When I want to cook chickpeas, I look for organic dried peas from a source with a high turnover. Older beans could take hours to cook and end up mealy. Though I do resort to the overnight soak when in doubt about the age of these beans, I more typically place them in a Dutch oven, covered with ample water, and then cook them, starting with a cold oven, at 250 degrees for an hour and a half or so. Obviously, the time will be adjusted based on the doneness of the beans. I check them after about 45 minutes and add salt once they’ve just started to soften.  I almost always make an extra amount to freeze in pint containers, which end up being roughly equivalent to a 25-ounce can.

I generally followed Jaffrey’s recipe, but I diminished the amount of olive oil and added pan-roasted mushrooms at the end, in addition to the ones cooked in the sauce that surrounds the chickpeas. We had leftovers, and enjoyed the melding of the flavors with a couple of days’ rest.

Chickpeas with Mushrooms adapted from Madhur Jaffrey

2½ c cooked chickpeas with their liquid (1 pt homemade or a 25-oz can)

1 tbsp olive or vegetable oil

½ tsp whole cumin seeds

½ medium red onion, finely chopped

2 tsp finely grated peeled fresh ginger

1 large clove garlic, finely diced

15 medium cremini mushrooms, sliced (divided into two parts – 10 and 5)

2 tsp ground coriander

½ tsp ground cinnamon

½ tsp ground cumin

¼ tsp ground turmeric

¼ – ½ tsp cayenne pepper

1 plum tomato, chopped

1½ c reserved chickpea liquid or water

½-1 tsp salt

Drain the chickpeas and reserve the liquid.

Warm the oil in a wide saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the whole cumin seed and when it starts to sizzle, add the onion. Cook, stirring, until the edges of the onion start to brown. Add the ginger and garlic and stir to cook a few minutes. Add 10 of the sliced mushrooms and cook until just starting to soften. Add the spices and stir to combine well, Add the tomato and ½ cup of the chickpea liquid or water. Cover and cook over low heat for 10 minutes.

Add the reserved chickpeas and another ¾ cup of chickpea liquid or water, or a combination. Cover and cook over low heat for 15-20 minutes, checking from time to time to see if additional liquid is needed, and giving the mixture a good stir. Season with salt to taste.

Meanwhile, place the remaining 10 mushrooms in a saute pan and sprinkle with oil. Cook over medium-hot heat until the mushrooms brown and start to lose their juices. Flip them to sear briefly on the other side. When the chickpea mixture is finished, add the pan-roasted mushrooms just before serving.

Serves four.

… In which I improve my roasting skills and create a Sunday meal that will give us inspired ingredients all week.

This week’s Dark Days challenge is to make a one-pot meal – for me, another one-pot meal since this has been a recent theme around here. Soups and stews, especially during the dark days, abound in our household. It’s not unusual to have made three or four in any given week. However, what we’ve been missing since the holidays is the traditional Sunday roast: meat or poultry leisurely prepared on the weekend for a communal feast, and then divvied up for small suppers all week long. A beautiful chicken from Griggstown Quail Farm would fill the bill, roasted with local organic root vegetables infused with Terhune Orchards cider.

 I’ve prepared this dish in past years, several times, and with only semi-satisfying results, so this gave me another chance for improvement. I actually didn’t have a finite plan when I started. However, while I was driving to Griggstown along snow-covered roads hugging the canal, and listening to NPR’s “A Splendid Table” on the radio, Lynne Rosetto Kaspar interviewed Molly Stevens about her new cookbook on roasting, and I said, “Ah ha!” Stevens described a daylong salt-curing process for roasting chicken, and I realized that this might be the trick that would keep my chicken from being braised or poached in the presence of so much liquid.  I wanted a crisp-skinned, flavorful bird sitting atop a rich medley of roots, and that’s what we got.

The “trick” was to rub salt all over the bird (a scant teaspoon per pound) and let it air-dry in the refrigerator for a day. The bird sweats initially, but then absorbs the salt to infuse the meat. This eventually will allow the skin to crisp around a moist interior. I also started cooking the bird in a 400-degree oven for 15 minutes before adding the cut-up veggies and the cider. The result was a chicken with crispy skin and succulent meat. The local organic vegetables – carrots, sweet potatoes, parsnips, yellow turnip, rutabaga and onion – were accompanied by a Granny Smith apple and cider, and a sprinkling of dried winter savory and thyme from our CSA. The only non-local ingredient was the salt.  This went from one pan to one communal platter to one plate each. 

