creamy. Taste and add more sugar and/or more lemon juice as desired, to taste.

Divide into glasses, verrines, cups or even wine glasses or Champagne flutes and chill until ready to serve, at least an hour.

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Passover Lemon Almond Sponge Cake with Warm Lemon Sauce

PASSOVER

My parents were the model of discreetness. Social, well-known and very involved with our local synagogue, family mealtimes were nonetheless private affairs, the six of us finding ourselves around the dinner table every night without guests, friends, family or company of any sort. The food was plentiful but plain, a mix of Russian Jewish cooking, all-American meat-and-potatoes cuisine and 1970’s convenience foods. The holidays in our home followed form and were low-key and simple, never much hoopla or decoration, rarely a lot of special cooking or baking filling our home with culinary memories.

Passover was the exception. The Jewish festival, joyous in its commemoration of the Jews’ exodus from slavery in Egypt towards the Promised Land, was a treat because we went to celebrate – and eat – at the Rosenberg’s house. Mrs. Rosenberg was the Jewish Mama extraordinaire, overseeing her kosher kitchen and her family with love, tradition, an iron fist and a huge personality. And her cooking was everything that my own mother’s was not: extraordinary and delicious! Her Apple-Noodle Kugel warm from the oven, dense and just sweet with a crisp cinnamon-sugar topping, was my ultimate comfort food; I loved it so much that she made a huge baking pan of it just for me as a special Bat Mitzvah gift! She was a legendary cook in our small Jewish community, so spending Passover at her home was sure to mean a fabulous meal, an event looked forward to eagerly by a happy eater such as I.

A dinner with family and relatives.

The rules concerning what is to be eaten and, more importantly, what cannot be eaten by Jews for the duration of the 8-day festival is extremely strict. Jews are forbidden to eat chometz, any food containing barley, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. No leavening is allowed. The interdiction of these ingredients symbolizes the fact that the Hebrews had no time to either wait for these five grains to grow or to let their baked bread rise as they made a hurried escape from Egypt. Ashkenazi Jews, whose origins are in Europe, also avoid eating corn, rice, peanuts, and legumes while the Sephardi Jews of Northern Africa and Spain do permit them. The days leading up to the holiday thus consist of an intense and thorough cleaning of one’s home in order to rid even the tiniest trace of each and every one of these foods. Followed, of course, by the cooking and baking of dishes and baked goods specific to and allowed during the holiday.

The first night – and for many the second night as well – of Passover is observed with a very traditional and festive ceremonial meal called a Seder at which the story of the exodus is read aloud. The meal follows a very specific order and is a combination of rituals and symbolic foods; food and the rituals surrounding the preparation and eating of meals are intertwined with each and every Jewish holiday, yet none more so than Passover. The meal, the food placed on the table during the reading of the story and the story itself are woven together and intimately connected. In the center of the table is placed a beautiful, decorative plate holding six symbols necessary to the retelling of the story: maror and chazaret, the bitter herbs, normally horseradish, symbolizing the bitterness and harshness of slavery; zeroa or a roasted lamb shank or bone, symbolizing the Paschal sacrificial lamb that was offered in the great Temple in Jerusalem; charoset, usually a brownish-red mixture of nuts, apples, ground cinnamon and red wine representing the mortar the slaves used to build the Pyramids in Ancient Egypt; karpas such as celery, parsley or lettuce to be dipped into salt water representing the tears of the slaves, the dipping process symbolizing hope and redemption; beitzah, a roasted egg, both a symbol of mourning for the destruction of the Temple as well as a symbol of Spring and thus renewal.

The seventh symbol and the most well-known food of Passover is the matzoh, a special unleavened flatbread of Passover-friendly flour and water which is not only symbolic of our escape from slavery and the 40 years spent wandering through the wilderness, but it is eaten as a reminder of what we were running from, a life of slavery and poverty thus inspiring humility and the true appreciation of our freedom. A plate covered with a decorative cloth holding a stack of three matzot is placed on the Seder table next to the Seder plate, each one playing a very specific role during the meal. And finally, the last symbol, near the Seder plate and the matzoh, is placed Elijah’s cup filled with wine; this is for the Prophet Elijah whose visit is said to precede the coming of the Messiah.

