I am no great football fan.  I lose interest in the days between the weekly games; I waver in my allegiance to my childhood hometown team and my current hometown team (a transition that amounts to treason, depending on who you ask); and a conversation about the various positions usually sounds more like a discussion about pocket change than a starting line-up to me. 

There are other things about the game, though, that I do love: the excitement (running errands this morning, I saw no fewer than two dozen Bears jersey-clad Chicagoans, all before the hour of 10 am; kick-off, it should be noted, is 7 pm); sunshiney afternoons on the couch; and, most of all, the food.

There are chicken wings, guacamole, nachos, sandwiches of all kinds.  But the best football food of all is chili.  A football Sunday isn’t complete without a big pot full of spicy, burbling, delicious chili.  And I’ve settled on my go-to recipe this season.  It’s a vegetarian version that gets a deep, earthy flavor thanks to a heap of spices and a palmful of instant espresso—and I think it deserves a spot on the menu for your next Football Sunday. (Or Football Monday, or Thursday, or College Game Day Saturday, as it were.  Not that I’m counting.)

Black Bean & Espresso Chili
Bon Appetit

1/2 cup olive oil
5 large onions, chopped
1/4 cup instant espresso powder
1/4 cup chili powder
1/4 cup ground cumin
1/4 cup dried oregano leaves
2 28-ounce cans crushed tomatoes with added puree
1/3 cup honey
6 large garlic cloves, minced
7 15-ounce cans black beans, rinsed, drained
2 cups water
1 tablespoon salt
1/4 teaspoon chipotle chili powder or chili powder
Large pinch of ground cinnamon

Assorted toppings: sour cream, chopped fresh cilantro, chopped green onions, shredded cheese, sliced jalapeños, and shaved bittersweet chocolate

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Add onions and sauté until tender, about 8 minutes. Mix in espresso powder, 1/4 cup chili powder, cumin, and oregano. Cook 1 minute. Mix in tomatoes, honey, and garlic. Bring to simmer. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer 30 minutes. Add beans, 2 cups water, salt, chipotle chili powder, and cinnamon. Bring to boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium and simmer uncovered until mixture thickens slightly, stirring often, about 30 minutes. Season with salt. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cool slightly. Refrigerate uncovered until cold, then cover and refrigerate. Rewarm before serving.)

Place toppings in individual condiment bowls. Ladle chili into bowl and serve toppings alongside.

Soup, I have come to realize, feeds two very different needs.  The first is the need to make soup—a craving that’s strongest for me in late fall, when the weather is sliding slowly into winter.  During this early winter onset, other symptoms of mine include proclivities for wool socks, turtleneck sweaters and mugs of steaming hot beverages.  In these times, the act of making soup—hearing the flame flick on below the soup pot, slowly coaxing flavor out of a humble mix of ingredients, the feel of the counter against my hip as I lean and stir, lean and stir—is just what the doctor ordered.

The second need that soup feeds is perhaps more obvious: the need to eat the soup.  For me, this urge is at its peak on the rainy days of spring, with their damp chill and gloomy horizons.  Summer, we know, is around the corner, but it’s not here yet.  We’re like a little kid at her birthday party, blowing out the candles, only to realize, with a sinking feeling, that the candles are trick candles: the candles, like winter, will disappear momentarily, only to flare back up before you know it.   In my grown-up mind, I want to scream, just give me the damn cake (the summer) already! To tide myself over until it’s really-truly-warm, I like to hunch over a bowl of soup, spooning up brothy bites, letting the steam warm my face.

So soup is two things: it’s a project and it’s a restorative.  But here’s the catch: my hunger for soup as a restorative arrives approximately six months after my hunger for soup as a project.  By the time late March rolls around, along with its corresponding need to ward off the gloomy weather with soup, I am so over making soup.  I’ve had it with slowly simmering pots of chicken stock.  I can’t bear the thought of soaking even one more dried legume.  I have lost all interest in my trusty ladle.  But, still, when the forecast demands umbrellas and wellies, my stomach grumbles for soup.  What, oh what, is a girl to do?

