SpiceLines

Resolution #10: First clean up messy desk, then redecorate office. But what if the mess is really creative disarray?

Oh, the horror! Citrus-marinated Cuban pork roast, oozing with luscious fat, mounds of white rice and black beans simmered with smoky bacon. Magnums of champagne and other sparklers. Trays of sugar cookies, pans of gingerbread, and don’t forget the chocolate pot(s) de crème, hidden under cumulous towers of whipped cream. Ribbons of tagliatelle, a tree’s worth of pecans, boxes of dark chocolate truffles….

There’s nothing I like better than making lists, and the first Monday of the year is resolution time. Like the rest of the world—does that include you?—I need to lose a few pounds, clean out our exploding closets (or perhaps the entire exploding house), be kinder and gentler to those I love. But I won’t bore you, at least not yet.

I’ve been on the prowl for quirky New Year’s resolutions. I love Nanette Lepore’s simple intention: “More flirting, including with my husband.”

The Indian cookbooks in my bookcase are as vibrant, fragrant and dog-eared as India itself. So why would I want to trade even one of them for an electronic version?

A few weeks ago every other passenger on the flight from Dallas to La Guardia had a iPad--or a Nook or a Kindle.

There they were, sitting upright in cramped seats, index fingers gliding over glowing screens, mesmerized by The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest or some other Stieg Larsson—in black type on a gray screen.

And there I was, wrapped in my gray pashmina, slouched next to a chilly window, leafing my way, page by page, through Robyn Davis’ loony antics in Tracks, a Woman’s Solo Trek Across 1,700 Miles of Australian Outback. By camel, I might add.

Every now and then I’d turn down the corner of a page, take a crumbling bite of Aurora’s sugary bunuelos, and gaze at the caravan traipsing across the vibrant orange and red cover of the book. Then I’d get lost in the clouds outside, daydreaming of my own camel adventure on a Moroccan beach.

This, in a nutshell, is the story. Hard-to-find book, alluring cover, the delights of turning the pages, of dipping in and out of the tale, of letting the mind wander…it’s about pleasure, I think, versus….efficiency?

Winter tabbouleh salad, full of roasted vegetables and fresh herbs, is sassy enough to banish the winter blahs. Pomegranate molasses adds zing, while the ruby seeds glow like jewels and add their own luscious, fruity flavor.

Winter tugs at the appetite, pulling it in opposite directions.

Driving home this afternoon, snowflakes swirling across the windshield, I began to crave rich, hearty dishes—beef pot au feu, lamb tagine, spicy buffalo chili—the sort of one-pot dishes that in another century one might have eaten to keep the bodily fires stoked, while the wind and the wolves howled outside.

Maybe it’s the hibernation impulse, but snow and ice make me want to be inside, preferably near the crackling fire, curled up with a good novel, glass of rich burgundy at hand and a pot of something delicious bubbling on the stove, perfuming the house with its enticing aromas. Warm spices such as cinammon, black pepper, nutmeg and ginger are part of picture as they heat the body and keep the blood flowing.

But, oddly enough, there’s an opposing urge to tromp out into cold, especially if it’s snowing, even a little bit.

At Ciya a baker whirls an order of lahmacun from the wood-fired oven onto a plate. The peppery ground lamb, served on flatbread, is a popular Istanbul dish.

“Attack! Attack!” Brandishing her fork like a javelin, Selin exhorts us to dive in.

We’re having lunch at the celebrated restaurant Ciya Sofrasi and the meze are coming fast and furious.

To kick off the meal, there was a tart blast of red sumac sherbet, followed by a mouthful of dark, syrupy sweet mulberry juice, both served in tiny shot glasses. In Turkey a sherbet isn’t a frozen dessert, but a chilled sweetened juice that can be drunk almost anytime. Right now my taste buds are dancing.

