Christmas test run: Alice Waters's potato gratin

This year, we'll be hosting Christmas dinner for my mother and some friends. I've been assembling the menu in my mind, looking for the perfect balance of festive and simple, trying to pick things that will be delicious but not cause me too much stress. So far, I've decided on a roast pork loin with fig sauce and a potato gratin.

I've made gratins before, mostly with success, but with some mishaps, including a few that turned out too liquidy or not cooked all the way through. Over the weekend, I combed through my recipes and figured doing a test run might not be a bad idea.

When looking for a simple, perfect treatment for vegetables, turning to Alice Waters seems natural. Last year, the husband gave me her cookbook, The Art of Simple Food. For some reason, I haven't cooked a lot from it--I'm not sure why.

I liked the sound of her potato gratin, which called for the following short list of ingredients: Yukon gold potatoes, milk, butter, salt and pepper. You can't get much simpler than that.

She suggested some ways to jazz it up a little, which I did. I rubbed the baking pan with a clove of garlic, and added thyme and grated parmesan between the layers.

Now, about the potatoes.

Four years ago, we received a mandoline as a wedding gift. Since May of 2005, this lovely and thoughtful gift has sat in its little box and stared at me, threatening to slice my fingers to shreds. It took until last weekend for me to risk it.

What's my problem? you ask. I'm a scaredy cat dog.

In my defense, shortly after we got married, I sustained a traumatic kitchen injury resulting in a trip to urgent care, and had to bumble around with a cumbersome bandage over my left hand for a few weeks. It took me a year to use that Globe knife again (also a wedding gift), which had proved to be very sharp indeed. Trying out another tool that came with all kinds of warning labels did not seem appealing.

Anyhow, I finally braved the mandoline, and what do you know, if you use the safety guard and go slow, it's really not that terrifying. It sliced the potatoes into delicate, thin slices, which I spread out in ruffly layers in my beloved Emile Henry baking pan.

The gratin turned out perfectly golden, with crispy edges, smelling of woodsy thyme and parmesan.

Inside, it was soft and creamy, the potatoes perfectly cooked. Success!

Now, to figure out dessert.

Alice Waters's Potato Gratin

adapted from The Art of Simple Food

4 large Yukon gold potatoes (about 1 1/2 lbs), sliced about 1/16"

1 cup of milk (I used whole)

3 T. butter, cut into pieces, plus a little more for greasing the pan

1 clove of garlic, peeled and cut in half

fresh thyme, parmesan, salt and pepper, all to your taste

Preheat the oven to 350.

Rub a 9x12 baking pan with the garlic, then grease with butter.

Spread one layer of potatoes over the bottom, sprinkle salt, pepper, thyme, and parmesan over, and repeat. Do not exceed three layers. Pour the milk over the top, so that the milk comes to the bottom of the top layer of potatoes. Add more if necessary. Dot with butter and sprinkle with more parmesan. Bake for 30 minutes. At this point, press down on the gratin with a spatula to make sure the milk is reaching all the potatoes. Bake for another 30 minutes, or until browned and bubbling. If you'd like (I did), add a little extra parmesan to the last 15 minutes of baking. Let sit for 5-10 minutes after removing from the oven.

Jammy apricot crumb cake

A week or two ago, I was running some errands in Noe Valley and noticed that the old pizza place we liked when we lived there was gone. Not only was it gone, but a Boulange de Noe had popped up in its place. 

I was sad about the pizza place, but I do like these boulangeries that dot the city. There's one in my neighborhood, Cole Valley, as well as one on Hayes and one on Fillmore, and I think a few others as well.

I happened to need some bread so stopped to pick up a quarter loaf of their multigrain levain, which makes excellent toast. The bakery had the happy hum of people at ease on Saturday morning: couples enjoying the newspaper with big bowls of cafe latte, mothers buttering rolls for children, and people like me, spontaneously picking up something delicious to bring back home.

The line was long, and while I waited I admired the lovely pastries and breads. When I got up to the register with my levain, I noticed little jars of brightly-hued homemade preserves. There was mission fig, raspberry, and apricot. On an impulse, I decided to buy the apricot. It looked cheery and rustic in its little jar.

I ate it on toast a few times, enjoying the tangy sweetness. Then, yesterday morning, a rainy Sunday, I decided to use it in this simple crumb cake I'd made once before with raspberry preserves.

I'm not sure whether I prefer apricots over raspberries, or, more likely, that the quality of the boulangerie's apricot jam was superior to the raspberry jam from Trader Joe's. All I know is that this cake was light and tender and not overly sweet, with a perfect jammy layer of apricots nestled under a cinnamon and brown sugar crumble.

The husband and I inhaled two rather large pieces, warm from the oven, without uttering a word.

This is a great recipe to keep on hand. You could use any kind of preserves or jam, and the batter is incredibly simple to throw together. No need to have softened butter ready or to pull out the hand mixer: this one comes together with a whisk and a spoon. Perfect for a lazy Sunday morning.

Creamy butternut squash soup with a side of...

Here's a weeknight dinner you're all probably familiar with, especially those of you with immersion blenders: the pureed soup. While the husband is only marginally interested in them (he craves more texture), these soups are a cook's best friend. You can make them out of nearly anything, use up all kinds of vegetables, use broth or water, add cream or don't, etc. See where I'm going with this? You can always make a delicious, creamy soup with what you've got on hand.

What I had on hand recently was a couple of small butternut squash, some leeks, sage, and (don't tell the husband) some fennel. He's not much for fennel but we often get it in the produce box, so I hide it in soups and he's none the wiser. Guess we'll find out if he's actually reading this blog.

Had I been a bit less lazy I might have fried up the sage leaves, but "short cut" is my middle name.

Looks pretty good, right?

"Hey, Hungry Dog," you're saying, "what's that next to your bowl of soup?"

Oh, just some cornbread...with ham.

Yeah. Ham. Check it out. Cornbread is a bestseller no matter what; add some ham, as my friend Irma Rombauer suggested, and you've really outdone yourself.

I love how cornbread has that nubby texture. Do you know what I mean? It's gritty but in a good way. Last night I was wishing I had some canned corn on hand so I could surprise the husband with the cornbread of his childhood, which he lovingly refers to as "corny cornbread." Yep. But, I don't think I've ever bought a can of corn in my life. I do, however, often have Niman Ranch ham lying around. And since Irma suggested it...

I baked it in a cast iron skillet, which gave the bread a nice crispy edge.

It was a delicious accompaniment to the pretty orange soup, which we held in warm bowls over our laps while watching the finale of "Top Chef." Not to run off on a tangent, but wasn't that the best season ever? I wanted Kevin to win, so was a little disappointed, but Michael was clearly an excellent chef, so it wasn't as traumatic as when Hosea the Cheater won last year, or that idiot Ilan from season two. 

So, do a quick inventory of your fridge and pantry, and I guarantee you'll find you have the makings of a beautiful, seasonal soup. And if you've got some cornmeal on hand, you can whip up a little batch of (ham) cornbread to go with.