Roasted Butternut Squash & Goat Cheese Lasagna

I love everything about fall— the golden light, shorter days, cooler weather and the food, oh the food.  Provençal beef stew, roasted chickens, Indian curries, porchetta, bread puddings and lasagna. I've embraced homemade pasta and I have to admit, I enjoy making it. Yes, it's more work than dried pasta but there is something meditative about standing at the counter, rolling and cutting pasta. Forget yoga, I'll take my meditation with a side of lasagna.

Of course, I used Sassy Nanny goat cheese, it melted perfectly into the bechamel and the pecorino added a nice salty tang.

Bacon and caramelized onion rounded out the sauce and added an extra layer of layer that really complemented the rich sauce and roasted squash. Nothing but the best for my freshly made lasagna sheets.

Speaking of lasagna sheets, the transformation of a round piece of dough into a silky ribbon of pasta is magical. I pass the dough through the pasta roller eight  times— three times through #1 and then once through # 2 - # 5. I don't go beyond #5 because I like my pasta on the thick side. It's a matter of taste and if you like thin pasta, by all means go to #6 or even #8.

Another tricky part of the fresh pasta process is what do you do with the pasta after it's rolled out but before you are ready to cook it? I don't like to hang it— for some crazy reason, the dogs have a serious thing for fresh pasta and will spend the entire time attempting to leap and snag a mouthful of pasta while I'm busy rolling out the rest of the pasta. Necessity (or badly behaved dogs) being the mother of invention, I coated the sheets in flour and layered them on a sheet tray. One caveat— use lots of flour and dust the sheets evenly. There's nothing worse than a pile of fresh pasta stuck together in a giant mess....it'll make a grown woman weep.

I'm a firm believer in boiling pasta and lasagna noodles are no exception. The no-boil method, at least with fresh pasta, doesn't taste as good. I can taste the raw flour and I prefer the texture of noodles boiled for about a minute (if your sheets are thin, boil them for 30 seconds) prior to assembling the lasagna. An extra 10 minutes yields a superior pan of lasagna, trust me.

Roasted Butternut Squash & Goat Cheese Lasagna (adapted from Fine Cooking)

Lasagna Sheets
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups semolina flour (you can substitute all purpose flour if you don't have semolina)
4 large eggs
1 tsp kosher salt
3 tbsp olive oil
1/2 cup water

Lasagna Filling
1 large butternut squash (about 3 lb.), halved lengthwise and seeded
10 - 12 medium cloves garlic, unpeeled
2 sprigs fresh thyme plus 2 teaspoons chopped leaves
2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup bacon, cooked and chopped
1 large yellow onion, sliced
8 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 cups whole milk
1 1/2 cups fresh goat cheese
1 cup Pecorino Romano,  finely grated
1 cup Parmesan, grated

Pasta Preparation
Place all ingredients in the bowl except for the water. Turn the mixer on slowly and add 3 tablespoons of the water. Add more water, 1 tablespoon at a time, until the mixture comes together and forms a ball. Knead the dough on a lightly floured board to make sure it is well mixed. Set aside to rest for 30 minutes.

Generously flour your counter top or work area. Cut the dough into 6 pieces and cover with a towel (don’t cover the pasta with kitchen towels if you use a scented fabric softener because the pasta will pick up the scent—use parchment instead). With your hands, flatten and shape one piece of dough into a 1/2-inch-thick rectangle. Dust it lightly with flour and pass it through the widest setting on the pasta machine. If the dough comes out oddly shaped, reform into a rectangle. Fold it in thirds, like a letter, and if necessary, flatten to 1/2 inch thick. Pass it through the widest setting again with the seam of the letter perpendicular to the rollers. Repeat this folding and rolling step three or four times, dusting the dough with flour if it becomes sticky.

Without folding the dough, pass it through the next setting on the pasta machine. Keep reducing the space between the rollers after each pass, lightly dusting the pasta with flour on both sides each time ( I stop at # 5 on the KitchenAid pasta roller).

Generously dust both sides of the pasta sheet and lay on the floured sheet tray. Roll out the remaining dough in the same manner. Cut each strip of dough into 11-inch lengths.

Bring a 10-quart pot of well-salted (it should taste like sea water) water to a boil over high heat. Put a large bowl of ice water near the pot of boiling water. Line a rimmed baking sheet with sheets of parchment and have more parchment ready.

Put 3 or 4 noodles in the boiling water. Once the water returns to a boil, cook for about one minute. With a large wire skimmer, carefully transfer them to the ice water to stop the cooking. Repeat with the remaining noodles.

Drain the noodles and rinse under cold water. Spread them flat on the parchment-lined sheet tray, I layered them on top of each other and they didn't stick but if you are concerned about sticking,  layer the noodles between parchment and set aside until you’re ready to assemble the lasagna.

Lasagna Filling Preparation
Position a rack in the center of the oven and heat the oven to 425°F.

Put the squash cut side up on a large, heavy-duty rimmed baking sheet. Divide the garlic cloves and sprigs of thyme between the two halves and place in each cavity. Drizzle each half with 1 tsp. of the oil and then season each with 1/4 tsp. salt and a few grinds of pepper. Roast until the squash is browned in spots and very tender when pierced with a skewer, 45 to 50 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool completely.

Discard the thyme sprigs. Peel the garlic and put in a large bowl. Scoop the squash flesh from the skins and add it to the garlic. Mash with a fork until smooth. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Melt 3 tablespoons of butter in a sauté pan over medium heat. Add onions and 2 teaspoons of thyme leaves, reduce heat to medium-low and cook until golden brown and caramelized, about 45 minutes. Set aside.

Melt 5 tablespoons of  butter in a 3-quart saucepan over medium heat. Add the flour and whisk until smooth and golden, about 2 minutes. Gradually whisk in the milk and cook, whisking occasionally, until thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon, about 15 minutes. Stir in the goat cheese, pecorino, 1 teaspoon salt, and a few grinds of pepper. Season to taste with more salt and pepper.

In a large bowl, add the cheese sauce, the squash/garlic mixture, crumbled bacon and caramelized onions. Stir to combine thoroughly and taste for seasoning.