 Writing this up after the fact, I am in the midst of experiencing the most aromatic chicken stock made of the bones and meat juice, and separately a vegetable broth from the peelings. We also have plenty of other “leftovers” from our lovely and generous Sunday Roast. This is a generous one-pot meal that keeps on giving, perfect for the Dark Days.

Roast Chicken with Root Vegetables and Cider

1 3½-4 lb chicken

2½ tsp salt

2 tbsp vegetable oil or butter (I used organic ghee)

1 Granny Smith apple, peeled, cored and cubed

1 onion, roughly chopped

2 carrots, peeled and sliced

1 medium or 2 small parsnips, peeled and sliced or cubed

1 yellow turnip, peeled and cubed

1 very small rutabaga, peeled and cubed

1 tsp dried winter savory or thyme or a combination

1 c cider

1 small handful chard or kale leaves

The day before you plan on roasting the chicken, clean and dry it and rub salt all over. Place on a rack in a pan in the refrigerator overnight (or for at least 8 hours if you do this in the morning).

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Coat the chicken with oil or butter and place in a shallow roasting pan. Roast for 15 minutes.

Add the apple and vegetables to the roasting pan, sprinkle the chicken and vegetables with the herbs and pour the cider on top of the vegetables.  Roast for an hour or until the thigh juices run clear. Remove the chicken and vegetables and let them sit for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, add the green to the liquid in the pan and wilt them, arranging the greens with the root vegetables.

… In which I resolve my husband’s diet dilemma during football playoffs by applying dark days’ local logic.

There might have been a time, call it last week, when my husband would sit in front of the TV watching football or politics, mindlessly eating a bag of tortilla chips or other such thing. If lucky, he’d break out one of the jars of the five kinds of salsa that I canned last summer – tomato with peppers, ancho chili, chili peach, tomatillo, and tomatillo with husk cherries. The delicious and nutritious salsa was not the problem. It was the ridiculous amount of carbs, salt, and fats in the chips. So now, doctor’s orders are to eat beans, lots of beans, and to restrict protein to poultry and fish. I told him that he’s either full of beans, or just a turkey. No I didn’t, but I’ll save the line.

We so greatly associate the Super Bowl with chili that our local Whole Foods sponsors an annual chili cook-off among its departments, coming up this weekend, in time of course to buy the ingredients and whip up a batch for the big day. I’m always pleased when Seafood wins, but have to say that the variety is pretty amazing. The HR department knows how to please a crowd. My husband would like the one made with beef, sausage and beer, bound together with the ingredients of a tomato-based salsa. Not this year. I need to supply the beans alright but instead of “hiding them in plain sight” as in the past few dishes, I’ll just slip them into a chili.

 Locally, this one-pot meal is not much of a challenge no matter what your choice of protein. I chose ground turkey from nearby Griggstown Quail Farm and dried red beans from Cayuga Pure Organics, a little outside my normal geographic reach, but in-bounds for my personal DD Challenge. Both are very flavorful when cooked. I happen to crave tomatoes at all times of year so I used an abundant amount of the tomato puree that I canned last summer with the Amish Paste, Plum Dandy and field tomatoes from our CSA. I used a local red onion from last week’s farmers’ market, fresh poblano peppers from my own plant (the huge one we dubbed the “big ancho-lada,” harvested early and keeping remarkably well in the fridge), local organic garlic, an assortment of dried hot peppers from our CSA and my garden, and a handful of an oregano-like herb which is over-wintering nicely in my outdoor pots. The only non-local ingredients were salt, whole cumin seed and a few cloves.  As a lark, I actually made this – including the beans — in one pot, using one additional bowl and my cutting board. I’ve rationalized the recipe since my insistence on one pot yielded a long cooking process.

This is not Texas Chili. It is a mild and highly flavorful, somewhat spicy NJ chili. If you add the beans at the end as I did, you will have to refresh the salt and spices since the beans absorb a lot. 

