Pear crostata with cardamom

May I confess something to you?

I'm not much of a pear person. But it took me a long time to realize it.

I had a friend in high school who claimed early on that she thought pears were a disappointing fruit. Unlike a good apple, she said, when they're crisp they're absolutely inedible and likely to give you a stomach ache. But within a very brief period they become soft, bruised, and mushy. If you don't happen to be home and staring at your basket of pears during this critical window, which I am convinced lasts about 10 minutes, forget it.

So, after many years of eating pears as a child, as an adult I finally figured out I don't care for them all that much. I do appreciate the beauty of pears, though, particularly these stunning starkrimson ones we got in the produce box recently. Don't they look heavenly?

Since I don't care for them raw, I figured baking them into a sweet pastry was the way to go.

A few years ago I discovered this recipe which is simple and foolproof. The crust turns out perfectly buttery and flaky, and because it's free form, you don't have to worry about having the pastry skills of a kindergartener. This is great news for those of us who handle dough like monkeys. Really, when I make pie and tart crusts, I'm more like an angry monkey, because I get so frustrated with it sticking and ripping that I often find myself abusing the dough quite terribly. I think pastry brings out the temper in me.

Anyhow, I've made many different fillings for this crostata and swapped out various spices to enhance the chosen fruit. This time, I chose cardamom to go with the pears.

Have we discussed cardamom, and how I love, love, love it? I discovered it in high school when my family and I went to Sweden and Finland to find some long lost relatives. In addition to finding a few distant cousins, we also discovered sweet, spicy, gingery cardamom, which seemed to perfume most of the baked goods we ate while traveling, from coffee cakes to simple rolls to berry pies. Ever since then, I've had a deep love of cardamom, but I find it doesn't go with everything.

It does go with pears, though.

I'd like to find some savory uses for cardamom, but in the meantime, a pear crostata works just fine. And like many other fruit pies or tarts, if you serve it with vanilla ice cream it's a wonderful dessert worthy of guests, but with coffee makes a delicate, sweet, and slightly decadent breakfast just for one.

Pumpkin, two ways

I know it's not original, but I really do love pumpkin this time of year. I've come across all kinds of glorious recipes for pumpkin recently, including pumpkin cake, pumpkin bars, and pumpkin ice cream, all of which have my mind spinning in an orangey blur. So when an adorable Sugar Pie Pumpkin arrived in our produce box last week, I thought long and hard about what to do with it.

By the way, isn't "Sugar Pie Pumpkin" the cutest name ever? I mean, if you don't want to eat something called Sugar Pie, you need to get your head checked.

Sometimes I spend a lot of time mulling over what to do with a particular ingredient, only to use it on a whim, which is what happened to my little Sugar Pie one night recently when we found ourselves without a dinner plan. All of a sudden my agony over pumpkin whoopie pies v. pork and pumpkin stew, in honor of one of my favorite dishes at Burma Superstar, vanished into thin air. Before I knew it, I was flying around the kitchen like a little witch, chopping squash, covering the other hungry dog in a light dusting of garam masala, and rooting around for my immersion blender.

Turns out curried pumpkin soup isn't bad for a quick weeknight dinner. It's certainly not fancy, nor is it particularly photogenic, as is evidenced below, but it hits the spot on a cool night. Serve it with a dollop of sour cream and a few snipped chives, plus crispy croutons or some good bread.

I also had some canned pumpkin burning a hole in my, uh, pantry. I think we can all admit that canned pumpkin is up there with frozen spinach when we're talking about the greatest convenience foods. Someone else has done all the hard work so that all we have to do is open a can or defrost a box. Canned pumpkin lends great moisture to any baked good and can take a lot of flavors.

Normally I make pumpkin cranberry bread, but having recently made something similar, I nixed the berries, bulked up the powdered ginger, and added a hefty grating of fresh ginger root.