Perhaps the situation doesn’t qualify as a great tragedy, but it’s a conundrum nonetheless: I want the soup, but I don’t much want to make it.  At times like this, recipes like today’s are my saving grace.  This recipe will get you a pot of soup (thick enough to flirt with the category of “stew,” even) full of hearty ingredients (fennel-laced Italian sausage, bright green spinach, firm white beans) in less than fifteen minutes.  Yes, you read that right: I said less than 15 minutes.    You get soup as restorative without the bother of soup as a project.  You can thank me the next time the clouds roll in.

Sausage, White Bean & Spinach Soup
Adapted from Cooking Light

Printable Recipe

2 links sweet or spicy turkey Italian sausage, casings removed
2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup water
1 15-ounce can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
1 28-ounce can chopped tomatoes, undrained
2 cups chicken broth
salt, to taste
2 cups baby spinach
2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
freshly-grated Romano or Parmesan cheese (optional)

Heat oil in a large saucepan.  Cook sausage in the oil until browned, stirring to crumble. Add onion and garlic to pan; cook for 2 minutes. Stir in 1/2 cup water, beans, tomatoes, and broth. Cover and bring to a boil. Uncover and cook for 3 minutes or until slightly thick.   Taste for seasoning and add salt, to taste, if necessary.

Remove from heat, and stir in spinach and basil. Serve with cheese, if desired.

It snowed a few inches on Saturday morning—a real wallop.  While Kevin hated it, seeing it as a sign that winter was digging its heels in, I quite liked it.  The snow itself was pretty—big, snowglobe flakes that floated lazily to the already blanketed earth.  And, besides that, it provided a perfect excuse to spend the day inside, hunkered down.

So hunker we did.  Kevin watched a Chicago Bulls championship series game from the late nineties on TV (I am so not kidding) and I puttered around the kitchen.  It was quiet and relaxing and a just perfect Saturday. One of the best things to emerge from the day (aside from, surprise!, a Bulls win), was a steaming, simmering pot of soup.

It was a mushroom barley soup and, let me tell you, it was no small feat to get Kevin—a staunch fungus-phobe—to agree to a recipe title like that.  I assured him that not one speck of mushroom flesh would appear in his bowl and, to his credit, he trusted me.  It took a little creativity but I delivered on my promise and you know what?  He loved it.

To get the mushroom flavor into the soup, without using the mushrooms themselves, I steeped dried porcinis in boiling water, drained out the plumped mushrooms and used the steeping liquid to supplement the soup’s beef broth and water base.  I chopped and reserved the mushrooms.  Meanwhile,  I sauteed some vegetables in butter, added a bit of flour to act as a thickener and added the barley, which simmered slowly in the earthy, flavorful broth.  Just before ladling out the soup, I lined the bottom of my bowl with some of the chopped porcinis.  So my bowl was mushroom-flecked and Kevin’s was just mushroom-flavored.   Everybody wins.

Mushroom Barley Soup
Adapted from Zingermann’s Recipe

Printable Recipe

1/2 cup dried mushrooms, such as porcini
6 cups water, divided
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 cup diced celery
1 cup diced carrot
1 cup diced onion
2 to 3 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon flour
1 quart (4 cups) beef broth
3 or 4 sprigs fresh thyme
1 cup barley

Boil 2 cups of the water.  Pour it over the dried mushrooms, cover and set aside for 30 minutes.  Drain and chop the mushrooms and reserve the steeping liquid.

Heat the butter in a large pot over medium heat.  Add the celery, carrot, onion and garlic and cook for several minutes, until the vegetables soften.  Add the flour add stir to coat the vegetables; cook one minute stirring constantly.

Add the beef broth, remaining 4 cups of water, steeping liquid, thyme and barley.  Bring to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer for about an hour, until the barley is al dente.  Discard the thyme and add the chopped mushrooms, cooking briefly until the mushrooms are warm.

Making this soup felt a little like cheating.  Not A-Rod-style cheating or anything: just too easy.  To make it, I chopped up a few vegetables (sad looking ones, at that: a misshapen onion, a droopy stalk of celery, a lone carrot tucked in the back of the crisper drawer), cranked open a few cans, tore into a bag of frozen corn kernels and, presto!, a soup was born.

And a good soup, too: one that’s shot through with a warm, smoky heat and brightened up with a squeeze of lime juice.  Not just that, but it’s pretty!  Sunny corn niblets, bright orange chunks of carrot, and whisps of minced cilantro all bob in the rosy broth, alongside purple-black beans.

