From Christmas through the third week of January my oven was broken, leaving me on my landlord’s schedule. Not that it mattered. I was eating three olives per every martini1, craggy schnitzel and hazelnut feuilletine at Café Sabarsky, Nancy’s vanilla-thyme panna cotta, rare steak (frites; tartare), and alternating espresso and red wine-soaked slivers of an enormous chocolate-studded pandoro I bought at Union Market on Eastern Parkway after striking out at the Soho Eataly, where the only panettone were a few odious limoncello (no) on the basement level.
Cooking at home again, I wanted things in order, spare and without fussiness—prioritizing immunity and as much freshness I could get during weeks of slow-moving overcast weather. I doubled the aromatics in this chicken soup, garnishing with tons of thinly sliced ginger and fresno chile, and questioned this one’s simple assembly (the celery is a workhorse). Extra batches in the freezer—and a reserve of chicken broth2 to have with grated turmeric and ginger for breakfast—were insurance for delayed hangovers and moments of laziness during the temperature drop.
After a 25°F degree morning at the ophthalmologist I took myself across the street to the Met, comparing the browns in a Vuillard portrait of his mother with the oyster and maitake mushrooms I brought home from the co-op, intended for Melissa Clark’s mushroom bourguignon3. I put off making the recipe, but as I was walking into barre class one day Melissa herself came out (probably the only time I’ve cared about seeing a celebrity). The preparation takes time, but the cooking isn’t long—and the sauce is so forceful. What was I waiting for.
Before that went on the stove I put together Clare de Boer’s ginger cake with a few changes (Miyokos butter, almond milk, and less molasses). Awhile back I bought a red and gold tin of Lyle’s Black Treacle at Kalustyan’s with the intention of something glam and Nigella; it was perfect for the 13 x 9 inch size, even though the recipe asks for 100 grams more. By design it’s a hardy cake—and the batter was heavy, baking into a rewardingly dense texture and crackled top. I froze off about two thirds. Working at home I always get hungry between 3 and 4 p.m. Vanilla ice cream is nice, but I’ll have a square with a dollop of crème fraîche and a cup of lapsang souchong.
Recent eating notes: Sami Tamimi’s hummus from Falastin (the only one IMO) with roasted sweet potato, carrots, cucumber salad, and jammy egg / Odeon fries / golden roast chicken and charred cauliflower on a pool of tzatziki / salmon poached in dashi, also from de Boer / prosciutto and melon and profiterole dinner at Gene’s / pancakes at Corner Bar with Natalie /
And, at Caviar Kaspia, an astringent lemon twist.
I prefer beef for breakfast, when I get it together to get bones and roast them. Coincidentally, my facialist says this age is all about collagen maintenance.
As the recipe says, you can use whatever mushrooms you choose, but I liked the intensity I got from a combination of oyster, maitake, cremini, and some squirreled away dried porcini and morels that I rehydrated. I also didn’t use tamari, just soy sauce.