Gingery pumpkin bread is a nice way to start the day. It's not too sweet and has a lot of spice, and it goes well with coffee or tea. I ate it plain, just cut into thick golden slices, but I think it would be delicious cut a bit thinner, toasted, and served with an orange marmalade or quince jam.

What have you been doing with pumpkin recently, besides carving jack-o-lanterns?

The bestseller

Every cook has in their repertoire a few dishes that are surefire hits, or bestsellers, as my dad would say. These are recipes you can practically put together blindfolded, homey enough just for the family but special enough to serve to guests. You know, the ones everyone gushes over, thinking you slaved away for hours, when really you just made something you've made a hundred times before, something you put together while intermittently checking your email, playing tag with the dog (yes, we do that), and talking on the phone with your sister.

I've found that most of my recipes that fit this bill are traditional comfort food with universal appeal, like pot roast and chicken with rosemary. And then there's my ace in the hole, baked ziti.

Everyone loves this dish. I can't tell you how many times I've made it, or how many times I've given away the recipe. It's great for company, because you can assemble it ahead of time and bake it off when your guests arrive. It's also unfailingly reliable. And who can resist a bubbling tray of cheesy, tomato-y baked pasta, full of sweet Italian sausage and oregano? With a crisp salad and a bottle of wine, dinner is done.

I mentioned this dish once before, although that post was mostly a love letter to San Marzano tomatoes. And I didn't post the recipe, or any photos. Since I made it last weekend, I decided to do a proper post

I got the recipe from the Chronicle about six years ago, during the age of "The Sopranos," when TV critics and foodies (and one Soprano-obsessed Hungry Dog) were snickering about gabagool and salivating at the thought of Carmela's ricotta pie. In fact, this recipe is called Baked Ziti, Soprano-Style.

While "The Sopranos" is long over, I'll always be grateful that someone came up with this recipe and that I happened to spy it in the paper. It's a bestseller, no question about it. I've made it countless times and always with stellar results. Get past the silly name, and you'll be rewarded with a fabulous new go-to recipe to add to your collection, one that will satisfy your cravings for cold-weather comfort food while duly impressing your guests.

BAKED ZITI WITH FENNEL SAUSAGE, SOPRANO-STYLE
from the San Franciso Chronicle

1/4 c. olive oil
1 lb. Italian fennel sausage (or other sweet Italian sausage)
1 large onion, finely chopped
1-2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Kosher salt and pepper to taste
1/3 c. dry red wine
1 (35 oz.) can canned tomatoes, chopped with their juices
1/4 c. fresh oregano OR 2 T. dried oregano
1 c. fresh ricotta
1 c. grated parmesan
1/3 c. chopped Italian parsley
1 lb ziti or penne
1/2 lb mozzarella, preferably fresh, torn or sliced

Preheat the oven to 425. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Grease a 9 x 13 baking dish with about 1 T. olive oil. Remove sausage from its casing and crumble. Set aside.

Heat remaining 3 T. oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until translucent. Turn up heat to medium high and add sausage; brown for about 6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 1-2 minutes longer. Season with salt and pepper. Pour off and discard most of the fat in the pan*. Add the wine and let it reduce for about 6 minutes or until it is almost gone.

Add the tomatoes and their juices and cook over medium heat for about 10 minutes. When the sauce begins to thicken, add the oregano and stir well. Season to taste again. Turn off heat.

Combine the ricotta, half the parmesan, and the parsley in a large bowl. Season with salt and pepper.

Cook pasta until al dente (do not cook completely). Drain well, reserving about 1/4 c. of the cooking water. Toss pasta with ricotta mixture. Toss again with the tomato and sausage sauce. If the mixture appears dry, add a splash of the reserved cooking water.

Pour the mixture into the baking dish, sprinkle with remaining parmesan, and dot with mozzarella. Bake 15-20 minutes, or until the top is nicely browned. (Often I'll set it under the broiler for 1-2 minutes).

Serves 4-6.
*I don’t usually have to do this, since the sausage I get is fairly lean.