This year, I actually made my own homemade matzoh following this wonderful recipe on Leite’s Culinaria. Easy and quite a lot of fun, it made matzoh, while not looking like the boxed we are used to, was absolutely so delicious that even my men who dislike matzoh with a passion, have been enjoying it immensely! Even if you do not celebrate Passover, these make fabulous crispy, thin crackers perfect for dip!

Mrs. Rosenberg’s holiday meal – her Passover Seder - would invariably begin with a bowl of homemade chicken soup with hand-shaped matzoh balls, always inspiring hours of debate over the quality of firm versus fluffy matzoh balls, followed by her magnificent brisket, a rich, root-vegetable-laden beef stew. The brisket would be served with matzoh farfel kugel, a seasoned savory baked pudding made with crushed matzoh, matzoh meal, onions and eggs as well as green vegetables, mashed potatoes and homemade Kaiser rolls, matzoh meal replacing the flour. Dessert was a traditional Passover sponge cake and a luxurious dried fruit compote, long-simmered prunes, apricots and raisins. A traditional feast filled with traditional foods found on so many Passover tables across the country. We would all joyously sing and laugh throughout the meal, the children waiting impatiently for the search for the Afikomen, the middle matzoh of the stack on the holiday table, which was hidden during the meal by Mr. Rosenberg and inspiring an animated search by the youngsters, the winner receiving a small gift, usually a fifty-cent piece.

Cooking and eating during Passover is a meticulous, studied affair, and many of us go out of our way to prepare special foods. Those Passover meals have left a warm memory and following in Mrs. Rosenberg’s culinary footsteps is never easy. Every year as this holiday approaches, I scour a multitude of cookbooks old and new for Passover-friendly recipes – flour and wheat products, grains and leavening agents are all forbidden. There is no way that I can go eight days without sweets in the house! As my own mother was not a baker, I grew up eating canned coconut macaroons and jelly smeared on matzoh to soothe my sweet tooth. All grown up, I spend quite a bit of time every year researching recipes and baking. This year, I was determined to create a cake that one-ups the old-fashioned, traditional Passover sponge cake, that inimitable standby, that emblematic myth of the holiday. Usually dry. Usually flavorless. A risky choice.

I scoured old cookbooks, played around with a few recipes, found a box of potato flour in my grocery store as I realized that all of my boxes of matzoh meal and matzoh flour had disappeared in the move. I had already made the Lemon Sauce and wanted something to accompany that smooth, luscious, tangy sauce. Lemons, almonds and a splash of vanilla. And I got beating! Egg whites, that is.

The cake was perfect! It rose to dizzying heights! Light and fluffy like a great Passover sponge cake, the ground almonds, nonetheless, produced a sponge denser and moister than average. The lemon and almond flavors were delicate yet present and the beautiful, smooth, tangy Lemon Sauce complimented it all to perfection. Whether for Passover or any other time of the year, this cake deserves a celebration!

Other festive Passover – but not only – sweets from Life’s a Feast:

Chocolate Almond Torte

Strawberry Mascarpone Cheesecake

Chocolate Espresso Pecan Torte

Chocolate Chestnut Fondant (omit the flour)






For more fabulous Passover recipes, visit these favorite blogs: Labna & Food Wanderings

PASSOVER LEMON ALMOND SPONGE CAKE With Warm Lemon Sauce

4 large eggs, separated
1 cup sugar
Finely grated zest and juice from ½ lemon, preferably organic or untreated
¼ tsp vanilla extract
½ cup ground almonds
½ cup potato flour
Pinch salt + few drops lemon juice for whites
Handful slivered blanched almonds to decorate, optional

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Have ready a springform pan – I used a 7 ¼ inch-diameter x 4 inch-high springform but a regular 8-inch pan is fine, too.

Separate the eggs; place the yolks in a large mixing bowl and the whites in a medium bowl, preferably plastic or metal. Add a pinch salt and a few drops lemon juice to the whites and set aside.