Spread 1/2 cup of the squash/cheese sauce over the bottom of a 9x13 inch baking dish. Cover the sauce with a slightly overlapping layer of cooked noodles, cutting them as needed to fill any gaps. Spread 1 cup of the cheese/squash mixture evenly over the noodles and sprinkle with the shredded Parmesan. Add another layer of noodles and repeat the layers as instructed above, to make a total of 4 squash layers and 5 pasta layers. Spread the remaining cheese/squash sauce evenly over the top. Sprinkle with the remaining Parmesan cheese.

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Cover the baking dish with foil and bake for 40 minutes. Remove the foil and bake until the top is browned and bubbly, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool for at least 10 minutes before serving.

Make Ahead Instructions You can make the roasted squash mixture up to 1 day ahead of assembling the lasagna. You can assemble the lasagna up to 2 days ahead of baking it. Tightly wrap the baking dish in plastic and refrigerate it. Let the lasagna come to room temperature before baking it.

The World Beneath Our Feet

It's been a banner year for mushrooms and conditions were ripe for a fungi photo safari at Houghton Falls. Time flew as I spent my morning on my hands and knees amongst the inhabitants of the forest floor. It's good for the soul to spend a few hours bathed in wonderment—it's as easy as looking down.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

 A safe fairyland is untrue to all worlds.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

 There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

 I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world; small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

The Best Of Summer...In A Quiche

Nothing says summer like Corn Man corn and nothing says 'summer is over' than bags of his corn, freshly shucked, in my freezer and a kitchen full of tomatoes in various shades of green, yellow and red. Quiche is a quick and easy dinner option and since breakfast for dinner is a Dougherty family favorite, it was a no-brainer as I stared into the refrigerator, looking for inspiration. This quiche really shines with garden fresh tomatoes and sweet corn— although it won't be as good with grocery store tomatoes, it's still worth making. That corn cream is seriously good.

I've made lots of quiches over the years but this recipe had a technique I haven't used before, steeping the sweet corn in cream, and it was a revelation. The quiche is loaded with the essence of sweet corn without the kernels (you pass the cream/corn mixture through a fine mesh sieve and you end up with a seriously delicious corny cream). I added a few corn cobs to the cream and corn mixture to guarantee an intensely flavored custard. If you don't have any cobs, don't worry about it— the corn kernels will flavor the cream just fine on their own.

I used dried beans and parchment when I blind baked the crust— an important step if you like a flaky pastry home for your quiche.

The corn cream is out of this world delicious and it's the most beautiful color of light yellow.

I added pancetta and Gorgonzola to the original recipe— nothing like gilding the lily, right?

Tomato & Sweet Corn Quiche (adapted from FreshTartSteph & Minnesota Monthly September 10, 2013)

1 9-inch pie crust (I used Pillsbury pie crust from the grocery store)
2 teaspoons butter
3 ears peak-season sweet corn, shucked, kernels sliced off cob (about 2 1/2 cups)
3 - 6 corn cobs (optional)
1 cup whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
3 large eggs
1/2 cup Gorgonzola, crumbled
1/2 cup pancetta or bacon, cooked and crumbled
2 cups assorted garden-ripe tomatoes, cut into 1/2-inch slices 9-inch pie plate, nonstick cake pan, or fluted tart pan

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Roll out the crust and fit into baking pan. Trim and crimp the edges. Gently set a large piece of foil or parchment paper into and on top of the crust and fill with pie weights or dried beans. Bake crust for 15 minutes. Remove foil and pie weights and set crust aside while you prepare the filling.

In a sauté pan over medium heat, cook the pancetta or bacon until crisp. Remove from the pan and set aside.

In a Dutch oven, heat butter over medium heat. When butter is melted, stir in the corn. Saute the corn, stirring a couple of times, for 5 minutes. Stir the milk, cream and corn cobs into the corn. Bring the mixture to a boil, then turn heat to low and simmer corn for 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and discard the corn cobs.

Set out a colander placed over a medium bowl.

In the bowl of a blender, purée the corn and cream together (use caution when blending hot liquids). Pour the pureed corn and cream into the colander to strain out the cream. Press down on the corn to extract as much of the cream as possible. Discard the corn. Measure out and 1 1/2 c. of the cream and return it to the bowl.

Add salt, pepper and eggs to the corn cream and whisk to combine.

Sprinkle the pancetta and Gorgonzola over the bottom of crust. Pour egg mixture into crust, stopping 1/2-inch from top of crust. Arrange tomato slices over the top of the egg mixture. Bake quiche for 40-45 minutes, until edges of crust are golden brown and center of quiche is just-set. Cool on a wire rack for 15 minutes before serving warm.

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Flower Power

And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth, "You owe me." Look what happens with love like that. It lights up the sky.

Rumi

Lost Creek Falls With M & M

“There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?".....

It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

This is water."

"This is water.”

David Foster Wallace, This Is Water

It snowed last night. Charlie was rejoicing, in the way only a snowboarding obsessed twelve-year-old can— with verve and volume. He was so disappointed when he woke up this morning and the snow had melted into the green grass. Thankfully, snow is on the menu for the next six months and Charlie will be bombing the hill in no time.

Last night, with the snow falling, I found these pictures in my Lightroom files and traveled back to this warm, sunny day in July. We hiked out to Lost Creek Falls with Mike and Mindy and these pictures are from that adventure. It was pretty amazing to have everyone together, in one place, for an afternoon and it made me so very happy to see Meg and Jack perched on rock, bathed in sunshine. Man, I miss that boy.

I'll never tire of sitting near, listening to or taking pictures of running water and waterfalls. They are the tether I grab when I need to find a way back to myself and towards, as Mary Oliver said, 'a silence where another voice may speak.'

Perched on a rock behind the waterfall, the 'awareness of what is so real and essential' settled into me like the water flowing over me. The lives we build with those we love are 'water', as essential as a heartbeat but easy to take for granted in the noise and busyness of life.

We spent a few hours in the company of Lost Creek, cedars, white and red pines, ancient rock and each other. It was about as good as it gets for an afternoon in July and I'll carry it with me until we all meet again among the trees and water at Lost Creek Falls.

