Red Wine Chocolate Cake: A compromise

I went to a birthday party at a local bar two weeks ago.

It was very out of character for many reasons - first because I didn't know the person all that well and (usually) break out in hives at the thought of social situations that involve groups of strangers who all know each other. They stand in their little clusters laughing at their inside jokes, while I cower in the corner, nodding and smiling and looking very intently at my phone, because I don't know how to interject myself into their conversation without feeling like one of those beeping trucks that's backing up.

Right into those inside jokes that, in my hyper-neurotic world, are clearly about me and my weird phone-staring and smile-nodding and corner-dwelling.

But that's all beside the point.

The party was at a bar.

And it didn't start until 10:00 p.m.

I don't go out at 10:00 p.m. I'm home by 10:00 p.m. Home with my hair in an ugly knot bun, sporting my dark teal sweatpants, a swag-bag Nasoya tofu t-shirt and pink hoodie sweatshirt -- my unofficial apartment uniform. It gets extra scandalous when I break out my thick socks and purple fuzzy slippers.

It's dead sexy. Like if I was a contestant on "The Bachelor," it would be a total T.K.O. from the moment I stepped one slippered foot out of the limo with my mug of hot tea.

This party was huge for me. I was going out at 10:00 p.m. To mingle with strangers. At a bar. On a Friday night.

This is the sort of crazy shit that happens in the "year of yes."

Because, as I told myself over and over again so I wouldn't wimp out and go to bed at a "reasonable hour," it could be the best night ever. I could be the life of the party in my pink blouse and black cashmere cardigan. I could meet a guy who complimented my black flats and wanted to take me to Osteria Mozza.

And there could be cake.

This was what was going through my head as I willed myself to stay awake by dancing around my apartment to Rihanna's S&M on repeat. I secretly hoped that, yes, there might be a cute boy there with horrible taste in women (i.e. me), but more importantly, that someone would show up at the bar with an overly frosted sheet cake with balloons on it and those fake candles that don't blow out. Clearly that would be a totally normal thing to happen at a 27-year-old's birthday party.

At a bar.

At 10:00 p.m.

On a Friday night.

Even so, I held onto that sliver of irrational hope that someone else in my decade might be as lame as I am and still equate birthday parties with cake and balloons rather than tequila and regret. That someone else might be wishing they were home drinking tea and snuggling up with a fleece blanket rather than pretending not to be appalled by the subpar wine list and girls wearing tube tops as dresses.

But there was no cake. I was not the life of the party. And nobody complimented my flats or asked if they could buy me an al dente pasta dinner. There were half-naked strangers and inside jokes and loud voices and music that made my head hurt.

And, like I said, no cake.

There should have been cake.

At the very least, this cake, a red wine chocolate cake with mascarpone whipped cream and sifted powdered sugar that, in the world of people above the age of 10, is as close as one can get to neon-colored frosting balloons.

It's a proper compromise for an adult's birthday party - at home with friends, in an office with co-workers, or at a bar.

At 10:00 p.m.

On a Friday night.

Red Wine Chocolate Cake with Whipped Mascarpone
From Smitten Kitchen
Serves 8-10

Notes: In all honesty, when I set about to make this cake, I was expecting the wine flavor to dominate, to overwhelm the chocolate and leave that distinct boozy taste that I always hated in chocolate liquors. Instead, the wine was only perceptible through its fruit, lending a sort of jamminess that only enhanced the flavor of the chocolate. I loved it - so much so that half-way through my first slice, I emphatically declared to my coworkers that I would be having a second. I can easily see this becoming my go-to chocolate cake - and not just because of how easy it is to throw together. The only difficult part was finding Dutch processed cocoa, which is alkalized and less bitter than regular cocoa (think Ghiradelli and Hershey's, et all). Check the ingredients - if it says "alkalized," you should be good to go!

