Have you watched the Discovery Channel lately? I hope you’re sitting down, because I have some startling facts to share with you: 1. There’s a super black hole at the center of our galaxy (“What?! When were they going to tell us this?!”); but that doesn’t really matter because 2. The Earth, as part of the Milky Way, is on a kamikaze tear toward another galaxy at a steady clip of 200,000 miles per hour (“Nooooo! That’s too fast!”); and even if that doesn’t happen 3. The universe is steadily expanding, which means that everything is moving away from everything else. Hope you don’t have abandonment issues, because it’s going to get pretty lonely … and dark … and cold.

It’s horrifying in the same way as Toddlers In Tiaras, Snooki, and the KFC Double Down: It’s real, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

To say that I felt that way about instant espresso powder would be an overstatement; however, I definitely avoided it as long as I could. The name “instant espresso” in itself seems contradictory, and I make it a point not to buy oxymorons. That said, recipe after recipe from respectable titles like Cooking Light and Cook’s Illustrated touted the ingredient’s unique ability to add depth to chocolatey desserts, and I finally caved when making an espresso-clementine semifreddo for Nathan’s birthday. Since then, we can’t stop using the stuff. Our favorite application so far is in this simple Instant Iced Espresso, perfect for the summer.

Instant Iced Espresso
Almond milk gives this drink a nuttiness that flatters the chocolatey espresso, but feel free to use whatever milk you prefer.

1 tablespoon instant espresso
7–10 vigorous grates of fresh cinnamon
1/4 cup hot water
3/4 cup milk
Ice to fill

Spoon espresso into a tall glass. Grate cinnamon into glass. Add hot water, and stir until espresso is dissolved. Add  3/4 cup milk, and stir to combine. Fill with ice, and serve.

to Boston! So before I spill the Beantown news, I first must explain the lack of posting. During the past three weeks, I’ve taken not one, but two glorious trips to New Orleans, plus worked fast and furious to get our June issue out the door. (When I’m not posting here, I’m a copy editor at Health magazine.) Or, should I say “was”? Starting in mid-June, I’ll be joining the staff of Cook’s Illustrated and America’s Test Kitchen. Just typing that makes my heart go pitter-patter! In case the closest you get to cooking is watching the Food Network, let me offer you a quick education on the illustrious publication that is CI. Actually, I’ll let this recent article from Jezebel do it. I couldn’t have put it better!

I have so much to learn, and I’m sure that the little crumbs of knowledge I pick up will make the recipes that Nathan and I whip up for you here even better. In the meantime, I suggest you pick up a copy of Cook’s Illustrated—you won’t be disappointed. And if you can get your hands on The Best of America’s Test Kitchen 2007 (available at Amazon.com), I suggest you make these Boston Cream Cupcakes.* The cupcakes themselves are light and buttery rich, and the icing shamelessly wraps the cake in a delicate chocolate glaze. But the showstopper was the pastry cream filling. Though intimidating at first glance, it came together effortlessly and inspired me to exclaim “This is slap-your-mama good!” as I lapped taste after taste from the bowl with my fingers. (Disclaimer: No mamas were slapped in the making of these cupcakes.) I even had a little pastry cream leftover, and it stowed away later that week in a Beerimisu I made for St. Patrick’s Day.

Ahem, well, that’s all for now. We’ve been cooking up a storm and will have a quick-and-easy recipe for iced coffee and TDF Roasted Chicken for you very, very soon!

*Due to my fear of the copyright police, I will not be publishing the recipe here. Buy the book, thank me later.

One cold, dreary Saturday afternoon last February, I decided to whip up a batch of harissa. (Isn’t that what you do on the weekend?) Honestly, my motivation was a little less than pure: I was working on some freelance copyediting and, sitting at the dining room table with our empty kitchen out of the corner of my eye, it was impossible to resist the distraction. The recipe I followed was so hands-off that I didn’t get much of a break, but I did gain something much, much more valuable—my very first taste of this spicy Moroccan stable. Now, I know this may be shocking, but the South isn’t known for it’s plethora of North African restaurants, because, believe me, I’m a heat-seeking missile when it comes to trying new foods and I would’ve checked off harissa a long time ago. Yep, call me a regular culinary conquistador.