Using an electric mixer, beat the egg yolks for a couple of minutes until thick and pale. Add the sugar and continue beating until thick and creamy. Beat in the zest and juice of ½ a lemon and the vanilla extract until well blended and thick. Quickly beat in the ground almonds.

Using very clean beaters, beat the egg whites on low speed for 30 seconds, then increase the speed to high; beat the whites until thick, glossy and peaks hold. Do not overbeat until the whites are dry. Using a spatula, gently but firmly fold the stiff whites into the lemon almond cake batter in 3 additions. Fold in the potato flour with the third addition of the whites in order to avoid overworking the batter. Fold in the whites just until all the lumps of white have disappeared.

Gently pour the batter into the springform pan. Dust with a couple of tablespoons slivered almonds.

Bake in the preheated oven 30 – 45 minutes, depending on your oven and pan size. The cake is done when puffed, set and golden. Gently press on the top of the cake and it should feel set, much like an angel or sponge cake. A tester inserted in the center should come out dry.

Remove the pan from the oven onto a cooling rack and allow to cool before unmolding. Carefully run a long, thin blade around the sides to loosen the cake while still warm.

Serve the Lemon Almond Cake with Warm Lemon Sauce.

WARM LEMON SAUCE

2 cups water
1 cup sugar
Finely grated zest and juice from 1 lemon, preferably organic or untreated
2 Tbs cornstarch or potato starch (for Passover)
2 Tbs butter, cubed and softened 

Bring the water to a boil.

Sift the cornstarch or potato starch into the sugar in a medium heatproof bowl and stir. Whisk in the boiling water then, when smooth, return to the pan and continue cooking over low heat, whisking or stirring, for 8 to 10 minutes until thickened to the consistency of a sauce. Whisk in the lemon zest and juice. Remove from the heat and whisk in the butter a cube at a time until the buttered is melted and incorporated and the mixture is smooth. Strain through a mesh strainer if necessary. Store in a jar in the refrigerator; to reheat, simply put the gelled sauce in a saucepan and heat very gently over low, stirring or whisking constantly, until pouring consistency (not too runny) and warm. Strain.

Serve warm.

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JP’S MOROCCAN PRESERVED LEMON & OLIVE CHICKEN TAGINE

TAGINE DE POULET AUX CITRONS CONFITS ET OLIVES

Life is either a great adventure or nothing. 

– Helen Keller 

Some children are just born for adventure, have it in their blood, jump into new undertakings with both feet, laughing out loud. Clem was this child, courageous and curious. Happily dipping into a ditch, river or lake with both hands, a net or a fishing rod, buckets of snails or tadpoles or frogs found their way back home. Ever fearless, he tromped through woods, fields, beaches looking for animals, treasures, mushrooms, waltzed through museums and monuments, up dizzying tower staircases, boarded airplanes all alone which would take him flying off to far-away lands when he was all but a tiny four-year-old surrounded by strangers. And at ten, he and his father giddily prepared their backpacks for their newest adventure, a trekking holiday through the Moroccan desert.

I was knee-deep in researching my genealogy and vacationed in New York every chance I could get, spending my days at the archives and evenings meeting relatives newly discovered and quizzing them about family. The particular summer in question found me boarding a plane to the States, Simon’s small 8-year-old fist firmly in my hand and JP and Clem heading south to Morocco. While I was skimming birth records, naturalization certificates and keeping a small boy calm with an endless supply of superhero figurines and slices of pizza, JP was showing Clem the Old Country, the place he fell in love with all those many years ago.

 Photo courtesy of JP

They spent a glorious week in hiking boots, kicking up sand, days under the burning sun, nights tucked up in sleeping bags under the inky star-lit sky. Huge communal tents were set up for lunches and dinners, two gentlemen preparing tagines and couscous, salads and fruits, fresh breads to see them through the days. Clem was in his element, buoyant and excited, rolling down hills, sliding down mountains on the seat of his pants, running instead of walking, always twenty five paces ahead of his father. Nothing tired him out, nothing slowed him down. Food was gulped down, tents were put up, our little boy could have extended his adventure for an added week and he would not have flinched. While the only other child in the group – the same age as ours – whined and complained, cursed and caused trouble, Clem enjoyed himself thoroughly. Clem lived every single moment to the fullest in great pleasure and delight.