The return (tasty!  pretty!) for my investment (fast! pantry/freezer staples!) felt too good to be true.  I had to be missing something, right?  As it turns out, the soup didn’t hold up that well over time (which undermines my usual number one reason for making soup: leftovers).  My guess is that it was too many canned/frozen ingredients.  I’ve dutifully toted leftovers to work all week, but day by day, the flavors became more muted, the beans less toothsome and the corn more water-logged.   If I’d had them on hand, I suspect a fresh spritz of lime or creamy wedges of avocado or a dollop of sour cream (or all three!) could’ve pepped the soup back up.  I’m also wondering if a couple variations (admittedly more time-consuming and less convenient) might help too: dried beans soaked overnight and cooked slowly back to plumpness; fresh corn shaved off the corn in the height of the summer.  In the meantime, I think I’ll save this recipe for the nights when I’m pinched for time and I don’t want to make a run to the store.  And, I’ll be sure to make a single or half-batch too.

Black-Bean Corn Soup
Adapted from Cooking Light

2 teaspoons olive oil
1 medium onion, peeled and chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
1 carrot, peeled and chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 chipotle pepper, canned in adobo sauce, minced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano (preferaby Mexican oregano)
1 14-ounce can chopped tomatoes (preferably fire-roasted)
2 cups chicken stock (or vegetable stock, for a vegetarian soup)
1 14-ounce can black beans, drained and rinsed
salt, to taste
1 cup frozen corn kernels
1 tablespoon minced cilantro
juice of 1 lime

Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onion, celery, carrot and garlic and saute until the onions become translucent and the vegetables soften.  Add the chipotle, cumin and oregano and saute for another couple minutes.

Stir in tomatoes, broth and beans; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer 10 minutes.  Add salt to taste.  Add corn, cilantro and lime juice.  Serve with additional cilantro and lime wedges.

The past two mornings, I have actually been grateful for the mirrored elevators that usher me up 43 floors to my office everyday.  Usually, I find these mirrored elevators to be a real conundrum.  How do I abide by the socially-acceptable (totally SNL-skit-ish) custom of staring straight at the closed elevator doors, carefully avoiding all eye contact with my fellow elevator passengers when doing so leaves me staring directly at, well, myself? It’s weird.  But the last two mornings, as I said, have been different.  I have stepped onto the elevators, heard the recorded elevator lady saying “Going Up” in her ambiguous, international accented English, felt the doors slide quickly closed and said a silent thank you as I looked directly into the mirrored walls.  Because doing so allowed me to confirm that no, my face had not actually frozen off during my brief walk from the gym to the office.

It’s been that cold.

But, I’m happy to report that the mirrored elevators have not been the only highlight to my Tuesday and Wednesday (thank god).  Because both days I’ve had a lunch date with the microwave near my office and a tupperware full of this sweet potato, sausage and kale soup.

Between the chunks of sunset-hued sweet potatoes, the vibrantly green crinkled kale, the meaty chickpeas, the hearty bits of sausage and a strong punch of heat from the dried chile flakes, this soup could make even the most bone chilling (or, say, face freezing) day seem cozy.  I can’t wait to have it again tomorrow.

Sweet Potato, Sausage and Kale Soup
Cooking Light

Printable Recipe

1 tablespoon olive oil
4 cups chopped onion (about 2 large)
1 teaspoon salt, divided
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 pound bulk spicy turkey Italian sausage
8 cups coarsely chopped peeled sweet potato (about 2 1/4 pounds)
5 cups water
4 cups fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
1 bunch kale, chopped
1 (16-ounce) can chickpeas or white beans, drained and rinsed

Heat oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add onion; sauté 5 minutes. Add 1/2 teaspoon salt, pepper, and garlic; sauté 1 minute. Remove casings from sausage; add sausage to pan. Cook 5 minutes or until sausage is lightly browned, stirring to crumble. Add potato, 5 cups water, and broth; bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer 8 minutes. Gradually add kale; cook 10 minutes or until tender. Stir in remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt (to taste) and beans; cook 5 minutes or until thoroughly heated.

Okay, people, let’s hear it: how are you holding up?  Is cookie fatigue setting in?  I mean in your own kitchens, though I suppose you could catch a slight case of cookie fatigue just from hanging around here this week.  First it was pistachio-dried cherry cookies and then it was chocolate-espresso snowcaps.  And now it’s these peanut butter pinwheels, which—let me tell you—nearly gave me cookie fatigue and them some.  In fact, it had me ready to throw in the spatula.