Traditionally, harissa contains dried chiles, garlic, olive oil, caraway, coriander, and cumin. On my first attempt (see above; it’s the red stuff on the hummus) and again this past weekend, I used what spices we had, plus added others that complement their flavors. Here’s where Nathan shined: star anise, mustard seed, paprika, honey, and clove weren’t invited to the first party, but joined the fun the second time around. This just goes to show how flexible harissa can be, and I bet, just like any regional dish, it varies from city to village to kitchen.

Harissa is unbelievably easy to make, and if you’re addicted to hot sauce or Sriracha, you’ll love globbing it on everything from eggs in the morning (yep, you might remember we used it on our Baked Eggs) to burgers at night. We immediately used it to crown our variation of one of Heidi’s latest recipes. (Scroll to the bottom of the page to check out a shot.)

Perhaps harissa’s only drawback is its short lifespan. Don’t get me wrong, refrigerated and tightly sealed it’ll probably keep for a while. No, it’s an antsy ingredient, constantly looking for ways to jump in recipes.  It lasted in our house for less than four hours, taking the first opportunity to mingle with potatoes and celery in the side we brought to our neighbors’ cookout. (By the way, this is one of my neighbors. If he likes it, you will, too.) Make me one promise: You will make this potato salad this summer. I don’t even care if you buy harissa. It’s simple, the flavors are unexpected but exciting, and it’s just gosh-darn pretty.

Two Potato Salad with Harissa
This might be the best potato salad you’ve ever made. There’s only one way to make it better: Add bacon.

3 sweet potatoes, cubed (you can peel ‘em; we left the skin on)
3 red bliss potatoes, cubed
1/2 cup homemade or store-bought harissa (see recipe below)
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 cup diced celery and leaves
1 ounce chives, chopped

1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add potatoes, and cook 20 minutes or until tender; drain and refrigerate 30 minutes. (The sweet potatoes will cook faster than the red bliss. We panicked when we saw they were a bit mushy, but it turned out to be a blessing: They created a nice creamy texture and gave the dish a vibrant hue.)
2. Combine remaining ingredients, and stir into cooled potatoes. Place potato salad back in the refrigerator until ready to serve. It makes a huge batch, so it’s perfect for a cookout or picnic.

Harissa
I was tempted to call this “harissa-ish sauce,” because I’m sure it’s a big step away from the traditional version. A few things it has in common: It’s spicy, garlicky, and irresistible.

4 ounces dried chiles
4 garlic cloves
1 teaspoon salt
3 to 31/2 teaspoons ground spices (the combination is up to you; we used mustard seed, celery seed, paprika, coriander, cinnamon, clove, cumin, turmeric, juniper berries, and 1 star anise)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 teaspoon honey
Squeeze of lemon

1. Pour boiling water over dried chiles; let sit 30 minutes. Remove the stems and the seeds from the chiles (the more seeds you leave in, the spicier it will be).
2. If any of your spices are whole, you’ll want to give them a quick zip in a small grinder (we use an old coffee bean grinder for our spices) or mash ‘em with a mortar and pestle.
3. Process all ingredients in a food processor until desired consistency (you want it to be a little chunky). Use immediately or refrigerate in an air-tight container.

This is bound to come out sooner or later, so I might as well let the cat out of the bag: The very first time I cooked for Nathan I made chicken pot pie and burned scorched cremated charred it beyond recognition. Obviously, I’m not the first girlfriend to utterly fail the partner-who-will-prepare-delicious-meals-til-death-do-us-part test (aka, the Donna Reed blot), but at least we had a safety net: Nathan was finishing up his culinary degree at the prestigious Johnson & Wales University.

But did I let this flub erase my credibility in the kitchen? Silence me from giving my two cents? Heck no. I was constantly at Nathan’s elbow when he was whisking together roux, tressing stuffed pork tenderloin with twine, chopping summer tomatoes and basil for homemade marinara. My advice had a common refrain: “At Macaroni Grill we did it like this.” That’s right. I thought that two summers waiting tables (not cooking) at a national chain restaurant was enough to go toe-to-toe against a graduate from one of the best culinary programs in the nation. (Truth be told, I did pick up some invaluable life skills: I can write my name in crayon upside down and knot my own Looney Tunes tie.) It didn’t take long for Nathan to make fun of me—and yet, it was like a nervous tick I couldn’t stop. It was as if the sub-par Italian eatery was inextricably intertwined with my soul, and even an exorcism by the Pope himself couldn’t cast it out.