 Photo courtesy of JP

But two days or three were spent alone with his father in Marrakech. Clem and JP stayed in tiny hostels, a place to stash their luggage and lay their heads at night. Days were spent exploring the city, the markets, the sites, sounds, odors and flavors of Morocco. JP was back in his old stomping grounds, a place he knows so well, a culture he loves. And nothing thrilled him more than sharing this with his son, imparting the joy, the pleasure and the knowledge of this magical city, this fascinating country. And the food! For their very first meal in Morocco together, Clem ordered a Chicken Tagine with preserved lemons and olives. A big, bold order for such a young man, a meal bursting with flavors, salty, tangy, exciting! But Clem had always been a great eater, a bold eater and he was afraid of nothing. Driven by his passion for eating and his adventurous spirit, his curiosity and the excitement of being in a strange new country all alone, man to man, with his dad, he ordered this new dish. And fell in love with it. And for those several days, both before and after the hike, every mealtime found him ordering the same dish, Tagine de Poulet aux Citrons Confits et Olives – Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives.

We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries 

every day with new experience and character. 

– Henry David Thoreau 

And once back home in the bosom of his family, our occasional jaunt to a Moroccan restaurant would find him perpetuating his far-away experience, titillating both taste buds and memories with the same dish, Tagine de Poulet aux Citrons Confits et Olives – Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives. And JP and I would smile at each other, understanding that that particular dish was not only infused with the bright flavors of olives, saffron and lemon, but with happy memories and that special father-son connection they shared in the sand.

And now, whenever JP decides to make this dish, we make sure Clem is there at the table with us and we smile… he may have forgotten that long ago trip to Morocco, that time spent exploring and dining out with his father, but we see that same ten year old, excited, talkative, adventurous, again and again, every time we serve this dish to him. Like magic.

JP makes this dish regularly with either chicken or fish. He cooks, as he says, au pif, by instinct, and any Tagine – any dish he makes – is adjusted as he goes along so the amount of liquid added, the cooking time, the amount of herbs or spices is all dependent upon taste and the immediate. The homey one-pot dishes he cooks usually are best prepared in advance, allowing the dish the time to sit, the sauce to thicken, the flavors to blend and meld and infuse the meat. Play around…. taste as you go. I have attempted to pin him down to specific amounts and cooking times, but do not be afraid to adjust as needed, to increase amounts to serve more people, to feel your way along the process. The basic directions are more than simple, and can be applied to almost any stew or tagine.

Find the inner child in you, kick up the adventure and enjoy.

TAGINE DE POULET AUX CITRONS CONFITS
Serves 4

Prepare the Tagine ahead of time to allow the chicken, once cooked, to sit for at least 20 minutes before reheating and serving.

1 chicken cut in pieces or 2 breast filets + 2 leg/thigh sections
½ preserved lemon (citron confit)
½ ladleful (a dozen or so) large purple olives
2 small onions, peeled, trimmed and finely chopped
1 clove garlic, peeled, trimmed and minced
Small potatoes, as many as desired for four people, peeled and cut into large cubes
1 small bouillon cube (stock cube)
½ tsp saffron powder, turmeric *
Salt and pepper

* One can also purchase yellow “saffron” powder in tiny sachets of individual portions; in France it is sold for making couscous, in Italy for making Risotto Milanese. Use one sachet or tiny packet for this Tagine.

Heat equal parts margarine and olive oil, not more than a tablespoon of each, in a large heavy-bottom pot or Dutch oven. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, until tender and golden. Add the chicken pieces and toss/turn to coat with the oil; cook until golden on all sides. Add the potatoes and toss to coat.

Add the saffron powder or turmeric and the salt and pepper, toss the chicken and potatoes until everything is uniformly yellow; add the stock cube, the olives, the half preserved lemon cut in two pieces and 1 bowl of water (about a cup to a cup and a half), cover the pot and allow to simmer for at least 20 minutes or until the chicken and potatoes are cooked through and tender. Toss the chicken and potatoes occasionally during the cooking and add a little bit of water if and when necessary, if the level of water gets too low.