Thankfully, I recovered and the confections will continue to emerge from the oven.  But for a short time on Sunday, when I made these stripey cookies, it was dicey.   You see, I committed the cardinal sin of cooking/baking: I didn’t read the recipe through before baking the cookies.  There, I said it.

Before you revoke my home baker license, at least let me give you the grizzly details.  I was already two batches of cookies (the aforementioned pistachio-cherry and chocolate-espresso lovelies) in for the day when I intrepidly embarked on the third.  I let some dark chocolate melt in a steamy glass bowl set over a pot of gently bubbling water.  I swirled in some chunky peanut butter, creating a more American version of Nutella that took all my willpower not to spoon directly into my mouth, cookies be damned.  Next, I went to cream the butter and sugar, as instructed by the recipe …

But with a sinking feeling, I realized that the recipe did not list butter among the ingredients.  And while I had sticks of the stuff waiting in the wings, I had No Idea how much to use.  So, first, I used too little (one stick, hoping the recipe’s author was all about nice, neat amounts).  I ended up with a raggedy dough more reminiscent of confetti than of a supple ball that could be rolled into a broad, smooth surface.

So I did the only reasonable thing and threw in another stick of butter, because, well, I was getting a little hysterical.  The dough came together but it was very sticky.  Which made it difficult to press into a 12-by-8 inch rectangle.  And tricky to slather with that heavenly peanut buttery melted chocolate.  And nearly impossible to roll up, sleeping bag-style, into a slice-able log.  There were some clenched jaw moments, a few Blago-esque profanities and perhaps even a foot stamp.  Nothing like the holidays to bring out the best in me!

But, you know what?  They kinda worked.  Sure, I’d envisioned perfectly round disks, swirled with a psychedelic spiral of chocolate, and instead got squashed oval things.  But don’t we all like our Christmas cookies to have a bit of a homespun edge?

So the moral of the story is that the recipe below—at least in terms of the butter—is an approximation.  Because I’m certain that one stick is too little butter, and I’m pretty sure that two sticks is too much (though I think the two sticks business might have worked better had I quickly rolled the dough into a rectangle and then chilled that before slathering it with chocolate and rolling).  My guess is that 1 1/2 sticks would be perfect (it’s what we scientists call the “Goldilocks Approach.”  Who’s up for a little holiday experimentation?  If you try this out, do let us know how it goes!

Chocolate-Peanut Butter Pinwheels
Gourmet

Printable Recipe

For filling:

6 ounces semi- or bittersweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup chunky peanut butter [I used natural peanut butter and it worked well]

For dough:

3/4 cup unsalted butter, room temperature [UPDATE: see Ellen's comment below.  2 sticks it is.]
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 1/4 cups sifted all-purpose flour (sift before measuring)
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

Make filling:
Melt chocolate in a double boiler or a metal bowl set over a pan of barely simmering water, stirring occasionally, and remove from heat. Stir in peanut butter.

Make dough:
Beat together butter and sugar with an electric mixer until light and fluffy, then beat in egg and vanilla. Sift flour, baking powder, and salt into egg mixture and beat until combined well.

Assemble rolls:
Halve dough and roll out each half between sheets of wax paper into a roughly 12- by 8-inch rectangle. Remove top sheets of wax paper (if they stick too much, chill dough briefly to firm up slightly) and divide chocolate filling between rectangles, spreading it in an even layer. Tightly roll up each rectangle jelly-roll fashion, beginning with a long side and using wax paper as an aid, to form a 12-inch log. Wrap rolls in wax paper and then foil. Chill rolls until firm, at least 2 hours.

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Working with 1 roll at a time (keep remaining roll chilled), cut rolls crosswise into 1/8-inch-thick slices and arrange slices 1 inch apart on ungreased baking sheets. Bake in batches in middle of oven until pale golden and set, 8 to 12 minutes. Transfer warm cookies to racks to cool.

So, I’ve had a lot to say about Thanksgiving dinner: the pies, the cranberries, the whole darn line-up.  But would you believe that there was another meal last weekend that had me even more excited?  On Friday night, my sister, Kevin and I had a family dinner—just like all those we shared in Chicago during the year my sister lived here, before moving back to Minnesota a couple months ago.