Braised Pork Belly With An Asian Flair

Pork belly— it's not just for bacon. In fact, it's extremely well-suited to a nice long bath in Asian spices, an equally long braise in the oven, a pile of Jasmine rice and a spoonful of quick pickled cucumbers. I bought my pork belly in hopes of making pancetta but the 'cut a hole in one corner and hang it to dry for a week' part of Michael Ruhlman's recipe was a deal breaker. There is no place in my house where 6 pounds of pork, suspended 5 feet off the ground, would be safe from harm or ingestion by the dogs. George already knows how to open peanut butter jars, unzipper lunch sacks and speak Spanish— pork hanging from the ceiling would be a breeze for his extraordinary yellow Lab intellect. An Asian braise was the safest way to cook the meat and foil George's amazing knack for commandeering food for his dinner.

Braised Asian Pork Belly (Adapted from Emeril Lagasse 2006)

One full pork belly, about 8 - 10 pounds (you can substitute pork shoulder)
2 cups orange juice
1/2 cup pineapple juice
1 1/4 cup soy sauce
1 cup light brown sugar
1/8 cup fish sauce
1/2 cup lime juice, freshly squeezed
1/2 cup lemon juice, freshly squeezed
1/3 cup garlic, minced
1/4 cup ginger, minced
1/4 cup green onion, minced
1/4 cup plus 3 tbsp sambal oelek (chile paste)
4 cups chicken broth

Preparation
Day 1— Combine the orange juice, pineapple juice, soy sauce, fish sauce, brown sugar, lemon juice, lime juice, garlic, ginger, green onion and sambal oelek in a medium bowl and whisk to blend well. The pork belly will, most likely, be too large for your roasting pan so cut it in half and place it in a large (2 gallon size) plastic bag. Add the marinade to the plastic bag, squeeze all the air out and seal tightly. Place in the refrigerator overnight.

Day 2— Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Remove the pork from the refrigerator and allow to sit at room temperature for an hour. Place the pork belly, fat side down, in a roasting pan, pour 3 cups of chicken broth and the marinade over and around the pork belly and place in oven. If your roasting pan is not wide enough to accommodate the pork bellies side by side, use two roasting pans and divide the chicken broth and marinade evenly between the pans.  Roast for an hour and then turn the pork belly over and roast for another 1 1/2 hours. Remove from the oven and allow to cool for an hour or so. Once cool enough to handle, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

Day 3— Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Remove the pork from the refrigerator, uncover and skim off any congealed fat that rests on top of the cooking liquid. Add the remaining cup of chicken broth to the pan and place in the oven. Cook until the belly is slightly caramelized and warmed through, about 30 minutes. You can either shred it, as I did, or cut into slices and serve over rice with the pan juices.

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It Was A Glorious Summer

It's official, summer is over. Next week, our little town will be overrun by apple mad people, flooding Rittenhouse Avenue in the name of Applefest. When we were tourists and lived on our boat, Applefest weekend was always bittersweet— it signaled the official end to our Bayfield summers and the re-entry to city life without a big lake to frame our days. Now that we live here, Applefest still marks the end of summer but now we re-enter days with a slower cadence, longer, quieter nights, wood fires in the stove and those first, thrilling snowflakes. I have to admit, fall is my favorite time of year but summer sure is glorious. Thank God, she'll be back next year.

We had a picnic on Stockton Island— swimming, floating, jumping off the rocks, bratwurst and beer. Classic Wisconsin day.

Two boys, one dog and a bag of chips— it doesn't get much better than this.

Sadie is a champion tube rider and if you look closely, you'll see a grin the size of Texas on her face. I bet she'd hold her own in a rodeo— she knows how to hold on for dear life.

Seagulls and dogs are a mutually exclusive deal— Zeus arrived and the gulls departed.

Searching for beach glass.

Long Island Corn Dogs

What's better than a hot dog from the O'Dovero's? An O'Dovero hot dog dipped in batter, fried in a cast iron skillet and eaten on Long Island.  I'm a picky corn dog connoisseur (if there is such a designation) and the only corn dog worth eating is hand dipped in batter— trust me, I've done a fair amount of market research. I grew up in a family of devout Minnesota fair-goers and I earned my carnival food chops through good old-fashioned trial and error.

I fried the corn dogs at home, placed them in a foil and paper towel lined cooler and boarded the Karl for a boat ride to Long Island for cocktails and dinner on the beach. The corn dogs weren't quite as crispy as I would have liked but I have my limitations and frying corn dogs on a beach is one of them. They were gobbled up without complaint.

A little tree love on the beach.

My photo safari sidekick— I couldn't have asked for a better partner.

The back side of Long Island, facing Chequamegon Bay, bathed in evening sunlight.

Corn Dogs

(adapted from the Pioneer Woman)

6 cups Krusteaz pancake mix
2 cups yellow corn meal
2 whole eggs, slightly beaten
2 cups buttermilk 2 cups water, more if needed to thin batter
All beef, natural casing hot dogs ( I made 24 corn dogs and had plenty of batter left over) Chopsticks Canola Oil, For Frying

Preparation

In a large bowl, combine pancake mix and cornmeal. Stir to combine. Add eggs, buttermilk and water, adding more water as needed for the batter to become slightly thick (but not overly gloopy.) Start out by adding 2 cups, then work your way up to 4 cups or more.

Heat canola oil over medium-high heat. Drop in a bit of batter to see if it's ready: the batter should immediately start to sizzle but should not immediately brown/burn.

Insert sticks into hot dogs so that they're 2/3 of the way through.

Dip the hot dogs into the batter and allow excess to drip off for a couple of seconds. Carefully drop into the oil (stick and all) and use tongs or a spoon to make sure it doesn't hit the bottom of the pan and stick. Flip it here and there to ensure even browning, and remove it from the oil when the outside is deep golden brown, about 2 to 3 minutes.

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Walking The Siskiwit River

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.  The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.  On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

Norman McLean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories

There is nothing like following a river on foot. The sound of the water, the light dancing on the surface, the tree-lined bank and glimpses of the riverbed through the moving water are my touchstones.

A benevolent cedar keeping watch on the river bank.

An embrace in cedar.