Turkey Chili

2 lbs ground turkey

1 large red onion, diced

3-4 small or 2 medium poblano peppers, seeded and diced

2 large cloves garlic, medium dice

3 pints home-canned tomato puree (a combination of types, smooth and chunky), or a 28-oz can, buzzed in blender

2 tsp whole cumin seed, lightly toasted in a pan and ground

3 cloves

3 small dried chili peppers, various types

1 tbsp fresh oregano

Salt

2-3 c cooked dried beans

Optional garnishes: fresh oregano, toasted whole cumin seed, chopped green pepper, onion, grated cheese

Heat a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Break up the ground turkey into clumps and add to the pan, stirring to sear and lightly brown the meat. Remove to a colander to drain, reserving the fat. Saute the onion, pepper, and garlic in the turkey fat until the onion is translucent. Add the turkey meat to the pan along with the tomatoes, and stir to combine. Add the ground cumin, cloves, chili peppers and oregano and bring to a near-boil. Lower the heat and cook over very low, stirring occasionally, for about 2 hours. (Pre-soaked dried beans take a similar amount of time so you can cook them simultaneously.) Add the beans and season to taste. You can discard the dried chilis or de-seed them and chop the flesh to add to the chili. Remove the cloves if you can find them. Let the chili sit for a few hours or a day before serving to meld the flavors. Just before serving, crumble on additional dried chili, and add a few toasted whole cumin seeds, fresh oregano, and some chopped fresh onion.

A brightly colored one-pot meal for our first blustery winter day of snowy ground and gray sky.  Sprightly hues and sparky fresh ginger made this a perfect antidote to a dull day. Besides, making another tasty meal based on legumes is part of my resolve to prove that a diet of dried beans, lentils and other nitrogenous vegetables doesn’t need to seem like a sentence. You see, my husband’s doctor insists, and he resists.  He’s too young to be a statistic. So far, however, the gorgeous Christmas limas with cabbage and sweet potatoes, the curried chickpeas with mushroom, the lentil soup with chard, and now this, turn out to surprise him with flavor, texture, and looks. Can’t discount the looks. He said the lentils looked like mud and, well, they did, so here I went in the opposite direction, seeking the most colorful and flavorful combination.

The snowy white peas with their black eyes and the schoool-bus-yellow squash made a great-looking duo. I dulled the dish a little by adding much more tomato puree than the original recipe called for, but we were eating this as a main dish with a simple green salad, so I wanted the flavor and liquid.  Everything here is local except for the black-eyed peas and the dried spices.  The recipe comes from At Home with Madhur Jaffrey. I have to agree with Deborah Madison’s review of the book that says that “If I folded pages, every page would be turned down, marking a dish I just have to make, and soon.” I’m cooking my way through this inspired cookbook (as well as My Bombay Kitchen by Niloufer Ichiporia King), trying to decipher the seasonings of the Indian sub-continent. They’re great companions for a flavorful leguminous diet.

Black-eyed Peas with Butternut Squash adapted from Madhur Jaffrey

1 c organic dried black-eyed peas

1 tbsp vegetable oil

Scant ½ tsp whole dried cumin seeds

Scant ½ tsp whole dried fennel seeds

1 small onion, chopped

1 tsp finely chopped peeled fresh ginger

½ jalapeno chili, chopped

¾ c tomato puree

1 tsp salt

1/8 tsp cayenne pepper or a small red chili, crumbled

2 or more c water

¾ lb peeled and seeded butternut squash, cut into ½ to 3/4-inch cubes

Soak the black-eyed peas in plenty of water. Drain before using.

Pour the oil into a large pan set over medium-high heat. When hot, add the cumin and fennel seeds until the start to sizzle, about 10 seconds. Add the onions and cook until they start to turn brown at the edges. Add the garlic, ginger and chili and then the tomato puree. Add the black-eyed peas, salt, cayenne pepper and 2 cups of water to start. Bring the mixture or a boil, lower the heat and cook, partially covered for about 1 hour, or until the peas are tender and the water is absorbed. You should check on the mixture partway through and add more water if necessary. Serves 4-6 depending on whether it is served as a main course or a side dish.

I am returning to earth-mother mode now that holiday excesses are receding. Other than local fare, which we are committed to eat, we are focused on whole grains and legumes. We can get some reasonably local dried beans – from Cayuga Organics in the Finger Lakes district of New York State — but need to import the rest from the Midwest. I grew some drying beans myself last year but ended up saving them for next year’s seed. 

Everything in this delicious soup is local except for the lentils and seasonings. I used an organic, French type of green-and-black-flecked lentils, which hold their shape better than the standard green-brown version. I made an extra large batch of lentils for dinner last night, knowing that I could add liquid and vegetables to turn it into soup today. The extra liquid for Day 2 was “bean juice” from cooking gorgeous Christmas limas for another meal. It was too good to throw out.  Vegetable broth, or even water, would work fine.  I wrote the recipe for lentil soup but if you were making lentils alone, use 3 times the amount of liquid as lentils and cook at a gentle simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes. I like to cook them with onions and carrots and season them with sherry vinegar, which creates a spark and diminishes the need for salt.