This one was in Minnesota (at my sister’s beautiful new apartment) and we had some extra generations of the family around the table, but it was a family dinner nonetheless.  My sister thought soup would be a good bet—something light to ease the inevitable day-after-Thanksgiving guilt.

After much recipe link swapping, we selected this recipe for Albóndigas, which is a Mexican rice and meatball soup.   (Questionable whether soup remains light when it’s packed with meatballs, but we went with it.) My theory is that Ali just wanted guacamole and salsa and the soup was an excuse to make both.  Regardless of her motives, it was a delicious pick.

This soup is rich and hearty, but at the same time zippy and bright.  The broth is infused with cilantro, citrus and tomato juices.  In it bob bits of well-cooked long-grain rice and pork-and-beef meatballs, which are flavored with ground cumin and bound together with cornmeal, egg and a splash of milk.

The Epicurious commenters assure us that we can swap out the beef broth for chicken broth and substitute ground turkey or chicken and turkey sausage for beef and pork sausage in the meatballs.  But day-after-guilt or not, it was still a holiday weekend and I decided to make the recipe as written. This soup has been firmly added to the rotation, though, so I’ll have ample opportunities to tinker.

Mexican Meatball Soup with Rice and Cilantro
Bon Appetit

Printable Recipe

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 3/4 cups chopped onions
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 small bay leaves
5 14 1/2-ounce cans beef broth*
1 28-ounce can diced tomatoes in juice
1/2 cup chunky tomato salsa (medium-hot)
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

1 pound lean ground beef
1/4 pound bulk pork sausage
6 tablespoons yellow cornmeal
1/4 cup whole milk
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 cup long-grain white rice

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Add 1 3/4 cups onions, 2 garlic cloves and bay leaves; sauté 5 minutes. Add broth, tomatoes with juices, salsa and 1/4 cup cilantro; bring to boil. Cover and simmer 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine ground beef, pork sausage, cornmeal, whole milk, egg, salt, pepper, cumin, then remaining 1 cup onions, 2 garlic cloves and 1/4 cup cilantro in medium bowl. Mix well. Shape meat mixture by generous tablespoonfuls into 1- to 1 1/4-inch balls. Add rice and meatballs to soup and bring to boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat, cover and simmer until rice and meatballs are tender, stirring occasionally, about 20 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Ladle soup into bowls and serve.

*  We used two quarts of beef broth and one broth of chicken broth.

Friends, we’re taking this show on the road. Or, more accurately, I already took it on the road. To work, to be exact, on Monday. I took the photo up there just before I slurped down that cup of soup—a chipotle chicken chowder—for lunch yesterday. And all I can say is that it’s a good thing my office has a door, or I suspect I would have gotten some strange looks from passersby for photographing the lunch I’d just microwaved. Oh, and also that I’m glad I just bought a ridiculously large gym bag that has more than enough room for my rather bulky camera (not to mention an unwieldy tupperware of chowder).

Somewhere between tucking my camera back in my bag and unsheathing my plastic spoon, my phone rang, so by the time I got around to my first bite of this chowder, it had cooled a bit. But it was still delicious. I knew it would be, because this was the third batch I’ve made. In less than a month. It’s that good. But because, these days, the sun starts to set at 4 PM (I really, really wish I were kidding), I made the first two batches in the dark of night. And since I try not to take photos after dark, we spooned up the first two big pots of this chowder with not even one photo to prove it.

(Click “more” for the rest of the story, more photos & the recipe.)

When I started in on batch number three, I was wracked with guilt. I felt so greedy hoarding this soup for ourselves without sharing it with you. So, I made the third batch last Sunday afternoon, a dreary day when dusk seemed to creep up closer to 3 PM. (When, oh when, is a girl to blog?!?) I snapped a couple shots before the daylight disappeared for the evening, but never got a shot of the final product. Hence the at-work photo shoot. I hope this doesn’t become a habit. I’m thinking it’s time to invest in a quality flash, yes?