While I may never get the smell of rosemary peasant bread out of my hair, nearly eight years after I turned in my waitress apron, I have finally stopped using the Mac Grill as a benchmark of epicurean greatness. That said, it is just about the only chain restaurant I will eat at … and one of the reasons why is their Insalata Florentine, a Mediterranean mess of grilled chicken, orzo, spinach, olives, capers, and sun-dried tomatoes.

Last weekend, I challenged Nathan to try to replicate it, and let me tell you, he knocked it out of the park. The perfect dish for spring, you will want to make it for pot lucks, picnics, barbecues … and even though there’s nothing distinctly Italian about the salad, you will grab babies and old ladies in the street, kissing them while shouting “Grazie!”—don’t be surprised if you go all Pavarotti and break out into an aria from “La Traviata.” It’s that good.

Chicken-Orzo Salad with Tangerine Dressing
The dressing does contain a raw egg yolk; if that makes you uneasy, you’ll have to use another emulsifier, such as mustard or sunflower seeds, to thicken the dressing. We haven’t tested it that way, though, so add err on the side of a scoop or small pinch—you can always add more until the dressing reaches the desired consistency.

Tangerine Dressing
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon honey
2 teaspoons dried lavender
1 teaspoon salt
Dash of black pepper and paprika
Juice of 1 tangerine
1 egg yolk
1 garlic clove
1–2 dashes Worcestershire sauce
6 mint leaves

Salad
1/2 pound orzo, cooked according to package directions
2–21/2 cups chicken, roughly chopped (about two-thirds of the meat from a roasted or rotisserie chicken)
25 kalamata olives, pitted and chopped
4 ounces sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
1–2 handfuls of arugula or spinach
Roasted and salted sunflower seeds (you could also use pine nuts)

1. Place all dressing ingredients in a small bowl; process with a stick blender until well-blended. (In a pinch, you can use a blender to combine the ingredients.)
2. Place orzo, chicken, olives, and sun-dried tomatoes in a large bowl; toss to combine. Divide salad evenly among 4 serving bowls. Drizzle dressing on top of each, and toss to coat. Top with arugula and a sprinkle of sunflower seeds.

Note: This salad and dressing keep well in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Store in separate air-tight containers, and top salad with dressing, arugula, and sunflower seeds before serving.

The instant I saw this deep-dish pizza recipe over at LastNightsDinner, I knew that Nathan and I had to try it. A one-bowl, quick-rise dough baked in a cast-iron skillet? Its potential was mind-blowing, and the more I thought about it, I realized that this is how Michelangelo must’ve felt when he first beheld the Sistine Chapel ceiling; Galileo, the night sky; Liberace, rhinestones and sequins; Glenn Beck, a blank chalkboard.

I understood that what other people perceived as “crazy” was really just an intense restlessness (except for Beck … that guy is just cuckoo). I couldn’t wait to make the dough, press it into the heavy pan, and remove a golden crust from the hot oven—which is why we brazenly disregarded the call for instant yeast and instead used the active packets we had on hand. As you can see in the picture above, the result missed inedible by a mile, instead landing this side of impress your socks off; however, the crust was thin, not dense and chewy like we had imagined. We were determined to try again.

For the recipe’s reincarnation, we played it smarter. Sticking with active yeast, we let it proof in warm water before adding the other ingredients. We also cut down on the salt, which weighed in at a whopping 1 tablespoon in the original. That and the fact that we almost exclusively buy salted butter made this a wise move. (Who is buying unsalted anyway? It’s a little paranoid, if you ask me. Now if we could just get Beck to stop drawing acorns for a minute, maybe he could get to the bottom of it.) Finally, we added—you guessed it—ground flaxseed and rubbed the dough with a clove of garlic before baking. The crust puffed up like a proud American on the Fourth of July.