Selin has arranged a feast of 21 small plates from Ciya’s menu, a tasting guide, if you will, to the “forgotten foods” of southeastern Turkey and the eastern Mediterranean. For the first time ever, we’re sampling delicacies like dovme, cooked wheat with yogurt and garlic, and kaya korugu, an odd pickled green that looks like seaweed (though it actually grows in river silt.) A salad of crunchy thin-sliced cucumbers in yogurt is the only familiar dish before us.

Goodness! I’ve been so busy cooking braised pork tacos this week that I almost forgot the book giveaway. Luckily I opened the attic door yesterday--there was the carefully selected stack, glaring at me accusingly.

This is my favorite time of year, when I get to send books to all of you. Call it a post holiday party, where you get the presents.

My own gift is getting to hear from the readers of SpiceLines, plus empty shelf space for all the new books teetering in a pile under my desk. Maybe now I’ll be able to explore Darina Allen’s Forgotten Skills of Cooking (excellent recipe for fish wrapped in fig leaves) and the 1885 Culinary Jottings from Madras, which includes a formula for curry powder that I’m determined to try—just as soon as I figure out how to slash the quantities of spices (4 pounds of turmeric, 8 pounds of coriander seed, and so on).

Here’s how the giveaway works. Pick two books you’d like from the following list and email me at spicelinesatgmaildotcom. Let me know your first and second choices, and be sure to include your name and mailing address. It’s first come, first served, but I’ll try to send you one of the books you’ve requested. (U.S. readers only, please. Even media mail costs are off the charts.)

A flurry of cookbook requests in the last 48 hours—lots of you, as it turned out, want the same three books.

Joy of Mixology topped the list, but Anthony was first in line. Miss Dahl’s Voluptuous Delights was a close second—that one’s going to Joan. And Outstanding in the Field, which many of you asked for, will be landing on Jan’s doorstep very soon.

There are wonderful books left, so take a look and see if any of them tickle your fancy. Vanilla and The Spice Route are duplicate copies—otherwise I’d never part with them. Fashionistas will enjoy the American Fashion Cookbook--those designers definitely know their way around the kitchen. And surely one of you would like The Meaning of Tea, and the great DVD that comes with it.

The rules: Pick two books you’d like from the following list and email me at spicelinesatgmaildotcom. Let me know your first and second choices, and be sure to include your name and full mailing address. It’s first come, first served, but I’ll try to send you one of the books you’ve requested. (U.S. readers only, please. Even media mail costs are off the charts.

True bliss: A cheerful fire and a plate of braised pork tacos, spiced with cinnamon and chiles, served with black beans and tart tomatillo salsa. Winter contentment, at its best.

The other day Sarah exclaimed, “Oh my, you have a real fire!” She took off her coat and went to warm her hands in front of the dancing flames.

We’ve been using the fireplace a lot lately, especially in the morning. There’s nothing B likes better than that first cheerful blaze, shooting up from the logs, hissing and popping, sending its heat radiating across the old Sarouk, past the French doors and the dog’s bowls, to the breakfast table.

His smoked salmon wouldn’t be the same without the warmth of the fire eddying around his ankles.

To build the perfect fire, start with dry kindling, seasoned wood and crumpled pages of The New York Times. Photo from blogs.smarter.com

This should actually be called "One Man's Recipe for the Perfecto Fire," since we are trying to convince B to stop saying "purrrrfect" 117 times a day.

Anyway, here is the full text of his essay, which was excerpted in my last post. He reveals the secrets of constructing and lighting a great fire. I particularly like his notion that modern fires should be "completely useless"--there for pleasure rather than anything basic like actually heating your house.

Oh, and if you like this, take a look at his thoughtful letter on The Forest Primeval, which appears, as do all his letters, wild ideas and "bests" of the week, on The Global Province.

"I’ve been at this firebuilding thing for 40 years, mostly dealing with shallow, poorly designed fireplaces that are the burden of modern man. I am sure that hunters and gatherers 1,000 years ago would have given up chasing birds and antelopes if, at the end of a hard day’s hunting, they had had to reckon with these odd little boxes developers dare to call fireplaces.