But back to the soup. It’s an interesting recipe. It relies heavily on one lonely chipotle pepper, which somehow manages to infuse its way into every single sip of this soup. You start with some oil in a hot pot and toss in that minced chipotle along with soup’s favorite vegetables (carrots, onions and celery) and six (!) cloves of minced garlic. Let those cook until they are nice and soft, add some dried herbs and a stream of chicken broth. After that simmers for about a half hour, whiz the whole thing in the blender. If you’re like me, you’ll be skeptical of that last step. But the whirred-up carrots stain the broth a warm orange color and the pureed vegetables give the soup some body. And you will have blitzed the chipotle pepper into a million bits that will send smoke and heat throughout the broth. So, go with it. Next, add some shredded chicken (an excellent use for leftover roasted chicken) and cubed red potatoes and let the pot bubble away until the tip of a knife slides easily into the potatoes. The chowder, thanks to the pureed vegetables and starchy potatoes, will already have taken on a velvety texture, but swirl in a glug or so of heavy cream just to be sure. A final sprinkling of cilantro speckles the chowder with green and lends the soup a bite of bright freshness.

Eat immediately (I suggest topping with a plop of sour cream or Greek yogurt, cool slices of avocado and a squeeze of fresh lime juice), but be sure to brown bag the leftovers. It makes an incredibly hearty, comforting, lunch that will nourish you after a hard morning’s work (not to mention photo shoot).

Chicken Chowder with Chipotle
Adapted from Cooking Light

1 chipotle chile canned in adobo sauce, minced, plus 1 teaspoon of the adobo sauce
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
2 cups chopped onion
1 cup chopped carrot
1/2 cup chopped celery
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon herbs de Provence
6 garlic cloves, crushed
6 cups fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
3 cups shredded cooked chicken
2 medium red potatoes (about 12 ounces), cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1/4 cup whipping cream
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/2 teaspoon salt
8 lime wedges
Heat oil in a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add chopped chile, adobo sauce, onion, and next 6 ingredients (through garlic); cook 7 minutes or until onion is tender, stirring frequently. Stir in broth; bring to a boil. Simmer for 20 to 30 minutes or until vegetables are tender.

Remove pan from heat; let stand 5 minutes. Place one-third of broth mixture in a blender; process until smooth. Pour pureed broth mixture into a large bowl. Repeat procedure in two more batches with remaining broth mixture. Return pureed broth mixture to pan. Stir in potatoes and chicken; bring to a simmer over medium heat. Cook, uncovered, 20 minutes or until potatoes are tender. Stir in cream and cilantro; simmer 5 minutes. Serve with lime wedges.

Celeriac (or celery root, if that name is more to your liking) has been courting me for some time. At first, it threw come-hither looks my way from its perch in the produce section at Whole Foods, tucked among the rough-and-tumble root vegetables, many of which sport long, floppy, leafy mohawks and all of which are spotted with clumps of earth. It was round, but not perfectly so, with a mottled pale flesh brushed with light strokes of lime green. It was an unlikely suitor, but, still, I was intrigued.

Next, it caught my eye at the farmers’ market, where it sat in a heap next to bundles of the tiniest celery I’d ever seen. There were even a couple bulbous rounds of celeriac with the celery still attached, which led to quite an aha! moment (sort of like studying one of those illustrated diagrams of a cow, showing where each cut of meat comes from). You could say we made eyes at each other, that celeriac and me. But, something about it made me shy (how does one prepare it? what would it taste like?) and I ended up going home alone.

(Click “more” for the rest of the story, more photos & the recipe.)

It was Kevin, of all people, who sealed the deal between celeriac and me. At dinner a couple weekends ago, he began his meal with a bowl filled with a creamy celery root and apple soup. He passed a spoonful across the table to me and, one slurp later, I was smitten. It was impossibly delicate and lush, given its rough-around-the-edges appearance in its raw state. It was also bright and grassy, flavors I scarcely expected in these chilly fall days. And it harmonized beautifully with the sweetly tart taste of stewed apples. I couldn’t wait to try recreating it at home.

So, I didn’t. I bought some celery root the very next day, and sliced off its rugged jacket to reveal it’s smooth white interior. I diced it up and cooked it, along with peeled apple chunks and diced onions, in a melted pat of butter until the pot’s once-opaque contents had faded into near-translucence. Then I tipped a splash of white wine and a container of chicken stock into the pot, brought the mix to a slow bubble and plunked a lid down on top of it all—but not before dropping in a few sprigs of thyme. This concoction simmered until the apples and celery root were fork-tender and then went into the blender, where I whizzed it into soup. I finished it off with a splash of buttermilk, which made the flavors perk up, and a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil, which made the whole thing feel very luxe.