Our version of a water park, lined with trees and rocks 'from the basement of time'.

Stones covered with water and sunlight.

Water moving over rock shaped by moving water.

The many faces of riverbed and water.

One of Ted's favorite movies is A River Runs Through It and we've watched it more times than I can count. Since I rarely sit through an entire movie, I've never seen the end, until a few weeks ago (see the clip here). McLean was right— eventually everything does merge into one and a river runs through it. I am blessed to have found my river.

A Riff On Gyros

I owe it all to Julie. She made these flavor packed lamb burgers (according to Saveur, they were supposed to be kebabs but there were major implementation problems) earlier in the summer and I was blown away— it was as close as I've been to a gryo-esque dinner for years. I realize my tendency to use superlatives might make you a little suspect (I mean, how can everything be fantastic) but seriously, these burgers are out of this world. If you make a little naan (recipe here), a bowl of tzatziki (recipe here) and sauté some red onions with sumac— you'll have a dinner you won't soon forget. Opa!

Ground Lamb, Bulgur & Pistachio Burgers(Adapted from Saveur Magazine, June 2013)

1/2 cup pistachios, shelled
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup oregano, roughly chopped
1/4 cup mint, roughly chopped
1 teaspoon red chile flakes
1/2 teaspoon allspice
6 cloves garlic, peeled
2 green onions, roughly chopped
1/2 small yellow onion, roughly chopped
1 jalapeño, stemmed, seeded and roughly chopped
1 pound ground lamb
1/4 cup finely ground bulgur, soaked in warm water for 10 minutes and then drained
1 red onion, sliced
2 teaspoons sumac
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper, to taste

Preparation
Puree the pistachios and 1/4 cup of water in a food processor until very smooth. Add the oregano, mint, chile flakes, allspice, garlic, green onions, onion and jalapeño and pulse until smooth. Transfer to a bowl. Add lamb, bulgur, salt and pepper and, using your hands, mix until combined. Form into patties, cover and place in refrigerator for about an hour to set up.

Heat a sauté pan, over medium heat, and add the olive oil, red onion and sumac. Sauté until the onion is softened, about 10 minutes. Set aside.

Light a charcoal or gas grill and grill the burgers, flipping once or twice, until they are thoroughly cooked— about 12 - 15 minutes. Serve on the naan with sautéed onions and tzatziki.

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A Long Island Farewell

It's not every day Jack moves to Madison to start his next chapter as a freshman Badger and such a momentous occasion begged for a stellar party. Shrimp boils are a Dougherty family favorite and have enough 'wow' factor to send Jack off to Madison with a little Bayfield flair. We loaded up the Karl with shrimp, green beans, a bucket of spices, potatoes and beer and headed to Long Island on a perfect August afternoon to celebrate the kid who, for nineteen years, has brought so much joy, pride, laughter and love into our lives.

We couldn't have asked for a better afternoon— no bugs, a sun-soaked beach, warm water, dear friends and a boiling kettle of spiced water, shrimp and Corn Man corn. It's hard to put into words what it felt like, knowing that in seven days we would be driving Jack to Madison and leaving him there, in a dorm with 6,000 other freshman. It was the kind of joy with a sharp edge, that made me catch my breath and blink back tears because I understood, for the first time, what bittersweet really meant. Jack was taking his first steps towards independence and away from us but the tapestry we've woven together from nights like these will always be his connection to home and the people who love him.

One of our friends, Teddy, wrote Jack a poem and gave him Edward Abbey's wise words for a happy life. As I watched Jack shake Teddy's hand, I knew everything was exactly as it should be. Jack was ready to move on, I was ready to let him go and we've been blessed with a lifetime of gratitude— for our family, friends, countless memorable dinners and the Lake and beaches that are the backdrop to our story.

'One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am - a reluctant enthusiast....a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.' Edward Abbey

It is always a thrill when the shrimp boil hits the table— it's sheer abundance of color and texture is amazing. It literally put a smile on everyone's face and it only got better as they ate their way through the pile of corn, shrimp, potatoes and green beans.

As the night wound down and the full moon rose over the South Channel, I took a minute to take it all in. I knew we'd be on this beach again but it would be different next time. I wanted to remember every last moment of it— Charlie's face when the boil hit the table, Jack filling up a Corona bottle with sand to take to Madison, Meghan triumphantly hoisting the paddle over head when she saw me on the beach and Will walking down the beach, camera in hand, to catch the sunset. On that August night, it was about as good as it gets and I couldn't have been happier.

I didn't want the night to end. Like all good parties, time flies when you're having fun and before we knew it, the sun had set, the boats were loaded and we were on our way back to Bayfield. Until Kathy had a brilliant idea— a moonlight swim in the South Channel. We stopped the boats, jumped into the water and spent ten minutes swimming under the luminescent moon. It was the perfect end to a perfect night.

An Abbot's Table & A Dandelion Addiction

I walked in to Bayfield Wine and Spirits to buy a nice bottle of wine to celebrate the end of summer and the beginning of the school year (always a good idea to celebrate anything with wine). The minute my eyeballs spied the Abbot's Table from Owen Roe, I was definitely in a celebratory mood. It's a field blend of Zinfandel, Sangiovese, Blaufrankisch, Merlot and Malbec— medium bodied. lots of berries and a little spice and cedar. It was a lovely wine and perfect for the pizza I planned for dinner.

Pizza is always a good idea at our house— the kids prefer a more traditional approach while I like to shake things up a little. Michael, of Sassy Nanny fame, shares a cheese factory with an equally talented cheese maker, Fred Faye, and the Dandelion Addiction makes me so very happy. Happy Hollow Creamery makes a variety of sheep and cow cheeses and I'm a big fan of all of them. The Dandelion Addiction is a nice, mild brie without a hint of ammonia to be found, anywhere. It's hard to wrong when you take a good brie, sliced pear, caramelized onion and a reduced sherry glaze but it was a seriously good pizza.