Cake
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup white granulated sugar
1 large egg + 1 large egg yolk, at room temperature
3/4 cup red wine, any kind you like (I used a sweet 'n spicy Shiraz)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup + 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1/2 cup Dutch cocoa powder
1/8 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Powdered sugar

Topping
1/2 cup mascarpone cheese
1/2 cup chilled heavy or whipped cream
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Line the bottom of a 9-inch springform or round cake pan with parchment paper. Grease paper and exposed sides of the pan with butter, then lightly dust with flour.

Cut butter into smallish chunks into a large bowl, then use an electric mixer set to medium to cream till pliant. The butter will likely stick to the blades of the mixer - that's ok. Add the sugars, then continue beating with the mixer until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Beat in the vanilla (adding it before the egg makes the vanilla flavor more prominent), then add the egg and yolk and beat for a couple more minutes. Finally, add in the red wine, paying no attention to the somewhat garbled appearance of the batter at this juncture in the batter-making process.

Sift together the flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt -- either directly into the wet ingredients, or into a separate bowl if the desire so strikes. Mix with the electric beater until about 3/4 combined, then fold the rest of the floury bits in with a rubber spatula. Spoon the batter into the prepared pan, smoothing with the spatula until the top is even.

Bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until a tester inserted into the center comes out almost clean. (Mine took around 28-29 minutes and the tester was still a bit sticky, but not overtly so. It was perfect once cooled completely.) If using a regular cake pan, you can let cool for 10 minutes or so and then invert onto the rack to cool completely, but if you are using a springform pan, feel free to let it reside in said pan until you are ready to serve.

For Whipped Topping:

Combine mascarpone, whipping cream, sugar and vanilla in medium bowl with tall sides (to prevent splashage). Beat with electric mixer over medium-high speed for a couple minutes, or until soft peaks form. It is advisable to not overbeat. I may have done so with this preliminary wine cake attempt, but didn't so much mind the thick texture.

Dust top of cake with sifted powdered sugar, then slice into slivers. Top with whipped mascarpone.

Black Bean Chili with Butternut Squash: A year of "yes"

2012 is going to be the year of "yes."

Or at least that's what I'm telling people. It sounds considerably more profound than my other new year's resolutions -- get to a point where I can afford my monthly car payments, floss more and my personal favorite... participate in a flash mob. (Bonus points if the song is Michael Jackson's "Thriller.")

While it's my job to be a "yes" woman in my professional life, I haven't been so good at "yes" in my personal life. I've become an expert at coming up with excuses of why I can't say "yes." Usually something along the lines of, "I'm tired." "I need to use up my kale." "I might be getting sick."

And, the ever redundant, "I'm signed up for a Bar Method class."

It's easy to say "no" and do what I always do because it's safe and comfortable and doesn't require me to put on makeup and clothes that don't have elastic waistbands. It's easy to hibernate at home and eat the same quinoa dinner I've had three nights in a row. It's easy to pretend that I'm okay with letting the last lingering months of my 20s (21 to be exact) pass by without acknowledging that I'm getting older and won't always be able to wear a backless top without a bra.

Not that I would do that.

But, I could.

Potentially.

If I keep going to those Bar Method classes.

The funny thing is that I rarely regret saying "yes." At least not until the next morning when the alarm goes off at 6 am and I realize that the second (or third) glass of wine wasn't the brilliant idea it seemed to be the night before. Yet even in those self-loathing, stomach-churning moments, I feel a glimmer of satisfaction that I feel miserable because I had that much fun.

My favorite memories of 2011 are of the nights when I abandoned my personality to stay out past my bed time, to drink and eat a little more than I should have, and to enjoy the moment without thinking too much about the consequences of that moment. I want more of that this year -- more enjoying and less thinking. More "yes" and less "no."

In as many aspects of my life as possible.

I'm saying "yes" to second slices of cake. "Yes" to skinny jeans (until those second slices of cake catch up with me). And "yes" to black bean chili -- a recipe I've been wanting to make ever since I saw Esi rave about it on her blog, Dishing Up Delights nearly a year ago.