Lentil Soup with Sweet Potatoes and Chard

1 c organic green-black dried lentils (or French de Puy lentils)

½ small onion, diced

1 carrot, diced

1 tsp vegetable oil (I used local butternut squash seed oil)

4-5 c water or vegetable broth, or a combination

1 small sweet potato, peeled and diced

3-4 leaves of chard (without the center stems)

Salt and freshly ground pepper

Sherry vinegar

Rinse the lentils and inspect them for wayward stones

Slowly cook the onion and carrot in oil until slightly tender. Add the lentils and stir to coat with oil. Add the water or broth and bring to a gentle boil. Lower the heat, cover the pot and cook at a gentle simmer until the lentils are nearly tender, about 25 minutes. Add the sweet potato and cook for another 10 minutes. Add the chard and cook for yet another 5 minutes. Add more liquid if the soup is too thick (or remove the lid when adding the chard if it seems too thin). Season with salt, pepper, and a splash of sherry vinegar.

 Three community farmers’ markets in as many days, and more coming within weeks. Wow, an unprecedented bright sign for local fare during dark days. I stocked up again on mushrooms of several varieties, organic red-skinned and blue-fleshed potatoes, as well as leeks and cabbage, our seasonal pale green vegetables of choice.  I also learned that our community is now designated as a “fair trade” town according to international standards for sustainable agriculture and responsible consumerism. What can I say, other than there’s a lot of foodies and farmers around here.

 For the dark days, I generally like cooking foods that come from regions that have cold winters, like Eastern Europe. I recall a similar, vaguely Hungarian stuffed cabbage with pork filling and a tomato sauce made for last years Dark Days Challenge. Maybe it’s the mild weather, or just what I had on hand, but this year I leaned toward Asia. I combined ground pork with my newly purchased shitake mushrooms, and local organic garlic, ginger and scallions, the latter two found at the back of the vegetable bin, sorry looking but intact. Time to purge the fridge. This was a simple, flavorful and satisfying one-pot dish, visually perked up by the addition of colorful braised carrot sticks.

Many recipes for meat fillings (as with meat loaf) call for breadcrumbs or rice or other grains and starchy ingredients to lighten up the mixture. I like to use vegetables to do that. In this dish, I used slivers of the tougher outer leaves of the cabbage. Other times, I might use grated root vegetables according to the rest of the mix: kohlrabi, turnips, carrots, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, etc.

Cabbage Rolls with Pork, Shitakes, Ginger and Scallions

2 outer “wrapper” leaves from a head of Savoy cabbage (see below)

6 leaves from a head of Savoy cabbage (see below)

½ pint shitake mushrooms

Neutral vegetable oil (I used local sunflower oil)

1 large or two small cloves garlic, finely chopped

1-inch knob of garlic, peeled and finely chopped

6 scallions, white and light green parts, finely chopped

1 dry chili pepper, crumbled (or ½ tsp red pepper flakes)

1 lb pork

1 egg, lightly beaten

Salt to taste

½ c water or chicken stock

Remove the tough outer “wrapper” leaves from a head of Savoy cabbage and choose two to trim and cut into slivers. Set aside.

Slit the stem end of the cabbage to release additional leaves, carefully removing them without tearing. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and drop in the leaves, two at a time, for a minute, until slightly wilted. Remove carefully to a colander to drain and dry them on a paper towel. Cut out the coarse stem from the leaves (v-shape) chop the stem finely and reserve.

Wipe the shitake mushrooms clean of any loose dirt and cut off the stems, reserving them for another use (think vegetable broth). Slice the mushrooms into small pieces.

Heat a tiny bit of oil in a wide, shallow pan and add the mushrooms, cooking until brown, stirring occasionally. Remove to a bowl to cool.

Add a few more drops of oil to the pan and sauté the garlic, ginger and scallions, adding them to the mushrooms. Crumble in a dry chili pepper.

Add the sliced cabbage from the wrapper leaves and the chopped stems, and cook until wilted and slightly brown. Add to the vegetables.

When the vegetables are cool, add the ground pork and the egg, lightly mixing the ingredients and not packing them down. Divide the mixture into six sausage-shaped pieces.

Thoroughly dry the cabbage leaves and lay them flat. Place the pork mixture toward the bottom of each leaf, overlapping the greens to leave no gaps and roll up into tight bundles.

Heat the oven to 325 degrees. Pour a little water or stock around the cabbage rolls. Cover the dish and bake for about 25 minutes. Let stand for a few minutes and serve with colorful braised carrot matchsticks or another vegetable.

Serves 3-4.

The photo here is of the finished vin d’oranges that I made last year. I deviated from my normal method and I regretted it since the drink became cloudy due to the fact that I ground the oranges instead of slicing them. I must have thought I would get more “essence” from them, but what I got was murky though completely and utterly delicious. It was also paler and less colorful because of the type of oranges that I used. I would love to try this with Cara Cara or blood oranges, both of which are reddish.  

Serve the vin d’oranges very cold in small glasses. You can also add some seltzer, which makes it a kind of boozy Orangina or Aranciata. So this year I went back to the basic recipe that I adapted from Chef Daniel Boulud’s writing in Food & Wine Magazine.

Vin d’Oranges adapted from Daniel Boulud

2-quart jar with a tight-fitting lid

2 organic navel oranges, washed and thoroughly dried

1 organic Meyer lemon, washed and thoroughly dried

1 vanilla bean

½ c granulated white sugar

¼ c water

5 cups white wine (I used Chardonnay)

1 c kirschwasser

Slice the oranges and the lemon in half vertically and then cut into horizontal slices about ¼-inch thick. Cut each slice into three little fan-shaped pieces. Add them to the jar as you go along.

Slice the vanilla bean in half lengthwise and scrape the seeds into the jar. Cut the bean pod into four pieces and add to the jar.

Meanwhile, make “simple syrup” by bringing the sugar and water  to a boil in a small saucepan, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Set aside to cool.

Combine the cooled simple syrup with the wine and kirschwasser and pour over the citrus in the jar. Clamp on the lid and store in the refrigerator for at least 40 days before using. You can decant the liquid then or whenever you’re ready to serve it.

Makes about 1½ quarts of aperitif.

Did you know that the word “marmalade” is derived from “marmelo,” the Portuguese word for quince? Apparently, the confection was originally made from quince but, like many things, has metamorphosed across centuries and places to have different meanings.

I finally got around to cooking a several apple quinces that I had intended to preserve before the holidays. Last year, I followed a recipe of David Lebovitz’s that he borrowed from Helen Witty. They grated the tough-fleshed quince, discarding the cores and skin, which I resisted as simply too wasteful. I used the cores and skin to make a big batch of quince jelly, since they are great sources of pectin.

 This year, I followed the advice of Catherine Plagemann and made “quince water” by cooking the cores and skin in water to cover until soft.  This method is preferred by the French queen of jam, Christine Ferber, who refers to it as “quince juice.” She uses whole quince, which for me ends up wasting the pulp unless you can see your way through making a compote. The quince water is used to cook the cut-up fruit (which by the way had been been sitting in cold water acidulated with lemon juice to avoid browning). Plagemann offered a second approach to the quince water, which was to parboil the quince. I tried that with one piece of fruit but decided I preferred the first method since I would still end up with un-used cores.

When ready to make the marmalade, I took half the quince pieces and grated them, as I’d done last year, and cut the other half in small pieces as Plagemann suggested.  Add them to the quince water in the preserving pan and add fresh water if needed so that the fruit is barely covered.  Bring to a boil and cook for 20 minutes to start to break down the fruit.  I added sugar –1½ cup per 4 cups of chopped quince – which is less than I would otherwise use, since the quince has such high levels of pectin. I also added the juice of half and orange. The mixture is then cooked slowly for about an hour until the color changes from drab yellow to a beautiful crimson and the flesh is tender. Plagemann mashes her pieces as they cook. I honestly preferred the grated version, since the color and texture were better and the marmalade reached the gel point more quickly. 

I added more water to the quince cores and skin since they weren’t fully cooked (and I was also adding some trimmings and the skin and core of the parboiled quince), and cooked it down, producing a couple of jars of quince jelly, which I regarded as a bonus.

Fisher, commenting on Plagemann’s recipe says, “I never made this marmalade, but, honestly, I don’t know what anyone ever bothers with quinces.” Unlike some of her sidebars that are one or two sentences long, this one fills up three full pages! Fisher equates quinces to rhubarb, “a ghastly thing too” that makes her teeth ache to think of the sugar. She recounts a way-too-long experience making her grandmother’s “quince honey” which she gave away since she thought it was awful. The recipient thought it was “the most delicious thing he ever tasted,” and she was relieved that the poor guy died before she felt obliged to make it again. This weird little fruit certainly brought out her pique.