Brie, Caramelized Onion & Pear Pizza

Pizza dough, use your own recipe or my recipe, here Crème fraiche, enough to coat the bottom of the pizza dough, about 1/3 cup 1 wheel of Dandelion Addiction brie (or your favorite brie), sliced into wedges 1 garlic clove, minced 1/2 cup caramelized onion 1 pear, sliced thin 2 tablespoons sherry vinegar glaze (available here) Maldon sea salt

Preparation Preheat oven to 500 degrees and place your pizza stone on the middle rack (a pizza stone makes all the difference, trust me). Make the pizza dough and stretch out into a 12 inch round. Sprinkle a pizza peel with flour or cornmeal and place the pizza dough on top. Coat the pizza dough with crème fraiche and sprinkle, evenly, the garlic and Maldon sea salt on top. Evenly place the brie wedges, pear slices and caramelized onions over the pizza round and then drizzle the sherry reduction over the pizza. Place in the oven and bake for 10 minutes. Let the pizza cool slightly and then slice and serve.

Happy Cows In Mellen

'Good farmers, who take seriously their duties as stewards of Creation and of their land's inheritors, contribute to the welfare of society in more ways than society usually acknowledges, or even knows. These farmers produce valuable goods, of course; but they also conserve soil, they conserve water, they conserve wildlife, they conserve open space, they conserve scenery.'

Wendell Berry, Bringing it to the Table: Writings on Farming and Food.

I owe my introduction to the O'Dovero-Flesia farm to my quest for a seriously good hot dog. My preferred hot dog supplier, a meat market in Mellen, exited the sausage business a few years ago and while Hebrew Nationals are a good substitute, they just weren't the same. Everything changed when Pete told me about the O'Dovero's cattle farm and meat market— I was back in all beef, natural casing with a satisfying snap hot dog heaven. And, lucky for me, O'Dovero-Flesia heaven also included dry aged beef, the perfect pork belly for pancetta and a picturesque collection of cows, buildings and pastures.

Five generations of O'Dovero's have called these 1,000 acres at the base of the Penokee Hills home and as I pulled into the driveway, I can understand why— it's beautiful. The undulating pastures are framed by hardwood and pine forest, the Penokee hills rise up in the background and two barns with field stone foundations (built in the late 1920's/early 1930's) wear the weathered patina of 87 years of Wisconsin rain, wind, snow and sun.

The extraordinary (or not, depending on how you look at it) thing is it's still a working farm— raising cattle and supporting a family who are rooted in this place as much as the trees are rooted in the hillside. After nearly 90 years of mindful animal and land stewardship, the farm and family are faced with a nearly incomprehensible challenge— legislation has been purchased by an out of state mining company to allow an open-pit iron ore mine, literally, in their backyard. GTac, a Florida company owned by the 'New King of Coal' Chris Cline, plans to detonate 5.5 million tons of explosives every nine days until the pit measures 4.5 miles long— all within a mile of the O'Dovero's pastures, barns, cattle and home.  It goes without saying, they are in a fight for their lives.

The cows on the farm reminded me of George, inquisitive and friendly. They were well taken care of and it showed in their demeanor and appearance. The best part of the day was speaking to Margaret, a member of the fifth generation and Veterinary student, about her connection to the farm and what's at stake if GTac starts to blow up the hills behind her house. The land, water and animals will be sacrificed, without consideration from a company who used money (and lots of it) to unethically re-write legislation to indemnify themselves from the damages that are inherent with any extraction industry.

Aldo Leopold said, 'There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.' Since I am an enthusiastic meat-eater as well as a passionate animal lover, two seemingly contradictory terms, I spent some time thinking about the sacrifices inherent when we harvest, anything, for our consumption. How should we honor the harvest of any animal, plant or mountaintop for our dinner table, gas tank or warship? Acknowledging that sacrifice starts with mindful consumption, re-using what we can and remembering, always, that the resources we have are not endless.

Incredibly, thanks to our disconnected and pseudo-sanitized food system, we are able to purchase a plastic wrapped package of beef with an expiration date and a price on it and think the only components of the transaction are the exchange of currency at the checkout aisle. We forget, or choose to ignore, the elemental transaction that occurred on the farm, where the cow was raised and harvested. Because of this sense of separateness, we also forget that the knives we purchase, the cars we drive or the railroads used to transport our toilet paper were once deep in the earth, under mountaintops standing sentry over farms and communities. That's why farms like the O'Dovero's are important— they haven't forgotten and they understand the sacrifice they are asking of the animals in their care.

It's easy to pretend the meat we eat came from cows as happy as the O'Dovero cows or the steel in our cars came from a remote mountaintop without ties to a family's stories or traditions if we disregard an elemental truth— everything is connected. Albert Einstein said, 'A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.' Once we free ourselves from the prison of separateness and we evaluate our consumption in the context of what sacrifices are necessary to fill our bellies, drive our cars or build warships, it's a game changer.

I drive a car, I use appliances and I'm sure there is a steel I-beam somewhere in my house but I can no longer ignore the fact that these conveniences extracted a cost somewhere, to a family or community who sacrificed their mountaintops, forests or clean water. The recognition of the inherent sacrifice in everything we consume begs the question— what do we value as a society? If the only currency that gets any traction is the almighty dollar, how do we begin to assign value to clean water, unmolested forests, healthy communities and happy cows? What is a sustainable and good way of life really worth? I know it feels like cool water rushing over my feet when I'm walking down a river bed. I know it sounds like the waves of  Lake Superior lapping along the shore on Long Island. I know it looks like a group of cows resting in a bucolic meadow of a family farm. Why is it so hard to convince people that it's worth protecting? Is it because we are using the wrong currency?

Is a family farm like the O'Dovero's reason enough to stop a mine? Are the sacrifices GTac is asking of us worth it? On the surface, it seems like a simple proposition— Northern Wisconsin needs jobs and the iron ore in the ground has value, so the sacrifice of one family farm is a fair trade for 'economic prosperity'. But if we dig deeper and look at what's really on the chopping block, it becomes clear that considering only the economic component of the deal is short-sighted. What is the true cost of removing five generations of a family's stories and legacy from the land? What is the inherent value of the Bad River Watershed? How can we quantify what destroying hundreds of acres of trees, ferns, flowers, wild berries and mushrooms will mean to the people and animals who live in the Penokees? Maybe the most precious currencies go beyond empirical value and as a result, require very, very careful consideration when we are asking for their sacrifice. The Penokee hills, the Bad River Watershed, Lake Superior and the O'Dovero-Flesia farm are worth saving— the sacrifices are too great.