Once cooked, turn off the pot and, leaving it covered, allow to sit and cool a bit, at least 20 minutes – this is a dish that can easily be prepared ahead of time. Before serving, place the Tagine back on a low heat and slowly bring to a simmer; allow to simmer for 10 to 20 minutes to allow the sauce to thicken while the chicken and potatoes heat through. If the sauce is too thick or has evaporated, add more water before simmering; if the sauce is too watery, simply allow it to cook down on a very low simmer until desired consistency.

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GREEK-STYLE PRESERVED LEMON CHICKEN WITH OLIVES

EVERYTHING IS CHANGED

The emotional wounds from Friday’s massacre in Newtown are still raw, the passions still vivid and red hot. Everything is changed and we will never be the same. Those of us who are parents may have been especially touched and now we hug our children just a little tighter before they leave for school in the morning, pull them a little closer each night as they return, exhausted from their active day. We study their every movement, listen to their slow, steady breathing, revel in their laughter and stare into the depths of their eyes, astonished at the life we have created. My sons are adults now, 22 and 24, yet they still are and always will be my babies and I still worry about them, am still astonished by their presence and still attempt to protect and coddle them, no matter how they protest.

The holidays have brought our older son home more often; he arrived on our doorstep almost every night of Hanukkah as the sun set to light the candles, exchange gifts and eat dinner as a family. I sit and watch my two sons, young men, eat pizza or cheese fondue with a man’s appetite and wonder how it is they grew up, tall, handsome, funny, smart. When did this happen? Our life as a family has often been a bumpy road, our sons’ teen years dotted with adolescent woes; we’ve struggled through tragedy and arguments, clothes stuffed in plastic garbage bags and tossed out onto the doorstep, and whatever else parenting brings into our lives. Yet when we actually think about it, when we pause and stare hard at our two sons, we really are thankful. We feel lucky that they have turned out so damn well.

In the wake of Friday’s horrendous tragedy, I do feel lucky – and, I will admit, relieved – each time they walk through the front door. Younger son goes out at night and I still lie awake or in a fitful sleep, waiting to hear the click of the front door, the sound of his step on the floor, the barking of the dog. Then and only then can I finally fall into peaceful slumber.

Many years ago, I was in a horrific car accident. If it wasn’t for the very quick reaction time of the driver of the car that plowed into me I would not have survived. Our sons were about 6 and 8 years old at the time. At the end of this harrowing, terrifying day spent on the side of the road and at the hospital for a battery of x-rays, my husband came and picked me up. Driving home side by side, each one of us lost in our own thoughts, the silence heavy between us, he finally turned to me and cried “Do you realize that you almost left me alone?! Left me to raise our two boys without you?!” We, he and I, have each lost a parent and I have lost a sibling, a dear brother and I know that no matter how much time passes, the wound remains deep and bleeding, the loss heavy, a gaping black hole of sadness. I simply cannot imagine losing a child. So, yes, the loss of those twenty children, mere babies, has cut many of us to the core. And we turn around and face our own children and feel very, very lucky.

And my older son came over to cook. For as much as husband and I both love to cook and as often as we do, our sons never really caught the cooking bug.* Maybe it is, as some would argue, because they never had to cook; the food was always on the table for them to enjoy. Or maybe, yes I will admit, that I scared the begeebees out of them whenever they tried. As my husband will freely tell you, I am not one to share the kitchen with. He sends me packing, refusing to even pull out ingredients and start chopping before I am well away and out of the kitchen. Ah, so I am a perfectionist; what do you want? I will also admit that I might have bit my poor son’s head off a few times this very night in question and I will search high and low for something to blame it on but I won’t bore you with that. Anyway, he came over to cook and not just any dish. No. For weeks he had been berating me, upbraiding me, ranting and complaining because he had offered me a Greek cookbook last Hanukkah, one entire year ago, and I had yet to make one single recipe from it. So he selected a recipe, a Greek-style Preserved Lemon Chicken with Olives, and offered to come over and help.