After months of staring at the bag of black beans I'd bought to make the chili, I finally made it, symbolically, on New Year's Day. It was everything Esi promised it would be -- sultry, smoky and dramatically flavorful and hearty for a chili not containing any meat. I served it simply with a generous heap of Greek yogurt and cilantro.

It was the perfect way to begin my year of "yes." A year of possibility.

And flash mobs.

Black Bean Chili with Butternut Squash and Couscous
Adapted from Dishing Up Delights (via Bon Appetit)
Serves 4-5

Adaptations: I used extra butternut squash (nearly double what it called for), added cumin, and used whole wheat couscous instead of bulgur. I also used vegetable broth instead of just water.

2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
5 cloves of garlic, minced
1 1/4 tablespoons chili powder
1/2 tablespoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 14.5 ounce can fire roasted tomatoes
1 cup dried black beans (resist the urge to use canned), rinsed
1 chipotle chile from canned chipotle chiles in adobo, minced
1 teaspoons dried oregano
5 cups water
1 tablespoon Better than Bouillon vegetable base
2-pound butternut squash, peeled, seeded, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1/2 cup whole wheat couscous
Greek yogurt
Cilantro, chopped

Heat a large heavy-bodied saucepan over medium high heat. Once hot, add the olive oil and swirl it around so it coats the base of the pan. Add the onions and cook, stirring rather frequently, for a good ten minutes or until they are soft and well-browned. Add the garlic and cook for another couple minutes. Turn down the heat, and add the coriander, cumin and chili powder, stirring for a minute so the spices get slightly toasty and fragrant, but don't burn.

Stir in the tomatoes and their juices, the beans, and oregano. Add 5 cups water and the vegetable base. Bring to a boil, than reduce the heat and cover with the lid slightly ajar. Simmer, stirring occasionally to check on the amount of liquid, until the beans are tender (about 2-3 hours depending on how fresh your beans are -- mine took close to 3).

Add the butternut squash and continue cooking, uncovered for 20 minutes. Stir in the whole wheat couscous and cook for another 10 minutes until the couscous pearls have plumped up and the squash is tender. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Serve immediately topped with Greek yogurt and fresh cilantro.

My Favorite Recipes of 2011

I blame the arsonist.

I fully intended to post my favorite recipes of 2011 on New Year's Eve while I sat on my couch, my hand glued to a giant glass of white wine. That was the big plan. Couch time. Giant glass of white wine time. Sentimental reflective time.

It was going to make me uber-emotional and obnoxious. I was going to tell you that "2011 was a year of monumental change for me." I was going to tell you that I got a new job, a new car and a renewed sense of self. It was going to be gross and cliched and everything that makes me hate New Year's and resolutions and people who get reflective after they drink too many giant glasses of white wine.

Instead, I spent New Year's Eve driving down to my parents' house in Orange County because I was convinced that the LA arsonist was going to torch my new car, Molly. I didn't even consider that Molly was more likely to get in an accident driving on the 405, in the fog, on New Year's, than she was to be singled out for the arsonist's next sparkler. Clearly, my reflective skills were not functioning properly.

Again, I blame the arsonist.

Today, four days into the new year, I'm not feeling nearly as sentimental about 2011. I'm feeling convicted. Ready to eat 2012 whole with big messy bites. Just like I ate these recipes -- my favorite of 2011 -- this past year.

While I was, you know, going through all those monumental changes.


Nancy Silverton's Bran Muffins
These will always be the muffins I ate on the morning *I* bought my first car. It's only fitting that they were practically perfect in every way - hearty specimens with an unexpected depth of flavor and tenderness to their interiors. I wouldn't expect anything less from LA's queen of bread and pastry.