Sancerre Rose, Fini Sur La Paille & The Beach

Does rosé wine (the quintessential summer wine) have to be put away after Labor Day? I know that white shoes are déclassé after the first Monday in September and in case I missed the memo and there is a rule that I don't know about (you know how fond I am of group-think and rule following), I am getting this blog post out just in time. September is a beautiful month up here and I know we have plenty of beach days in our future but there's nothing like an August day on the beach. Before soccer practices, volleyball tournaments, dental appointments and school shopping start invading our calendar, previously free of any commitment but wine, cheese and a fire on the beach.

I remember the first time I had the pleasure of smearing a hunk of Michael's Fini Sur La Paille aged goat cheese on a cracker and popped it in my mouth— it's that good. The Chotard rosé (made from Pinot Noir grapes) was the perfect companion for the wheel of Fini in my fridge. Historically, I haven't been the biggest fan of rosé but this bottle changed my mind— it's bigger and creamier than a typical rosé but still has a lively acidity and clean finish. It's the perfect beach wine and when you throw a little French style aged goat cheese in the mix— it's a little slice of heaven.

These afternoons in the South Channel are etched in my brain— the kids, sandbars, blue water and the viscous light as the sun starts to set behind the hills. We've spent countless days on Long Island over the past fourteen years and it never gets old. There's always beach glass to find, boats to jump off, fires to build, forts to construct and walks to take. We are blessed to have the stories Long Island has given us in our trove of family memories.

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. John Muir

Pickled Rhubarb With A Curry Kick

The rhubarb in my garden is like the Energizer bunny— it just keeps going and going. Given my (relative) success with jam, I decided to try my hand at pickling the excess rhubarb. Rhubarb is a little mushy when it's pickled and canned but the brine and spices are lovely. I've used it as a condiment on hot dogs with riata, on grilled chicken and vegetables with naan— it adds a little sour, spicy kick and who doesn't like that?

Curried & Pickled Rhubarb

1 pound rhubarb, rinsed and cut into 1 inch matchsticks 2 cups apple cider 1 1/4 cup raw sugar 3 peels of lime peel, left whole 1 cinnamon stick, broken and divided among the jars 1/4 cup vegetable oil 1/2 teaspoon fenugreek seed 1/2 teaspoon mustard seed 1/2 teaspoon fennel seed 1/2 teaspoon red chile flakes 1/2 teaspoon coriander seed 1/4 teaspoon cumin seed 1/4 cup cilantro, chopped and divided among the jars 2 jalapenos 1/2 red onion, thinly sliced 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Preparation Prepare 6 half pint jars for canning. In a medium-sized sauce pot, bring the vinegar, sugar, lime peel and cinnamon stick to a gentle boil and hold over low heat.

In another sauté pan, heat the vegetable oil over medium high heat until hot. Stir in the fenugreek, mustard seeds, fennel seed, coriander seeds, chile flakes and cumin seeds. When the spices begin to pop (about 4 minutes), add the ginger, garlic, salt, jalapeños and onion, stirring until soft and slightly caramelized, about 6 to 8 minutes. Set aside.

Pack the canning jars with the rhubarb and cilantro, leaving 1/2 inch of head space. Pour equal spoonfuls of the spice mixture into each jar. Pour the hot vinegar over the carrots, submerging them and leaving about a 1/2 inch of head space. The contents should sit right below the bottom ring of the glass jar.

Process the jars in a water bath for 15 minutes. Make sure the seals are secure and store in a cool, dark cupboard for at least three weeks before eating.

Strawberry & Lavender Balsamic Preserves

Summer has flown by— it seems like yesterday we were picking strawberries and remarking on the intense berry perfume rising up from around our feet. But it wasn't and we are picking the last of our blueberries, buying school supplies and getting ready to send Jack off to his first year at Madison. This year, I promised we would pick heaps and heaps of berries and make piles and piles of jam, enough to bathe my tribe of PB&J eating children in jam for months. Well, I happy to report we've done it. My shelves are full of jam and we had enough strawberries left over to allow for a little experimentation on my part. There is something about cheese and fruit chutney (blueberry chutney recipe here and cranberry/quince preserves recipe here) that makes me happy and this year I decided to play around with strawberries.

Will has joined the world of espresso drinkers and his drink of choice this summer was a lavender mocha and it got me thinking about lavender as a food, not bath, product. I love lavender, in the garden, and have tended to steer clear of lavender as a culinary herb until this summer. I was visiting with my garden one evening and noticed my lavender plants were loaded with flowers. If lavender is good in a mocha, it would be fantastic with strawberries, right? I thanked the lavender for its abundant flowers, picked a handful and headed into the kitchen to get started on my strawberry and lavender concoction.

Since I needed a recipe (I'm still a little unsure of myself when it comes to making jams and jellies), I did a quick internet search and stumbled upon a recipe for strawberry preserves with black pepper and balsamic vinegar— the perfect place to start. I monkeyed around with the recipe a little, added lavender flowers and some pectin (a little gel-ing insurance) and it was exactly what I hoped for— sweet, spicy with subtle lavender tones. I'm definitely making this again next year.

Strawberry & Lavender Balsamic Preserves(adapted from Gourmet Magazine June 1997)

8 cups strawberries, washed and trimmed
5 cups white sugar
3/4 cup balsamic vinegar
3/4 cup water
3 teaspoons coarsely cracked black pepper
2 tablespoons lavender flowers
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon butter
1/8 cup Pomona's Pectin

Preparation
Bring the strawberries, lavender and pectin to a boil, add the butter, stir and skim any foam off the surface for about 5 minutes. Add the water, sugar, vinegar, salt and pepper and simmer for 15 - 20 minutes, or until thickened. At this point, you can cool completely and it will keep in the refrigerator, covered, for up to a month.

You can also ladle hot chutney into hot sterilized jars, leaving 1/4-inch head space. Wipe rims of the jars, cover with lids, and screw bands on until just barely tight. Place jars on rack in pot and cover completely with water. Cover pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Boil for 10 minutes. Turn off heat, uncover pot, and allow jars to rest in water for five minutes. Remove jars from pot and allow them to rest undisturbed on countertop for six hours or overnight.

