Pumpkin soup with red lentils and kaffir lime

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How do I love thee, pumpkin? Let me count the recipes.

Remember the six-pound can of pumpkin puree my husband brought home? The one that was bigger than my head? I spent all day last Sunday cooking with it. First I made pumpkin beef chili in the slow cooker, which we'll have for dinner tomorrow night (I try to work a few nights ahead). Then I baked pumpkin chocolate chip muffins, which have been quite a hit with the kids. I also made a pumpkin chocolate chip bundt cake to take to a party, but I had a little mishap when I turned it out of the pan: I spaced on the fact that it was a bundt and therefore did not have to be turned right-side-up, and it ended up in a million pieces. So I crumbled it into a bowl, sprinkled it with pear liqueur, layered it with whipped cream, and called it trifle. Lemons into lemonade.

Finally, I put up a big pot of this pumpkin soup with red lentils. I love the texture of red lentils, the way they melt into the background. The Thai spice paste and coconut milk work perfectly with the sweetness of the pumpkin - this is a warm, hearty, creamy soup that's healthy and satisfying. It's also vegan, if that matters to you.

As for the kaffir limes, they're worth seeking out at a Thai or south Asian market. They've got a very strong smell, almost soapy. Most recipes that include kaffir lime at all use the leaves, not the fruit, but I got the limes from a coworker with a tree, so I thought I'd try them. If you can find them, give it a whirl. If not, normal limes will work just as well.


Pumpkin soup with red lentils and kaffir lime

• 1 Tbsp olive oil
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 Tbsp Thai yellow curry paste
• 2 cups red lentils, rinsed
• 3 cups pumpkin puree (canned is fine)
• 1 14-ounce can coconut milk
• 4 cups water or vegetable broth
• 1/4 cup fresh lime juice
• zest of 1 kaffir lime (substitute regular lime)
• salt to taste
• toasted pumpkin seeds, for garnish (optional)

Heat the oil over medium heat in a large pot, then add the onion and saute until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook another 30 seconds; do not let the garlic brown. Add the curry paste and cook another minute, until the vegetables are coated with the spice mixture. Put into the pot the lentils, pumpkin puree, coconut milk, and water or broth, and bring to a simmer. Cover the pot and cook over low heat about 30 minutes, or until the lentils are soft and falling apart.

Puree the soup in the pot with a hand-held immersion blender. If it's too thick, add more water to get it to the consistency you prefer. Stir in the lime juice and lime zest, check the seasoning, and add salt to taste. Serve hot, garnished with the toasted pumpkin seeds.

Pumpkin chocolate chip muffins

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It's a typical fall day here in southern California - that is to say, hot and sunny with a cool ocean breeze blowing in from the west. Leaves are turning and falling in other parts of the country, but we're still firmly entrenched in beach weather at my house.

Still, the calendar says fall, so I asked Michael to pick up some canned pumpkin. He brought me a six-pound can. It's bigger than my head. I dug into it today and made pumpkin and red lentil soup, pumpkin chili, and these pumpkin chocolate chip muffins.

This pumpkin chocolate chip muffin recipe is based on a pumpkin bread recipe I got many years ago from Brenda, my college sweetheart's mother. She taught preschool and made pumpkin bread with her class every year. Under the ingredient list on the original recipe card I wrote "Mix everything together - no sifting." I did it that way for years and then had a bad experience with some clumps of baking soda, so now I do actually sift. But according to Brenda, it's optional.

I got a new camera last week (thank you, husband) and used it to take these photos. What do you think? I think I still need some lessons.

Pumpkin chocolate chip muffins

• 2 cups pumpkin puree (canned is fine)
• 3 eggs
• 1 cup grapeseed or canola oil
• 2 1/2 cups plus 2 Tbsp sugar (I am addicted to Florida Crystals demerara sugar but, of course, any sugar will do)
• 1 tsp pure vanilla extract
• 2 tsp each cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, cloves
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 24-cup muffin tin or two 12-cup muffin tins with paper liners.

In a large bowl, mix together the pumpkin puree, eggs, oil, 2 1/2 cups sugar, vanilla, spices, and salt until everything is well combined.

Hold a sifter or fine-mesh strainer over the bowl with the pumpkin mixture. Add the flour, baking powder and baking soda to the sifter, then sift the dry ingredients over the wet. Whisk gently just until the flour mixture is incorporated. Add the chocolate chips and stir to combine.

Fill the muffin tins most of the way up, dividing the batter evenly. Sprinkle the tops of the muffins with the remaining 2 Tbsp sugar. Bake about 25 minutes or until a tester comes out clean. Remove the pan from the oven, let the muffins rest 2 minutes, then turn the muffins out onto a rack to cool.

Makes 24 muffins.

One-pan chocolate cake recipe, also known as "wacky cake"

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Every once in a while - okay, truth be told, once a day or so - I get the urge to bake a cake. Despite my weeks of practice decorating cakes last winter before my big day with Kelly Ripa and the Cake Boss, I prefer plain cakes. Which is why, when I saw this one-pan chocolate cake on the King Arthur Flour blog, I knew I had to make it.