And so we did. Cook. Greek-Style Preserved Lemon Chicken with Olives packs a true flavor punch: tender chicken infused with the bright, sparkling flavor of lemon, lightly-caramelized onions offering a savory succulence and a handful of olives giving the dish a salty edge. And nothing could be easier! Brown the chicken, toss in the rest of the ingredients, allow to simmer and Bingo! A stunning dish. Simple enough to make with your children, no matter their age. And now one my own son can prepare in his own apartment for his friends.

And before he dropped by, I decided to make Spiral Feta-filled Rolls from the same book as a surprise. I will share this recipe with you on my next post.

So hug your children, spend as much extra time with them as a family and be happy. Maybe I'll cook with my son a little more often now.

* I will be fair. Clem, the older son, makes the absolute best damn Tiramisu on the planet. He also makes a mean Lemon Tart as well.

GREEK-STYLE PRESERVED LEMON CHICKEN WITH OLIVES
Adapted from Vefa’s Kitchen by Vefa Alexiadou – published in French by Phaidon

Serves 4 people

1 preserved lemon
1 fresh lemon
About 6 Tbs (40 g) flour seasoned with salt and pepper
1 chicken cut in pieces or 2 leg/thigh sections and 2 breasts
A few tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, trimmed, peeled and chopped
1 garlic clove, peeled and chopped
½ cup pitted green olives, soaked in cold water for about an hour
Finely grated zest of one lemon, optional
½ cup (125 ml) water
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice 

Cut the preserved lemon in half and then each half in 2 or 4 wedges. Place the seasoned flour in a plate or soup bowl. Pat the chicken pieces clean and dry.

Place a few tablespoons olive oil in a large, heavy pot with a lid and heat over medium to medium-high heat. When the oil is hot and a few drops of water spritzed onto the oil sizzle, dredge the chicken pieces in the seasoned flour and brown in the oil; you may have to do this in two or three batches as you do not want to crowd the chicken in the pot. Turn the pieces to brown well on each side; this could take 6 – 8 minutes per piece. Add more oil to the pot if needed.

As the chicken pieces are browned carefully lift them out of the pot and place on a plate.

When all of the chicken pieces are well browned and out of the pot, add the chopped onion and garlic to the pot and cook, stirring often, until tender and transparent, scraping up the dark bits from the bottom of the pot. Add the chicken pieces back to the pot and continue to cook for a few minutes, stirring, until the onion bits are beginning to brown around the edges. Add the wedges of preserved lemon, the zest if using and the water; drain the olives and add to the pot. Salt and pepper and bring just to the boil, reduce the heat, cover the pot and allow to simmer for 30 to 45 minutes or until the chicken is cooked through. Add a little more water during the cooking if needed.

When the chicken is cooked, remove the pot from the heat and add the lemon juice.

Serve immediately over mashed potatoes, couscous, mixed grains or pilaf.

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LEMON PECAN ALMOND QUICK BREAD

SOMETIMES YOU FEEL LIKE A NUT…. OR A SEED OR A GRAIN 

The entire population of Nantes must spend Saturdays at Ikea. We show up at 9:30 a.m. sharp as the doors open, and already we are pushing through a babbling, excited throng of young couples, pregnant women, retirees and families. They stroll through the aisles as they would an art museum, simply admiring and casually enjoying their day out, or so it seems; they gawk and point as if at the local zoo. We, on the other hand, are there for one reason, and one reason only: to buy a kitchen. And we mean business. Husband sprints ahead and I trail in his wake, jogging to keep up, weaving in and out of bins piled high with sheets and pillows, rows of beds and sofas just beckoning my shins, hoping to make contact, dangerous mountains of glassware and dishes. I skirt around screaming children who have dropped to the ground in a call for attention, bored and tired, as angry, insistent mothers grab them briskly by the arm and pull them up and along. Fathers and husbands push huge, unwieldy trolleys as wives pause to study potted plants, cutting boards and price tags. Couples discuss, debate, compromise, stopped dead in their tracks, oblivious to the rolling waves of humanity clogging the aisles, attempting to push past them, myself included. I spot my husband somewhere up ahead, his head bobbing up and down in a determined trot. What has brought this mass of mortals to leave their warm beds, their comfortable homes to come to this cold, harsh, crowded spot at this ungodly hour on a Saturday morning?