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Pancetta & Potatoes

I have a thing for pancetta— not just any old, plastic wrapped, sliced too thinly pancetta but the white butcher paper wrapped, fresh pancetta from Northern Waters Smokehaus in Duluth. Given my Irish heritage, I also have a thing for potatoes and for absolutely no reason other than it tastes good, I really like German potato salad. Last week, I got busy boiling, sauteing and mixing up my version of the perfect warm potato salad and it was really, really good— like 'lick your plate clean' kind of good. And to think, it all started with a package of pancetta— I love it when inspiration strikes in the form of cured pork.

Warm Potato Salad with Pancetta

Ingredients
1 pound baby Yukon Gold potatoes
1 Vidalia onion, sliced
1 sweet potato, peeled and cut into cubes
6 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons champagne vinegar
1 tablespoon stone ground mustard
3 - 5 sprigs of lemon thyme
2 tablespoons chives, chopped
Salt and coarsely ground pepper, to taste

Preparation
Bring a large saucepan of salted water to a boil. Add the potatoes and cook over high heat until tender, about 10 minutes. Drain, shaking off any excess water.

Meanwhile, in a large skillet, melt 3 tablespoons of the butter over medium heat. Add the sliced onions and thyme sprigs, sauté until golden brown, about 10 minutes. Remove the onions and thyme sprigs, add the pancetta and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until just beginning to brown, about 3 minutes. Add the remaining 3 tablespoons of butter and cook, stirring occasionally, until the pancetta is golden and the butter is just beginning to brown, about 2 minutes.

Whisk the vinegar and mustard into the pancetta mixture; season with salt and pepper. Add the potatoes and the chives and toss until evenly coated. Serve the potato salad warm or at room temperature.

20 Years On

Sonnet 116 William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments, love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O No! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom: If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

I've always joked that I'd like to write the 'real' wedding vows, the ones you figure out along the way. The ones about who picks out the next dog, who replaces the toilet paper, who decides where the vegetable garden is planted— you know, the nitty-gritty of daily life. We exchanged the traditional ones 20 years ago (we skipped the obey part since I'm a bit of an anarchist at heart) and as I thought about what I'd vow to Ted after many years together, there weren't as many revisions as I initially thought. The essence of the vows would remain the same— love, comfort and honor through all the sticky, messy, joyous and beautiful times we've walked through together and towards all that is waiting in the wings. The dog picking, garden planting and toilet paper placement will work themselves out.

One of my favorite women in the world gave us a card on our wedding day with Shakespeare's 116th sonnet, written in her hand, on the front cover. I remember reading it as a 23-year-old woman and thinking, 'well, that's nice' but didn't quite catch Ann's or Shakespeare's drift. I just ran across her card in one of my cookbooks a few weeks ago (that's where I put all the good stuff— cards, feathers, kid's artwork) and re-read those wise words as a 43-year-old woman. Not only did I catch Shakespeare's drift, I realized how prophetic that sonnet was when Ann gave it us all those years ago—  Ted has been my 'ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken' for over twenty years and trust me, that's no small feat.

We met on a bus going to the University of Minnesota when I was a freshman. He tried to catch my eye but I was very invested in being a 'college student' and was listening to my Walkman (remember those?), reading a book (something collegiate, I'm sure) and pointedly ignored him. He approached my table in Coffman Union, asked if he could join me and the rest, as they say, is history.

We dated for about 4 years and just when I was wondering where this train was headed, we went to lunch at the Choo-Choo Bar in Superior and for a walk on Moccasin Mike Beach on Valentine's Day 1993 and he asked 'the' question. Except his question was 'where do you see yourself in 20 years? 'and I answered,  'in an old farmhouse with a Newfoundland.' Not quite the answer he was expecting so he re-phrased it to something like— what if we got married? I asked him if he was serious and then said, absolutely, let's do it....the dog and farmhouse can wait.

Our life have been full since our wedding day in 1993— Jack was born eleven days before our first anniversary, we've moved seven times, had more jobs than I can count, hosted more parties than I want to count, bought our sailboat before we owned a house, traveled thousands of miles back and forth to Lake Superior, drove through a blizzard to pick up our Newfoundland Guinness, watched our family grow with the addition of Will, Sadie, Charlie and Meghan, took Talikser all over western Lake Superior, tried to be a two Newfie family but decided against it, spent many nights with a baby sleeping between us, acquired a MG Midget with a sordid past, drove more country roads near Cumberland than I can remember, decided to be a 4 dog family and finally bought our home in Bayfield. We've lived, loved, fought, stumbled, cried and laughed our way through the past 20 years together and I wouldn't have done it any differently (except maybe tried harder at the two Newfie family bit).

A new marriage is like a sapling, not much in the way of roots or canopy, but as the marriage grows and takes on the patina that only messy, loving and complicated living can provide— the roots grow deeper, the canopy expands and the gnarled trunk develops into the core that holds the two together. It's been a ride to remember and there is only one man I wanted at my side and thank God, 20 years later, he still is.

Ted's dad, Frank, gave me the book A Gift From The Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh in 1990 and it was another, 'well, that's nice' experience but Lindbergh's wise words didn't fully resonant with me until I had five kids, a marriage and the blessed respite of the beaches of Lake Superior. She likens the middle years of a marriage, when it's all about the untidy and sprawling business of building a family, to an oyster shell. She says, 'It suggests the struggle of life itself. The oyster has fought to have a place on the rock to which it clings tenaciously'. Oysters don't have the prettiest shells but they form a formidable home around a tender, living being— similar to the marriage that grows around the initial bright light of new love.

She described our marriage, 20 year on,  perfectly, 'The web is fashioned of love. Yes, but many kinds of love: romantic love at first, then a slow-growing devotion and, playing through these, a constantly rippling companionship. It is made of loyalties, and interdependencies, and shared experiences. It is woven of memories of meetings and conflicts; of triumphs and disappointments.' I know we'll move beyond our oyster shell towards quieter times but, right here right now, we are exactly where we should be— encased in the shell of the life we are creating.