Another advantage to this chocolate cake: The basic recipe is vegan. It gets its lift from the combination of baking soda and vinegar. No eggs! My 8-year-old has a friend with a severe egg allergy. I'm remembering this one for their next playdate. And the texture of the cake is beautiful: light, spongy, but extremely moist. I served it plain, but for those of you with the patience to frost and decorate, make two and slap them together.

King Arthur gave me permission to share the recipe here, but I strongly suggest looking at their version of the "Wacky Cake" recipe, too: They've got great step-by-step photos and a few suggested variations.

By the way, King Arthur, someday I am moving to Vermont (as I've said before, Vermont is in my DNA). And when I do, I want to come work at King Arthur. Okay? Glad we're straight on that.

Easy one-pan chocolate cake from King Arthur Flour

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cocoa powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp espresso powder
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 Tbsp vinegar
• 1/3 cup vegetable oil
• 1 cup cold water

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Spray a 9-inch cake pan with cooking spray. Put the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, salt, baking soda, and espresso powder into the pan and whisk them together with a fork or whisk. Make three wells in the top of the dry ingredients and add the vanilla, vinegar and oil to the wells. Pour 1 cup cold water over everything, then mix with a whisk until smooth. Bake 30-35 minutes or until a toothpick comes out moist but clean.

Plantain recipe: Rellenitos (plantain patties stuffed with black beans)

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When my kids were younger, our wonderful nanny Mirna would occasionally make some of the Guatemalan recipes she missed from home. Once she fried up rellenitos, little dumplings of mashed plantain stuffed with sweetened black beans. Everyone loved them, especially my husband.

For some reason I've been thinking about those rellenitos - in fact, I almost made them for the second Project Food Blog challenge. (I decided on gesztenye palacsintak instead - Hungarian crepes filled with chestnut puree and topped with chocolate sauce.) I confirmed the recipe with another Guatemalan friend, and then yesterday I made a small batch of rellenitos as a test.

Basically, it's a two-ingredient dish. You boil some plantains in their skins, then mash them in a bowl. You mix a little sugar and a little salt into cooked black beans and mash those too. Then you scoop up a patty of the plantain, put a little dollop of beans in the middle, close it up, and pan-fry it in oil.

They tasted great, but I had a little trouble with the plantains. They were loose, almost watery, and I found it hard to form the patties. I suspected my plantains had been too ripe and sent a message to Mirna. I was right. You want them only sort of ripe, she said. Not green. Not black. Still starchy. They'll be sweet enough.

So take that as a warning: Don't let your plantains sit on the counter too long. But do try making these rellenitos, because they're fantastic. They're traditionally served dusted with powdered sugar; I didn't bother, but I bet it would be great.

Rellenitos - mashed plantain patties stuffed with black beans

• 4 large plantains, yellow with just a few spots of black
• 1 cup cooked black beans
• 1 tsp sugar
• 1/2 tsp salt (less if you use canned beans)
• canola or grapeseed oil, for frying
• powdered sugar (optional)

Cut the ends off the plantains. Leaving the skins on, put the plantains in a pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, then boil about 15 minutes. Remove the plantains from the water, let cool a few minutes, remove the skins, and put the plantain flesh in a bowl. With a fork, mash the plantains until smooth.

In another bowl, mash the black beans with a fork. Add the sugar and salt and continue mashing until the mixture is almost smooth. You want this to be stiff, not soupy; if it's too loose, add some more beans to stiffen it up.

Put a large skillet over medium heat. Add enough oil to cover the bottom of the pan generously.

Form the rellenitos: Wet your hands, grab about 2 Tbsp of the mashed plantains, and flatten into a thick patty in your palm. Put about 1 tsp of the black bean mixture in the middle of the patty in your hand, then gently fold the edges over so they meet and the black beans are enclosed in the plantains. Gently place the rellenito into the hot oil.

Continue with the rest of the plantain mixture, frying each rellenito on both sides until golden brown. Drain briefly on a plate lined with paper towels, sprinkle with powdered sugar if you like, and serve immediately.

Makes about 12 rellenitos. Note: You may end up with extra black beans. They're also extremely good inside a quesadilla, even sweetened.

Friday dinners: The luxury of time

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This is my entry for the third round of Project Food Blog, Foodbuzz's contest to find the next food blogging star. Today's challenge: Host a luxurious dinner party. I'll let you know when the voting starts - and thanks to all of you who've helped me get this far. Thanks also to Nathan Janos for his beautiful photos.

The luxurious dinner party: I've thrown my share. Our annual Trufflepalooza, which this July featured 13 truffle-laced courses for 70 people, certainly qualifies. We use mismatched vintage china, linen cloths, antique crystal and sterling. Every course, from risotto to creamy corn soup to filet mignon, is topped with a thick layer of freshly grated Italian black summer truffles - decadence in each bite. We pour champagne, wine, Port for hours on end. It's a lot of work, but rewarding. I hope it's a summer tradition my kids remember forever.

These days, in the throes of a new school year and a new role at work, my luxury is time. Getting home early enough on a weeknight to make a proper dinner for my family. Stealing a few minutes before work to bake a couple dozen muffins to hand out at my office. An evening when I don't have to go to back-to-school night, work late, raise money for my kid's youth orchestra, or wax enthusiastic about my alma mater at the college fair at a nearby high school. An evening when we can sit down to dinner and eat without constantly checking the clock and calculating how to fit in the remaining homework, violin practice and personal hygiene before bedtime.

That's why Friday dinners are my luxury. Friday dinner ends the week the way punctuation ends a sentence: definitively, assertively, making clear the difference between the busy week past and the more relaxed weekend ahead. We invite friends with kids and without; married couples, dating couples, singles; old, young, and everywhere in between. I'm sure there are those who consider "luxury" and "kids" mutually exclusive. I think having the kids join us for dinner is the best part. We get our grownup time after they finish eating and run off to play. But while they're there, we all reconnect after a long, busy week. Also, they crack me up.

In general, we have an open-door policy when it comes to dinner. We issue invitations freely and spontaneously to those we know well and, often, those we'd like to know better. I'm lucky to have married a man who likes a crowded table as much as I do. I grew up in a house where the same four people had dinner around the kitchen table every night, week in and week out. I'm glad my kids have grown up with so many different personalities dropping in to share a meal in our home.

Dinner for a crowd on a weeknight is a challenge, even on a Friday, when I can usually leave work an hour or two early. I use my early mornings well, and I plan menus around easy prep. Any recipe that requires more than 10 ingredients or more than two pans will not make it onto the menu, no matter how tasty it sounds. And I don't mind subjecting guests to experiments. I want Friday dinners to be comfortable, not fussy. I'm not looking to impress.

A few Fridays ago a friend from work came to dinner with his girlfriend and his mother. Interesting, the way it happened: I'd never had an opportunity to work directly with Nate, an MIT alum who does something I'll never understand involving algorithms and higher math, but he came by my desk from time to time to chat about food and ask for recipes. Then, a few months ago, he emailed: "So what does it take to get an invitation to dinner in Erika's kitchen?" I was flattered. We set a date. I also invited Arianna, a wine writer, and her five-year-old Z. "He's adorable," said Emery, my 11-year-old, when I told him Z was coming to dinner. Z, apparently, was just as pleased: "I love going to the big boys' house!" he said when Arianna told him of the plans.

I always put out cut-up vegetables with dip before dinner. My theory about feeding kids: The more vegetables you put in front of them, the more they're likely to eat, especially if chips are not an option. We started with circles of English cucumber and daikon radish, with a bowl of the avocado spread a Guatemalan friend taught me to make long ago. It's just avocados, cilantro, lemon and salt, blended smooth in the food processor. I also pulled a box of puff pastry from the freezer and spread it with tapenade (olives, fresh basil from the garden, and garlic), then cut it into strips, sprinkled it with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, and threw it into a hot oven. Crispy, salty, buttery, they went perfectly with the first glasses of wine.

 

We sat down to chicken thighs braised with bacon, shallots, prunes and Armagnac, another opportunity to experiment on friends. Recently I acquired a slow cooker, and I want to love it - I'm trying. Friday night dinner seemed the perfect time to give it another chance. The carpool picks my kids up for school quite early, so after they leave the house I've got at least an hour before I need to be out the door. That Friday I chopped the shallots while the kids ate breakfast. When they left, I used my hour to cook the bacon, brown the chicken, saute the shallots, and dump the whole mess in the slow cooker with some dried prunes and a splash of Armagnac. When I got home from work late that afternoon and lifted the lid, the smell made me smile. We ate the rich braised chicken over brown jasmine rice, and with that I served broccoli, roasted in a hot oven and topped with grated cheese. I always make a green salad, which this time included hearts of crispy romaine, halved red grapes, crumbled French feta, and toasted pumpkin seeds, tossed in a mustardy French-style vinaigrette.

We ended the meal with a simple plum tart, which I put together while everyone was arriving. I use the same crust, a simple press-in dough made with olive oil, for both savory and sweet tarts. It's adapted from a recipe in Amanda Hesser's Cooking for Mr. Latte, one of my favorite examples of the "cookoir" genre. I sliced late-season purple plums and arranged them over the crust, then mixed sugar, butter and a little flour with Chinese five-spice powder to sprinkle on top of the fruit.

Here's one thing you should know about me: I'm a bit of an exhibitionist. No raised eyebrows, now. What I mean is that I really like to cook with spectators. We have a good kitchen for it. I work at the long granite-topped peninsula that separates the kitchen from the dining room, then clear it off and put out the food so guests can serve themselves before sitting down. I can be in the kitchen and at the party at the same time - my favorite combination.

If you're in southern California and find yourself free on a Friday night, whoever you are, drop me a line and drop in for dinner. Nothing would make me happier.