This will be the nième time, six or eight? that we have visited, perusing the demonstration kitchens, discussing, debating, deciding. We would arrive as a blitzkrieg, route mapped out, artillery at the ready to meet any challenge, face any confrontation as we barreled through the store, on the offensive and prepared for the onslaught of fellow clients and rubberneckers. We had no time or patience for sightseers; no, my husband’s credo, when it comes to Ikea, the supermarket or any other place of mass consumption where the hurly burly of society crowd together in droves, is in and out as quickly and efficiently as possible. Sadly, no schmoozing for me. So the kitchen was selected – under duress – in a minimum of time and number of visits. Then came the all-important working with the kitchen counselor. One stands in line, is given a number and is given an indication of the time one must wait for said appointment with counselor. They say one hour and in about two and a half as the store lights are dimmed, the crowd dramatically thins out and the other counselors begin bidding each other good night, we finally sit down at a computer to go over our design.

 Designs C. Dagneaux

The kitchen space in the new apartment is, to say the least, unusual, in that it doubles as the entry and foyer; one walks into the kitchen when entering the apartment. So son and husband put their very clever brains together and came up with the ideal design. Happily, husband and I agreed immediately on the color scheme and countertop. Then the flooring – the type and color – were debated and decided upon – and this took about four visits to Leroy Merlin, that incredible mecca of home improvement. Which, I will add, fills my husband with more joy than any visit to Ikea can inspire. We are rarely in a rush at Leroy Merlin unless, of course, I want to peruse the wallpaper or lighting fixtures. All deco-visiting is briskly nixed. Then paint is selected and we are pretty well on our way, at that humbling point of no return: the official purchase of a kitchen.

And this is what we did this weekend. List securely in hand, we tumbled into Ikea with the rest of Nantes and scurried directly to elbow our place in line to await the prized visit with the kitchen counselor. Of course, this would all be so much easier and less stressful if we had conferred the design, delivery and installation to a professional cuisinista, but no, architect son would have none of it. He had to design it, he had to select the elements and he had to build it. And he certainly created and executed a smashing design! He took care of the problem of kitchen/entryway with flying colors. He accompanied us repeatedly to oversee the choice of elements, arguing over our “taste” only occasionally. He sat with the counselor and went over the minutia of the design and the measurements until it was perfect. And he even found a charming muscleman with a truck to help us pick up, deliver and carry up four flights of stairs 800 kilos (1800 lbs) of boxes containing our precious kitchen!

And we went through all of that with only a few fights, a fistful of bruises, dozens of pizzas and take-away kabobs, and our marriage still intact.

And this morning, sun streaming into the chilly kitchen, we began….

I have actually found a few afternoons to bake. And as the first Monday of each and every month is the Twelve Loaves announcement, I had to slip out early, leaving the two men happily ensconced in construction. Happily, Simon ate the last four of the tiny Chocolate Cinnamon Bundts this afternoon, leaving me the freedom to create another homebaked goodie in its place. A Lemon Pecan Quick Bread with a Blueberry Swirl and topped with Almonds.

For our third Twelve Loaves challenge, Lora of Cake Duchess, Barb of Creative Culinary and I have decided that your homebaked bread – whether yeast bread, quick bread, pizza, scone or muffin or anything that can qualify as bread – must contain NUTS, SEEDS and GRAINS! That’s right, your bread must have either nuts, seeds or grains or a combination of 2 or all 3 involved in some form or another, one way or another.