Seriously, though, this recipe is gooooood. Don’t let the rise time stop you from making it on a weeknight … you could easily make the dough the night before, and let it rise in the refrigerator. (Don’t say you heard it from me, but this makes an excellent excuse to get out of dish duty: “Honey, why don’t you clean up dinner, while I throw this pizza dough together?” Works every time.) I have a feeling that we’re going to be stuck on this recipe for a while, so I’ll let you know if we come up with any other interesting variations. And please share your ideas. Now get cooking!

Crazy-Good Deep-Dish Pizza
There are no rules on the toppings. The first time we did a wild mushroom-roasted chicken riff, the second an olive-bacon-pepper version. Pizza is a great end of the week meal, because leftovers make the best toppings.
(Adapted from LastNightsDinner.net)

2 teaspoons active dry yeast
1 cup warm water
3 cups flour (we typically use a mix of all-purpose and whole-wheat)
1 tablespoon flaxseed, ground
11/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon sugar or honey
3 tablespoons butter, melted
1 garlic clove, sliced in half
Cooking spray

1. Dissolve yeast in warm water for 5 minutes or until it blooms.
2. Meanwhile, combine flour, salt, and sugar in bowl of a stand mixer. Add water-yeast mixture and butter.
3. Knead on low speed with the hook attachment until the dough starts to form a ball and pulls away from the sides of the bowl. (We didn’t have this problem, but LastNightsDinner recommends that you add 1–2 tablespoons water if dough is too dry or 1–2 tablespoons if dough is too wet.)
4. Spray a medium bowl with cooking spray, and add dough to the bowl. Cover and let dough rise until it doubles in bulk, 1 hour or overnight in the refrigerator.
5. Once you’re ready to bake, preheat oven to 400°F. If you maintain your cast-iron skillet correctly (cooking bacon in it once a week counts) then you probably won’t need to grease it. However, it never hurts to add a splash of olive oil, just in case. Roll out the dough, and place it in the skillet, pressing it into the pan. Rub cut side of the garlic clove over the dough. (If you have time and are looking for a more intense flavor, Nathan recommends making an infused garlic oil instead: Warm 2 tablespoons oil over medium heat, and add a crushed garlic clove; let sit at room temperature 1 hour, a perfect step while you’re waiting for dough to rise.) Add toppings, and bake 15–20 minutes or until cheese is melted and crust is golden brown. The pizza should lift right out of the cast-iron skillet; remove to a cutting board, and slice with a pizza cutter.

I think the world is divided into two types of people: Those who can saunter up to a Ben & Jerry’s counter and order without hesitation, and those who sample mini-spoon after mini-spoon, weighing the options of Cherry Garcia or Boston Cream Pie as if it were Sophie’s Choice.

I fall into the second camp. At first, it’s a delicious anxiety, tasting each candidate in an effort to discern the perfect swirl-to-chunk ratio, whether to go sorbet or all the way. Strategies are useless: I’ve tried “eenie, meenie, miney, moe,” tried to connect with my inner ice-cream voice—last week, I even told the guy behind the counter to cut me off … after six samples, of course. What’s a girl to do when dozens of flavors stare through the glass like puppies at the pet store?

My problem: I want to have it all. Ice cream may be a lost battle, but I think I just hit the jackpot when it comes to cookies.

You may remember back in January when I tempted you with this description of my Mexican Chocolate-Pepita Oaties, part I. I finally whipped up a redux this weekend and am pretty pleased with the results. This time, I added chili powder for an undertone of smokiness. Cayenne is still in the lineup, giving the cookies a subtle heat which you taste after the first bite. For a fiber boost, dates joined the party, and they play nicely with the other chewy ingredients like oats and dried cranberries.

The first go-round, the cookies had a weird, slightly crystallized consistency, which didn’t dramatically affect the flavor (case in point: they lasted all of 12 hours before being devoured by Nathan and crew), but it was still bothersome. I had a few hunches: We typically buy Amish butter, which is sold in dome-shaped packages in the specialty section at our Whole Foods. There’s no convenient tablespoon markings, so my guess was that I eyeballed it a little short. I also used Florida Crystals brown sugar, and I haven’t baked with it enough to know if it was the culprit, but I sidelined it for round 2. That and the additions mentioned above yielded a much improved treat.