Every love story worth telling needs a soundtrack and since I'm a big believer in theme songs for all of our milestones, it was up to me to set our marriage to music.  A marriage theme song is a big deal and required some serious thought on my part (Ted wasn't as into personal theme songs so there was the added pressure of the surprise element). I settled on These Are Days by 10,000 Maniacs and, like Sonnet 116, that song has proved to be incredibly prophetic. There is a line in the song that says, 'you are blessed and lucky. It’s true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you' and it couldn't be more right on as I look back on the past 20 years. We've been blessed with a life full of realized dreams bigger and better than the ones we had dreamt for ourselves. It's complicated, the business of marriage, but as Saint-Exupery said, 'love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward in the same direction.' During our best and worst times, Ted and I have always gazed in the same direction— towards our children, the Lake and each other. We have indeed been blessed.

These Are Days10,000 Maniacs

These are the days These are days you’ll remember Never before and never since, I promise Will the whole world be warm as this And as you feel it, You’ll know it’s true That you are blessed and lucky It’s true that you Are touched by something That will grow and bloom in you

These are days that you’ll remember When May is rushing over you With desire to be part of the miracles You see in every hour You’ll know it’s true That you are blessed and lucky It’s true that you are touched By something that will grow and bloom in you

These are days These are the days you might fill With laughter until you break These days you might feel A shaft of light Make its way across your face And when you do Then you’ll know how it was meant to be See the signs and know their meaning It’s true Then you’ll know how it was meant to be Hear the signs and know they’re speaking To you, to you

Homemade Pretzels & Beer Cheese

Have you ever wondered what quark is? Has it kept you up at night, tossing and turning with its Star Trek sounding name? Well, it's been a burning question in my mind for a while now and I decided to scratch that itch when I was at Mount Royal grocery store last week. I knew that quark was cheese and I knew I needed some for a beer cheese recipe from my new favorite cookbook, The Art of Living According to Joe Beef, so I put in the cart— right next to the Taleggio, Fromager d'Affinois and English cheddar. Joe Beef is a restaurant in Montreal that I really, really want to visit someday and when Anthony Bourdain interviewed the two men behind Joe Beef, Frederic Morin and David McMillan, on his show featuring Montreal— the deal was sealed, they are my kind of people. I was hooked from the minute they seared a lobe of foie gras on the wood stove in their ice fishing shack— I have a thing for hedonists, what can I say?

Back to the quark. According to the LA Times, 'quark is just the German word for "curds." A creamy, fresh cheese, quark's curds come together to form something magical — rich with a gentle tang, it's spreadable, kind of a cross between sour cream and soft ricotta cheese. Variations of the cheese can be found throughout Scandinavia and Eastern Europe.' It's also easy to make and it's on my list of things to try when it's not 80 degrees and unbelievably humid (recipe here).

The Joe Beef beer cheese was a snap to put together and tasted fresh and a little garlicky with just a hint of beer. I didn't have any Styrofoam cups or cheese molds and substituted a large-ish fine mesh strainer lined with coffee filters. It worked out okay but since the interior of the cheese is kind of runny, the presentation would be much prettier in a smaller container. I'm definitely putting this cheese in the appetizer rotation in my kitchen— it's perfect with pretzels, Ritz crackers or celery sticks (if you are trying to tone down your inner Hedonist).

Beer Cheese(from The Art of Living According to Joe Beef)

4.5 ounces quark cheese
4.5 ounces cream cheese
3.5 ounces blue cheese
1/2 cup pilsner beer
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 clove garlic, finely minced (don't be tempted to add more than a half of a clove, you don't want the garlic to overwhelm the beer notes)
Hefty pinch of paprika
4 (4 ounce) cheese molds with holes or four Styrofoam cups with holes poked in the sides and bottom
4 paper coffee filters to make the cheese

Preparation
Leave the cheeses at room temperature for about one hour. In a small pot, warm the beer over medium heat and then remove from the heat.

In a food processor, combine the cheeses, beer, garlic, salt, pepper and paprika and process until smooth.

If you are using Styrofoam cups, use a hot nail or a small pointed knife to poke holes in each cup, spacing them every square inch. You should have about 30 holes per cup. Dampen the coffee filters and line each perforated cup or cheese mold with a filter.

Divide the cheese mixture into 4 equal portions and put a portion in each lined cup. Put the cups on a rimmed plate, cover and refrigerate overnight. When you are ready to serve them, unmold each cheese and place on a plate. You can keep the cheese, covered, in the refrigerator for about one week.

Now that I had the beer cheese/quark question answered, it was on to the next burning question— how do you make soft pretzels? The kids love pretzels but I had heard tales of boiling the uncooked, twisted pieces of dough prior to baking and decided that was definitely not for me— until Sadie asked if we could try to make some on Sunday. Since I needed a beer cheese delivery vehicle, we decided to try out our pretzel making skills. As it turns out, Sadie is way better at knotting the pretzel dough into the perfect shape than I am—my pretzels looked a little chubby and squat next to her lithe and graceful masterpieces. Regardless, they tasted great and were the perfect accompaniment to the beer cheese. Pretzels and beer cheese— a match made in beer garden heaven.

Homemade Pretzels (from cdkitchen.com and Auntie Anne's)

1 1/2 cup warm water
1 1/8 teaspoon active dry yeast
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup bread flour
3 cups regular flour
2 cups warm water
2 tablespoons baking soda
Coarse salt, to taste
4 tablespoons butter (melted)

Preparation
Sprinkle yeast on lukewarm water in mixing bowl; stir to dissolve. Add sugar, salt and stir to dissolve; add flour and knead dough until smooth and elastic. Let rise at least 1/2 hour.

While dough is rising, prepare a baking soda water bath with 2 cups warm water and 2 Tbsp baking soda. Be certain to stir often. After dough has risen, pinch off bits of dough and roll into a long rope* (about 1/2 inch or less thick) and shape. Dip pretzel in soda solution and place on greased baking sheet. Allow pretzels to rise again. Bake in 450 degrees F oven for about 10 minutes or until golden. Brush with melted butter, sprinkle with salt and enjoy.