Spice Krinkles with Dried Apricots and Chocolate
I thought I'd moved passed the days when I could eat a half dozen cookies in a single sitting. Until this recipe came along. I ate no less than 15 of them this holiday season. These spicy vixens killed all my restraint with their chewy interiors, crackly exteriors and bold accents of apricot and chocolate. Joy to the World, indeed.

Colorful Lentil and Couscous Salad
I never knew a salad could smell intoxicating before I encountered this recipe adapted from the Kitchn. Lentils become anything but ho-hum with the addition of pomegranate molasses, sundried tomatoes and sauteed onion and peppers. Eating it almost made me forget that I'm supposed to be the Quinoa Queen -- not the Lentil Lady.

Egg Bruschetta
The only way to improve the most famous tomato sauce in the country is to add an egg and serve it on top of toasted bread. Scott Conant = Genius.


Warm Quinoa Salad with Fried Egg, Spring Vegetables and Herbs
This dish was the theme song of my spring. I scoured the farmer's market every weekend for asparagus and fresh English peas, and went through four basil plants from Trader Joe's making it over the course of the season. This is what delicious obsession looks like.

Brownies
I coined these squares of sin the "Be-All End-All Brownie" for good reason. I have no desire to make any other brownie recipe ever again.

Warm Chickpea and Roasted Cauliflower Salad
Nine months later and I'm still hopelessly hooked on this salad. It's gotten to the point where I can't pass a cauliflower at the farmer's market or grocery store without envisioning it in this form. The key is using absurd quantities of lemon, garlic, parsley, basil, and Parmesan. You'll need a good half head of cauliflower per person.

Red Quinoa Salad with Apples, Walnuts, Dried Cranberries, and Smoked Gouda
This is the salad I make for people who say they don't like quinoa. It's trail mix in a less depraved form --utterly addicting with the different textures and assertive tang from the dried cranberries and sherry vinegar. The deal is sealed with the tiny cubes of smoked gouda. Quinoa haters don't stand a chance.
Chana Masala
I'm fairly convinced that this recipe is why Molly Wizenberg married her husband Brandon. I would marry a blender if he made me a crock of these saucy, seductively spiced chickpeas. Particularly if he served it to me with quinoa and roasted cauliflower on the side.


Braised Kale with Chickpeas
This simple dish was the sleeper hit of the year. While perfectly worthy of best recipe status as is, it was also a saving grace without the chickpeas -- a proper side dish for a roast chicken dinner with the parents or companion for a serious steak. It was perhaps most significant, however, when curtly topped with a runny fried egg. It would be indecent of me to not to admit how many mornings I relied on it as a recovery breakfast after one too many indulgences the evening before.

Nancy Silverton's Bran Muffins: Most worthy

It's sitting outside my building right now -- a little too far from the curb. Even after my second attempt parking it this afternoon I was nervous to get too close, nervous that I'd scrape the hubcaps or squash the tires or in my distracted state of hyper curb awareness, accidentally smash into the car parked behind me.

I mustn't do any scraping, squashing or smashing.

It's only been five hours since I drove away from the Mazda dealership in Huntington Beach and I'm still not quite sure how to react to this. A new car. A car with a functioning radio and CD player, a window that doesn't get stuck when it rolls down all the way, and a driver's side door I can actually open.

Clearly this isn't allowed. Clearly I've somehow cheated the system and the system police is on their way to my apartment to declare me an unfit mother and confiscate the car. My car. Molly.

I'm so not worthy.

I should be excited. Ecstatic. Typing these very words from the back seat because I can't bear to be away from Molly lest she float back to car heaven (Japan). Instead I can't escape the singular thought that I don't deserve a new car. That my old car -- Tiffany -- was fine. That I'm really not adult enough or special enough or financially stable enough to buy a new car.

Definitely not worthy.

I was terrified signing all the papers today, making all the decisions about gap insurance and lo jack, and horrified that the dealer was addressing me rather than my mother.

"Why are you asking me?" I wanted to shriek. "I don't know what I'm doing! Don't you see the picture on my driver's license? I'm still an overall-wearing 16-year-old who over plucks her eyebrows!"