One of the main reasons I’ll be baking these again and again is that they’re nutritional powerhouses: Oats and dates pack fiber, dark chocolate brings antioxidants, flaxseed offers omega-3s, pepitas are a good source of iron and zinc, and cranberries are rich in vitamin C. What have those pull-apart refrigerated cookies done for you lately? Enough said.

Mexican Chocolate-Pepita Oaties
Pay special attention to the cook time, and bake just until tops are set. Any longer and they get a little crispy.
(Adapted from Cooking Light)

11/2 cups old-fashioned oats, divided
1 tablespoon flaxseed
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup whole-wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
6 tablespoons butter
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup dried fruit (I used 1/4 each cranberries and dates)
1/2 cup pepitas (or pumkinseeds, same thing)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 egg, lightly beaten
2–3 ounces dark chocolate, roughly chopped

1. Preheat oven to 350°. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicon baking mat.
2. Process 1/4 cup oats and flaxseed in a spice grinder. Combine mixture with remaining 11/4 cup whole oats, all-purpose flour, and next 6 ingredients (through chili powder) in a large bowl.
3. Melt butter on the stove top or in the microwave; stir in brown sugar until smooth. Add mixture to dry ingredients, stirring and scraping sides and bottom of the bowl until combined. Mix in remaining ingredients, and stir until well-incorporated.
4. Scoop by tablespoonfuls onto prepared baking sheet. Bake 10-12 minutes or until tops are just set. Let cool on a wire rack.

My dad taught me how to drive a stick shift in a cemetary. I guess his thought was (albeit a bit morbid) that no one would be harmed by my novice stop-go-screech-stall, changing from first to second and weaving through the gravestone-lined path. (The ghosts of Faulkner and O’Connor reveled in the scene, I’m sure.) It was safe ground, and until I could brake on an incline, ease off the clutch, and slowly accelerate without threatening to roll backward into someone’s eternal resting place, I could make mistakes, feel my way, try again.

The kitchen’s a bit like that, and I’ve never realized it more fully than when we started this blog. Our stop-go-screech-stop is a little more like a stir-guess-cook-eat, taking new ingredients and methods for a test drive and learning from the results. Here are two lessons we’ve picked up so far on our cookblog journey, the first involving a delicious chicken salad sandwich.

Lesson #1: Take notes. Lately, Nathan’s become the master of pantry pestos—the second a bunch of parsley, cilantro, or basil hangs its head, he grabs whatever nuts we have on hand, olive oil, lemon juice, and salt and pepper, and processes it all into a thick, glorious spread. Herbs that would’ve been garbage get a new lease on life.

One recent Sunday, we mingled the last smidge of pesto with roasted chicken, avocado, lettuce, and multigrain bread. I could tell you that after one bite you would shun the mayonnaise jar when whipping up future chicken salads, possibly even question its purpose in your fridge (and at the very least, banish it to the back), but to get the full effect, you would have to try this creation. Alas, we didn’t write down the recipe, and when I asked Nathan two weeks later for it, he looked at me like I had morphed into said sandwich, gained the ability of speech, and demanded a strand-by-strand account of my new DNA.

Next time we try it (and we will), we’ll write it down. This goes for every future attempt in the kitchen, which leads us to …

Lesson #2: Pretty doesn’t count. In the past, I admit that I was downright dogmatic when it came to following recipes. So trying to come up with variations of my own is a bit daunting, but I’m up for the challenge (especially those that involve sugar, butter, and chocolate). Take this first attempt at Blackberry-Cocoa Swirl Cheesecake Bars … no really, take them—they may look good, but they have a halfhearted richness and flippant texture. I’m sure they bounce. (This, of course, didn’t stop Nathan or our friend Chad from devouring two-thirds of the pan. The rest ended up in homemade vanilla ice cream.)

But looking at the photo, you’d never know it, right? Luckily for you, we’re only going to post recipes that work. (I did record each ingredient this time, so I’ll have a springboard on round 2.) After all, HatchedInTheKitchen is really our long love letter to cooking and eating, masquerading as a food blog. We want to look back and remember the times we swooned.

Of course, we still have many, many more lessons coming our way. In the meantime, we’ll share a big slice of humble pie … if it’s tasty (and we wrote down how to make it), you’ll see it posted real soon.