I absolutely feel like a nut. My days, long and tiring, are spent renovating, building, painting and the little time I have left is usually dedicated to laundry, shopping, ironing and feeding my family. And walking my dog. Most days, my eyes are crossed from fatigue, my head is spinning, words tumble out of my mouth in a mishmash of nonsense and I can’t think straight. I have visions of hammers, paint cans and countertops dancing before my very eyes. So no yeast bread for me this month. Instead, I took a recipe from my Taste of Home Baking, a cookbook received as a Plate to Page workshop goodie bag treat from our wonderful sponsor Taste of Home, and twisted and turned it into what I have been craving, a luscious, lightly flavored Lemon Bread crunchy with chopped pecans, a swirl of wonderful Blueberry di Saronno jam from another fantastic Plate to Page sponsor, Sunchowder’s Emporia, and topped with slivered almonds. Dense, moist, lusciously lemon, the perfect little snack to get me going in the morning.

And as we wait for our new kitchen to be finished, as we watch it rise from the dust and cartons like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, I scratch and scrape together what I can, when I can and I simply hope that someone will eat it and enjoy it. But baking is in my soul, what soothes me and focuses me. And it is what I love offering my family. A little bit of myself.

So join Lora, Barb and I and make a bread from scratch for Twelve Loaves. This month’s theme is Nuts, Seeds and Grains!

All you have to do is follow the rules. It’s as easy as pie:

1. When you post your Twelve Loaves bread on your blog, make sure that you mention the Twelve Loaves challenge in your post and mention and link back to Lora, Barb and Jamie’s blogs (this post). Please make sure that your Bread is inspired by the theme NUTS, SEEDS AND GRAINS! This is obligatory if you would like your link to be included!

2. Please link your post to the linky tool at the bottom of Lora, Barb or Jamie’s blog. It must be a bread baked to the Twelve Loaves theme.

3. Feel free to promote the Twelve Loaves by proudly displaying the Twelve Loaves badge in your Twelve Loaves post as well as in your sidebar! It isn't mandatory but is a nice way to get the word out!

4. Have your Twelve Loaves bread posted on your blog and linked to ours by October 31, 2012.

Follow @TwelveLoaves on Twitter and #TwelveLoaves
Chat with your hostesses on Twitter: Jamie @lifesafeast Barb @CreativCulinary Lora @cakeduchess

LEMON PECAN BREAD with Blueberry Jam and Almonds
Adapted from Taste of Home Baking

½ cup (115 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
2 large eggs
2 cups (about 280 g) flour, spooned lightly in the cup and leveled with a knife
1 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
¾ cup sour cream (I used 0% fat fromage blanc)
1 tsp vanilla
1 lemon, zested and juiced
½ - 1 cup coarsely chopped pecans, as desired
2 Tbs blueberry jam (cherry would also be fabulous)
2 Tbs slivered blanched almonds

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Butter a 9 x 5-inch loaf pan generously. Line the bottom with parchment paper (this isn’t necessary but I find it makes turning out the bread much easier).

In a large mixing bowl, cream the butter with the sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time, adding the vanilla with the second egg. Finely grate the lemon zest and add the zest to the batter. Squeeze or add 2 tablespoons of the lemon juice to the batter.

Blend the flour, baking powder and salt together. Beat into the batter alternately with the sour cream, the flour in 3 additions and the sour cream in 2, beginning and ending with the dry ingredients.

Using a spatula, fold the pecans into the batter, scraping down the sides as needed, making sure the batter is well blended and smooth.

Pour/scrape the batter into the prepared pan and lightly spread to smooth. Spoon and dollop the jam or jelly in teaspoonfuls down the center of the cake batter. Gently swirl a long, thin knife blade back and forth through the jam, swirling it ever so slightly into the batter. Sprinkle the slivered almonds evenly over the top of the batter.

Bake the Lemon Pecan cake for 50 – 60 minutes or until puffed, golden brown and set in the center. A tester inserted in the center should come out clean. Remove the pan from the oven onto a cooling rack and allow to cool for 10 or 15 minutes before running a knife around the edges to loosen and turning out of the pan. Flip upright and allow to cool completely before slicing.

Nota bene: if you would like a sweeter, tangier bread, closer to a cake, simply stir ¼ cup (about 85 ml) lemon juice in a saucepan with ½ cup (100 g) granulated sugar and cook over medium-low heat until the sugar is dissolved. Spoon the lemon syrup over the cake while it is still in the loaf pan and allow to cool.

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