Apparently, I had him fooled. Apparently, he thought I was an adult. Because she's still outside -- still a little too far from the curb just like she was when I checked on her an hour ago.

Not worthy.

The whole day, aside from breakfast, has been seasoned with these feelings of self-doubt. In the midst of all the car-selling, car-buying, dealer-fooling, grown up nonsense, I woke up feeling determined not about this grand milestone in my life, but about bran muffins.

It was the first thing that popped into my head when I peeled back the sheets and peered, blurry eyed, at the clock by my bed.

I scurried into the kitchen, eying the muffin tin I'd lined the night before with resolve. It didn't matter to me that I was selling the only vehicle I'd ever owned in less than two hours. It didn't matter that I was replacing Tiffany with Molly a few hours after that. I was making muffins. I was toasting the wheat germ, pureeing the raisins, zesting the orange, sifting the flours. I was going through the motions, because I couldn't possibly sit still and let myself think about what I was about to do or what it would cost me or whether I was a moron for thinking I could be the owner of a car with Bluetooth, some fancy SkyActiv technology I don't really understand and a button that opens the trunk for me.

"Muffins." I thought "I'm making bran muffins."

And as I tore into my second one, consumed mere moments after I'd devoured my first, the single thought that occupied my mind wasn't guilt or despair or anything approximating the self-doubt I'd experience all day.

Worthy.

The muffins today.

Maybe myself tomorrow.

Nancy Silverton's Bran Muffins
Lightly adapted from David Lebovitz
Makes 12

Notes: After reading the comments noting the muffins were a bit wet, I reduced the water from 1 cup to 3/4 cup. I also upped the orange zest from a few swipes to the zest from an entire orange, and added 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon. Cinnamon is very worthy.

2 cups wheat germ
1 1/2 cups dark raisins, divided (I used Jumbo Thompson to splendid effect)
1 1/4 cups water
1/2 cup non-fat yogurt (I used Chobani Greek yogurt)
1/2 cup light brown sugar, packed
Zest of 1 orange
1 large egg
1 large egg white
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners.

Spread the wheat bran out into a smooth, even layer on a foil-lined baking sheet. Toast for 6 - 8 minutes, stirring around a bit during the toasting process so it browns evenly.

While the wheat bran is in the oven, pour 1/2 cup of water and 1 cup of water into a small saucepan. Bring to a slow boil, then reduce the heat and simmer uncovered approximately 10 minutes or until the raisins have absorbed most of the water. Remove from the heat and puree the raisins using an immersion blender or food processor.

In a large bowl, combine the wheat bran with the yogurt and 3/4 cup of water. Add the raisin puree, orange zest and brown sugar and stir until well integrated. Stir in the oil, egg and egg white. Feel free to whip the batter a bit to make sure the egg is evenly distributed.

Sift together the flour, wheat flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon and add directly to the bran mixture. Stir until just combined and then toss in the remaining 1/2 cup of raisins. It doesn't hurt to heap the 1/2 cup a bit. (Raisins are worthy as well.)

Distribute the batter evenly between the 12 muffin liners, taking care to heap it up a bit in the center. Note: It will look like you have too much batter, but keep in mind that bran muffins are a denser lot and don't rise like regular muffins. Heap that batter in and be glad the singular muffins are heftier in size because of it.

Bake for 25-30 minutes or until the muffins look visibly set in the centers. (Mine were done in about 28 minutes.) Let cool about 5-10 minutes in the tin before attempting to remove the muffins. (Prevents squashed sides.) Use a knife to slip them out and then continue cooling on a wire rack. Unless, of course, you are eating right away. In that case, immediately serve yourself two. Because you're worthy.

Quinoa Tabbouleh with Edamame and Arugula: A recalibration

I thought I had the upper hand.