Cross the Mason-Dixon line, and you’re treading on spiritual soil. That deep, hollow sound you hear? The South’s heartbeat, a staccato Bible thump. The fervor pervades through everything—there’s even a holy trinity of Southern cooking: fried, grits, and gravy. (Yes, “fried” is a noun in these parts.) They don’t call it soul food for nothing.

Nathan’s from the pocket-size state of Rhode Island, and he’s probably only survived in Alabama this long because he likes loves grits. At first, he’d only eat them in the secrecy of our home, stirring in fat pats of salted butter and fistfuls of cheese. Now, he’s a bit evangelical, presenting the coarse ground corn to his parents during our visits with the zeal of Moses descending from Mt. Sinai, commandments in tow.

OK, I may be exaggerating just a little. But ye of little faith who forsake grits, prepare to be converted. These are wrapped in a crunchy crust and pan-fried, the centers creamy and melty-smooth. Top that with a fried egg and mushroom gravy, and you have a little bit of heaven on a plate. Go ahead, try it … and get ready to spread the good news.

Southern Sunshine
Prepare grits according to package directions, then smooth out into a baking dish (see above). You can refrigerate them until you’re ready to get cooking. My favorite comes from Nora Mill, a granary in the North Georgia Mountains. At less than $5 for a 2-pound bag of “Georgia Ice Cream,” it’s a steal.

4 ounces sliced mushrooms
1/4 onion, chopped
11/4 cup flour, plus more if needed for batter
1/4 cup butter or oil, plus more for frying eggs
1 cup mushroom or chicken stock
Dashes hot sauce
Salt and pepper, to taste
6 eggs, divided
1–2 cups crushed matzoh crackers or breadcrumbs
3–4 cups prepared grits, refrigerated overnight
Vegetable oil, for frying
Green onions, for garnish

1. Sauté mushrooms and onion in a skillet until soft and golden; set aside in a bowl.
2. Add 1/4 cup flour and 1/4 cup butter to skillet, and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally. (The mixture will be slightly clumpy and thick.) Cook and stir until roux reaches the color of a copper penny; add stock and onions and mushrooms, including juices, to pan, and whisk to combine. Season with hot sauce and salt and pepper; cook gravy over low heat.
3. Meanwhile, place 1 cup flour; 2 eggs, lightly beaten; and crushed crackers in three separate bowls. Slice chilled grits into rectangles about half the length of a deck of playing cards. Warm 1/4–1/2 inch oil in a large saucepan over medium heat.
4. Drip grit rectangles, one at a time, in flour, eggs, then crackers, coating well; set battered grits on a plate.
5. When oil is ready (drop a bit of cracker or breadcrumbs in it … they should quickly fry up but not pop), carefully drop grit rectangles, in batches, into oil. Fry 3–4 minutes or until crust starts to brown; flip to fry opposite side. Remove grit cakes from oil and onto a baking sheet fitted with a wire rack. Place in oven to keep warm.
6. While last batch of grits are cooking, heat a pat of butter in a frying pan until melted and bubbly. Crack remaining eggs into pan, and fry until desired level of doneness (we like the yolks bright yellow and runny).
7. Divide grit cakes evenly among bowls. Top with a fried egg, and spoon gravy on top. Garnish with green onions, if desired. John Deere plates optional.

Most of us tiptoe through the produce section of the supermarket as if it were a minefield, filled with enemy rutabagas and beets ready to jump in the cart at every turn. And the display of winter squashes, their hard, bumpy shells and crooked necks protruding at unwieldy angles? You’d need to be a bomb specialist to figure out how to open one of those babies … that is, if you even wanted to.

Fear no more! Even though most of these squashes look like haunted house silhouettes, their names are much more Disney: butternut, acorn, delicata, sugar loaf, and sweet dumpling. Kinda makes you want to pick one up and cuddle it, no?

Nathan and I love winter squashes, and after you try our easy recipe for Creamy Butternut Shells, I’m sure you will, too.

Creamy Butternut Shells
Feel free to use any type of winter squash for this recipe. Just keep in mind that the flavors and weight (you may need two) vary from type to type.