Quince Marmalade liberally adapted from Catherine Plagemann

3 apple quinces

Water

1 lemon, juiced, hulls reserved

Approximately 1½ c sugar

Juice of ½ orange

Peel and quarter the quince, cutting out the core and seeds. Place the quince pieces in a bowl of cold water (enough to cover them) to which the lemon juice and hulls have been added and set aside.

Place the quince skins, cores and seeds in a saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil, lower the heat and cook, covered, until the pulp is soft. Strain the “quince water” into the preserving pan you will use to cook the marmalade.

Grate the reserved pieces of quince, measure them, and add them to the quince water. (I got 4 cups of grated quince). Add additional fresh water if needed so that the fruit pieces are not quite submerged in liquid. Bring to a boil, and cook for about 10 minutes. Add 1½ cup of sugar for each 4 cups of grated quince. Add the orange juice. Bring back to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar, and cook slowly for about an hour, or until the color has changed to light red and the quince is cooked. Test for gel by dropping a little onto a cold plate.

While the marmalade is cooking, prepare jars for water bath canning. When it is done, spoon the hot marmalade into hot jars and seal. Process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water returns to a boil.  Turn off the heat, remove the lid and let sit for 5 minutes until removing the jars to sit undisturbed until cool.

Makes 5-6 four-ounce jars.

Broccoli Rabe Risotto

1 small onion, finely chopped

1 clove garlic, chopped

Butter (or olive oil)

¾ c Arborio rice

¾ -1 c cooked broccoli rabe

3-4 c chicken or turkey stock, warmed

Salt and pepper

¼ c grated Parmesan cheese or other flavorful hard cheese

Optional: ½-1 flavorful Italian sausage, cooked and crumbled

Optional: a few flakes of red pepper

Lightly sauté the onion in a little butter or oil until soft. Add the rice and stir to coat the grains. Start adding the stock, about ¼ c at a time, regulating the heat to keep the liquid at a simmer. Keep stirring and adding additional ¼ c of stock. The entire risotto should take about 20 minutes to cook. About ¾ of the way through, add the greens. (They will impart moisture to the rice so you may not need to add as much stock.) When the risotto is just finished, adjust the seasonings and add the grated cheese. Stir in the crumbled sausage if using. Serve immediately.

Serves 3 as a main dish, up to 6 as a side dish.

Slightly tipsy table talk over the holidays made a few tongue twisters of our pickled Seckels. You can just imagine. I put these up in mid-fall when local Seckel pears were still available and served them in sweet and savory combinations. Plagemann describes the results as “rich, spicy and good, and an attractive brown color.” Contrarian Fisher says “they are little dry warped things …(with) strong hard little bits in them like grains of sand.” But she is forgiving since her mother “loved them, so all was well.”

I agree with the mixed results, but I think they were my doing, not a flaw in the idea or the process. Plagemann peeled her pears and I didn’t, resulting in a shriveled appearance and a slightly dense coating. This was actually more of a cosmetic problem than a flavor problem but it did affect the texture. The pears are poached in a combination of white wine vinegar and brown sugar with cloves and cinnamon sticks. The poached pears are ladled into hot jars and the hot pickling liquid is reduced and poured on top. I let them sit for a couple of months, with the result that the liquid permeated the fruit and all of the graininess that Fisher feared was gone. Plagemann was right about that. 

I will make these again, but need to work on the type and amount of vinegar and sugar, the preparation of the pears and maybe some alternative spices. I served them semi-successfully with ice cream and cookies (too vinegary) and very successfully in a salad of winter-friendly bitter greens topped with the pears, toasted walnuts and blue cheese. Plagemann says to save the liquid for a basting sauce. She suggests ham. Hmmm. Not this generation.

Spiced Seckel Pears from Catherine Plagemann

12 Seckel pears

1½ c white wine vinegar

2 c dark brown sugar

1 tsp whole cloves from which the heads are removed (so as not to cloud the syrup)

1 two-inch stick cinnamon, broken into pieces

Peel enough pears to pack a quart jar. Bring the vinegar, sugar and spices to a boil and add the pears. Lower the heat and poach the pears gently until easily pierced by a cake tester. Do not overcook.

Meanwhile, prepare the jar by washing it, filling it with boiling water and draining it.

Place the pears in the prepared jar. Bring the pickling syrup to a boil and pour over the pears , shaking the jar gently to remove air pockets. Seal the jar and set aside for about a month before using.