As you know, I’ll say so myself: It was a pretty good recreation. And I think it was also the beginning to a relationship that will keep me warm all winter long.

Celery Root-and-Apple Soup
Adapted from Bon Appetit

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
4 cups 1/2-inch cubes peeled celery root (from one 1 1/4-pound celery root)
3 cups 1/2-inch cubes peeled cored Granny Smith apples (from about 2 medium)
1 1/2 cups chopped onion (about 1 large)
1/4 cup white wine
4 cups low-salt chicken broth
4 sprigs of thyme
1/4 cup buttermilk
fine-grain sea salt and fresh-cracked black pepper, to taste
1/4 cup snipped chives, for garnish
extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling

Melt butter in heavy large pot over medium heat. Add celery root, apples, and onion. Cook until apples and some of celery root are translucent (do not brown), stirring often, about 15 minutes. Add wine, broth and thyme. Cover and bring to simmer. Reduce heat to medium-low; simmer covered until celery root and apples are soft, stirring occasionally, about 25 minutes. Remove from heat; cool slightly.

Working in batches, puree soup in blender until smooth. Return soup to pot and stir in the buttermilk. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Garnish with snipped chives and a drizzle of olive oil.

I’ve told you about my food magazine addiction before and I think I even mentioned the cause of it: it’s a trait I inherited from my parents. This feature of the gene pool was on vivid display during my parents’ visit last weekend, while we sat around the living room lazily sipping coffee and each flipping through the magazines that normally litter my coffee table. My mom had somehow missed the January 2008 issue of Gourmet and I was delighted to call her attention to must-read essays and must-make recipes.

We do the same thing back at their house in Minnesota, only the back issues there hark back to the mid-90s. And the stacks of old magazines are supplemented by shelves full of cookbooks, ranging from spiral-bound recipe booklets published by Lutheran churches to slip-covered, glossy-photoed tomes from the world’s hottest chefs.

(Click “more” for the rest of the story, more photos & the recipe.)

But the most inspiring collection of recipes in my parents’ entire house can always be found in the same place: in a sheaf of tattered pages near the stove, tucked between the knife block and a ceramic crock full of wooden spoons. It’s my mom’s version of a to-cook list and while it’s decidedly lower tech than my own Excel spreadsheet and foldered bookmarks list, it has its own advantages: photos, handwritten notes and proximity to the work space.

When we were in Minnesota for a whole 24 hours for a wedding a couple weekends ago, the recipe for this soup was atop my mom’s stack and the soup itself was simmering nearby in her fire engine red Le Creuset pot. I lifted the heavy lid, revealing a rosy broth brimming with hearty ingredients.

After sampling a quick ladleful, I quickly added the recipe to my own to-cook list. Then, this past Sunday, while my parents were en route back to Minnesota, I pulled out my own Le Creuset, flicked on a flame beneath it and let some diced fennel and pancetta sizzle. A couple minutes later, I streamed in a drizzle of sauvignon blanc and some chicken stock and to this plunked in some cannelini beans and shredded leftover roasted chicken. Finally, I swirled in a pinch each of crushed pepper flakes and smoked paprika and a handful of roughly chopped basil. The fennel and basil lend the soup a faint anise flavor that plays nice with the spice and tomatoes. It’s also incredibly satisfying and filling, what with its three forms of protein (beans, pancetta and chicken). It’s another clear winner from my mom’s soup files.

Italian Turkey (or Chicken), Bean & Tomato Soup
Adapted from Bon Appetit

2 cups chopped fresh fennel
4 ounces sliced pancetta, chopped
1 28-ounce can choppedtomatoes
2 cups homemade or low-sodium chicken broth
1 15-ounce can cannellini (white kidney beans), rinsed, drained
1 1/2 cups roasted chicken or turkey, shredded
1/2 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 cup chopped fresh basil

Sauté fennel and pancetta in heavy large pot over high heat until pancetta starts to brown, about 4 minutes. Add tomatoes. Cover, reduce heat to medium, and cook, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes. Mix in broth, beans, shredded turkey or chicken, smoked paprika and crushed red pepper. Simmer until thickened, about 5 minutes. Mix in basil. Season with salt and pepper.