1 medium butternut squash or other winter squash, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
1/2 onion, cut in half
2–3 whole garlic cloves
Splash of olive oil
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
Whole-wheat pasta shells (fusilli would also work—you just want something with nooks and crannies)
4 strips high-quality bacon, diced (look for nitrate-free)
1/2 cup chicken or vegetable stock
Blue cheese or your favorite soft cheese (goat cheese—yum!)
Chopped fresh sage

1. Preheat oven to 400°. Toss together first 6 ingredients in a large bowl until vegetables are well-coated with oil. Place on a baking sheet, and roast for 40 minutes or until fork-tender and golden brown.
2. Meanwhile, cook bacon in a cast-iron skillet, and remove to paper towels to drain and cool; reserve drippings.
3. Cook pasta enough pasta for 4 servings, according to package directions, reserving 1/2 cup pasta water.
4. Place roasted vegetables, stock, and 1 tablespoon drippings (optional) in a blender; process until creamy. (If you like’d like to have bites of butternut squash to stab at with your fork, reserve half to toss in when adding pasta.) Add additional stock or a splash of pasta water to thin out the sauce, if needed.
5. Toss together sauce and pasta. Top with bacon, cheese, salt and pepper, and fresh chopped sage; serve.

*Beer note: Nathan suggests you pour yourself a nice American IPA, like Rogue Brutal Bitter or Bell’s Two-hearted Ale, to pair with this dish.

I had every intention of baking a King Cake for Fat Tuesday … that is, until my friend Lauren tackled one last weekend. Her tale was harrowing: anxiously waiting for the yeast to proof, rolling out the sticky and uncooperative dough into a perfect rectangle, dyeing icing. In the end, she was rewarded with two gooey, sugary cinnamon rings so sinfully decadent that a single bite was a one-way ticket to the dentist—or confession. I knew it would be worth it, but just the thought of being at the mercy of rising dough was enough for me to say “uncle.”

So instead, I racked my brain for easy desserts which featured Mardi Gras’s traditional colors: purple (which symbolizes justice), green (faith), and gold (power). Food coloring is outlawed in our kitchen, so I knew my colorbox was going to have to come from Mother Nature. I settled on blackberries, rosemary, and lemon, and when I stumbled upon this Salt-Kissed Buttermilk Cake recipe on 101cookbooks.com I knew I was on to something.

So, it may not be the most traditional King Cake: in fact, its lack of cinnamon and icing and svelte ingredient list led me to crown it a Queen Cake. It couldn’t be easier—two bowls, maybe 15 minutes of hands-on time. Something tells me I may have started a coup d’etat.

Mardi Gras Blackberry Queen Cake
If you’re serving this subtly sweet cake for dessert, add a dollop of homemade Bourbon Whipped Cream (see below).

1 cup white whole-wheat flour (such as King Arthur brand)
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole-wheat pastry flour (you can use all-purpose)
1 tablespoon baking powder
2/3 cup brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup nonfat buttermilk
1/4 cup butter, melted and cooled a bit
Zest of 2 lemons
21/4 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary, divided
1 cup fresh or frozen blackberries
11/2 tablespoons cane sugar
1 teaspoon coarse salt (I had saffron-infused on hand; experiment with smoked or other flavors)

1. Preheat oven to 400F°. Butter and lightly flour a standard pie pan.
2. Combine the first 6 ingredients in a large bowl. Make a well in the center of the mixture.
3. Whisk together eggs and buttermilk in a separate bowl. Add cooled melted butter in a slow stream, and whisk in the lemon zest and 2 teaspoons rosemary. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, and stir until just it comes together (do not overmix).
4. Spoon the batter into the prepared pan, smoothing top with a rubber spatula. Drop the berries on top, pushing them slightly into the batter. (Nathan suggested giving them a little squeeze if you’re using fresh or thaw the frozen berries first.) Sprinkle with the cane sugar, salt, and remaining 1/4 teaspoon rosemary.
5. Bake 20–25 minutes or until cake is set (or a toothpick in the center comes out clean) and golden around the edges.

Bourbon Whipped Cream

1 half-pint heavy whipping cream
1 tablespoon superfine or powdered sugar
1 tablespoon Bourbon
Splash vanilla extract

Whip all ingredients in a stand mixer for about 5 minutes or until stiff. (This will happen quickly, so keep an eye on it.) Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve.