SpiceLines

Moros y christianos are a traditional Cuban dish. The black beans represent the
dark-skinned Moors, the white rice the lighter-skinned Christians.

Around here, New Year’s Eve is usually spent lounging in bed, watching The Thin Man, drinking champagne and concocting ridiculous resolutions. (1. Cut back on alcohol in 2009. 2. Oh never mind…)

At midnight, another glass of bubbly—by now Nick and Nora have drunk us under the table—and kisses all around.

Twelve hours later comes the best meal of the year. It’s mostly Cuban, and it’s fabulous.

Vanilla beans from Madagascar infuse rice pudding and soft desserts with sweet,
mellow flavor--but a cook's pantry also needs pure vanilla extract for baking.

Yes, let’s get rid of bottled lemon juice--and say goodbye to packaged breadcrumbs, grated imitation “Parmesan” cheese, and dried parsley and basil.

I’m all for the ruthless pantry pruning Mark Bittman espouses in “Fresh Start for a New Year? Let’s Begin in the Kitchen,” (The New York Times, Wednesday, January 7, 2008, pp. D1 and D3).

But I do have quibbles about his spice advice.

Winter citrus is packed with vitamin C. From top left: Meyer lemons, Texas Ruby
grapefruit, Buddha's Hand citron, Moro blood oranges, key limes and Satsuma
mandarin oranges.

It’s January, and it’s gloomy—inside and out.

Luckily there’s winter citrus to brighten the dark days. Blood oranges and Texas grapefruit are right up there with roaring fires, bright lights and warm spices. A splash is all you need to chase the blahs.

Yesterday, I dragged myself into the new juice bar at Whole Foods. A Bjork look-alike offered me a blend of freshly squeezed grapefruit and pomegranate juices. It was spectacularly delicious. I drank a cup with a shot of fiery ginger juice and practically flew out of the store.

Wake up your winter palate with bitter radicchio and endive salad, spiked with
fresh sweet satsuma mandarin oranges. For even more lively flavor, dress the
salad with citrus juice whisked with salt, black pepper and a delicate oil.

This is a really easy way to perk up your winter salad repertoire. And tease a dulled palate back to life…

I’ve always loved the bitterness of radicchio and endive in a simple white balsamic vinaigrette, especially when eating something rich like Cuban pork shoulder or even a plain roasted chicken. The lively bitterness and acidity cut through the delicious fat, creating a savory interplay of flavors.

Right now, fresh mandarin oranges are in season. The other night I peeled one and mixed the pieces into my favorite winter salad: Suddenly the flavors bloomed.

I'm giving away 26 food books, from Nigella Lawson's How to
Eat to Diana Abu-Jaber's childhood memoir, The Language of
Baklava.

I haven’t written a word in the last five days.

Naturally you’re dying to know what I’ve been up to.

Oh, just sorting through a thousand or so books. A whole section of our library— 21 square feet of shelf space—is devoted to the culinary arts. Still some of my 371 cookbooks had escaped their confines, finding strange new places to roost. It was time for a purge—and a giveaway.

In this snowy blood orange sorbet, warm spices infused in simple syrup bring
out the elusive flavors of raspberry and black cherry.

I awoke this morning to swirling snowflakes,

For anyone who lives in the South, a blanket of snow is a rare and wondrous thing. Bare limbs, pointy rooftops, the field and split rail fences, all covered with white frosting. And the silence is exquisite.

Why, it’s a perfect day for…sorbet.

At Toast, a casual Italian sandwich shop in Durham, NC, this tasty sausage, chick
pea and tomato bruschetta on grilled sourdough is a perfect afternoon snack.

When: 2:37 PM, last Saturday afternoon

Where: A small table next to the counter at Toast in Durham, N.C.

What: Merguez sausage, chick peas and roasted tomato bruschetta

The Taste: Savory lamb sausage with nutty chickpeas and tangy tomatoes, roasted but still juicy. The surprise lift: Fresh mint, aromatic and cooling. Served on olive oil-brushed grilled sourdough from Rue Clair.

Moroccan-Italian; super-delicious, super-filling, a steal at $6.

Ambiance: Aquamarine paint, plain brown benches and tables along facing walls of the narrow eat-in shop. Inscribed above, three definitions of “toast,” including: “3. Your neighborhood paninoteca…n. an authentic Italian sandwich shop.” Long lines of the young and hip, despite bone-chilling winds on Main Street. Cheery service.

The cookbooks very nearly flew off the shelves last week. Right now, there are just a handful still looking for a new home. To see what’s available, please go to the original post where I’m maintaining a current list.

The most requested book was The Spice Merchants Daughter by Christina Arokiasamy. Celeste zipped in ahead of everyone else and it is now winging its way to her. Well, trudging--everything has been sent at book rate, the original snail mail.

Nigella and Jamie were high on most people’s list, but after that it was A Cup of Coffee by Norman Kolpas. Most intriguing to me were those of you who wanted particular books for personal reasons. Phil asked for The Best of Singapore Cooking and Crave for their personal relevance to him. I can’t do his reasons justice, but you can read all about it in his exceptional comment. Karen asked for Kennedy Fraser’s The Fashionable Mind for her daughter, who teaches fashion history, while Gina, who claimed Julia Reed’s House on First Street said she now has “an idea on how to clear my messy library.”

It has been great fun to hear from so many of you—thank you for participating in SpiceLines First Annual Cookbook Giveaway. I'll keep the list current until the end of February, at which point any remaining books will go to a local sale.

This delicious orange curd, rich with butter and eggs, gets its flavor from the
freshly squeezed juice of Cara Cara oranges and pungent grated orange zest.
Slather it on buttermilk scones, sprinkle with a touch of cinnamon, and die happy.

My father always claimed, with a smile and a snort, that he married my mother because of the delectable orange meringue pies that appeared almost nightly at my grandmother Patricia’s table. The luscious orange filling , made from freshly squeezed juice, was kissed with cloud-like beaten egg whites, swirled golden brown after a short stint in the oven. Only after the wedding, did he learn the truth: my mother wasn’t making the seductive pies. No, they were my grandmother’s lure and he was the fish who took the bait.

Or so the story goes.

Wear your seatbelt. No smoking in the lavatories. Turn off your cell phone. Count those calories. Nix on the foie gras, especially in Chicago.

Oh I forgot, it’s OK to eat goose liver in the Windy City again.

Me, I’m a good girl: I scarcely touch butter, keep my espresso quota to two, maybe three lattes per week. And, just in case, no foie gras, unless I’m in Paris.

But I draw the line at salt.

This Japanese flowering apricot, "Bridal Veil," blooms in January when other trees
are bare. No fruit, though. Just beautiful blossoms, when we need them most.

It’s raining apricots in the garden.

Flowering apricots, that is. No fruit, but a shower of fragile petals, washed with pink, blooming with abandon while January winds blow frigid air through the boughs.

The eating apricots are in the kitchen, simmering with succulent lamb shanks, and cipolline onions, in a sweetly spicy sauce fragrant with cinnamon, ginger and a dash of smoky-hot Spanish paprika.