Thought I'd convinced him that he liked me more than I liked him. I topped off any sort of a complimentary statement with an edge of sarcasm. I told him he was like water in my ear. Ignored him when I felt like I was being too present. Shrugged off all of his complimentary statements with confident indifference.

I was not going to be that girl. That crazy, obsessive, planning-the-wedding-before-the-first-date girl. I was going to play it cool. Not blog about it. Not talk about it (too much). Keep the warm, stomach-churning flashes of emotion all wrapped up in a little box like a Christmas present under my nonexistent tree.

My master plan started to go awry last week. In the midst of all my snark and circumstance, I realized I was the one initiating the communication. I was the one playing Adele's "Someone Like You" on repeat for an hour straight while I clung to my phone, willing the green light indicating I had an incoming text message to flash.

I was the one imagining it to be something it wasn't. And liking him far more than I felt comfortable as the one who was supposed to have the upper hand.

The obsessive phone-clinging reached its peak on Friday. As I stewed over what his unresponsiveness meant, I glued myself to my couch with a bottle of Chardonnay. Love Actually accidentally slipped into my DVD player. A box of See's chocolates accidentally got opened. And in an instant, I accidentally became that girl.

Two glasses of wine into the night, I finally recognized her.

Me.

"Disgusting." I said to the reflection in the mirror.

I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day trying to detox. Pretending that I was checking work emails or Twitter when my brother asked me why I kept looking at my phone. I did everything possible to distract myself -- playing card games with my brothers, crawling on the floor pretending to be a tiger with my two-year-old niece, watching the Michael Bublé Christmas special with my mom -- twice.

Four days after the peak of my complete metamorphosis into the most loathed character in romantic comedies, I'm attempting to claw my way back to normalcy. Back to the person who obsesses over ordinary, everyday things.

You know, Bar Method, Anthropologie and quinoa.

This is the salad I'm eating to recalibrate myself -- from the holiday cookies, the filet mignon with port wine shallot reduction, the twice baked potatoes oozing with neon orange cheddar cheese, and from the boy who almost made me lose my head.


Quinoa Tabbouleh with Edamame and Arugula
Serves 2

1/2 cup quinoa, rinsed well
1 cup shelled edamame, prepared according to package instructions
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon orange juice
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 teaspoon honey
Fresh ground pepper, sea salt, to taste
1 cup parsley, minced
3 cups arugula
1/4 cup slivered almonds, toasted

Bring just shy of 1 cup of water to boil in a small saucepan. Add the quinoa, reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes. Remove the lid, fluff with a fork and assess for doneness. If all the liquid has been absorbed, turn off the heat and let "dry out" for approximately 10 minutes.

Whisk together lemon zest, lemon juice, orange juice, olive oil, honey, salt, and pepper. Toss with quinoa, parsley, and edamame. Refrigerate for at least an hour so the flavors can blend.

Spread out arugula on two plates. Toss quinoa with almonds, then divide the salad evenly between the two plates.

Pomegranate-Glazed Eggplant with Tempeh: The Perks of Fall

I still can't decide quite how I feel about it. Fall. The impending winter. The cold, piercing air that sneaks in through the window slits in my apartment.

In this moment, buried under two blankets and donning a thick J. Crew hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, I hate it. Just like I hate it when I wake up to a dark room at 6:00 a.m. and know that I have to peel myself from the warm sanctuary of my bed to go outside. And run.

Every morning my body rebels against the inevitable. I hit the snooze button and pull my pink comforter over my head to seal the heat in for just a few more precious minutes before I finally force myself to get up. I whimper as I yank a long sleeve shirt over my fists to keep Los Angeles' version of frigid air from numbing my fingers. As I take those first strides, I'm miserable, and nostalgically thinking back to summer when I could run outside in tank tops and skivvy-like shorts.

Then there are the other moments -- when snuggling under two blankets with a cup of hot tea feels comforting rather than distressing. When I get back from that run and take that first bite of cinnamon apple-scented oatmeal. When I'm belting out the lyrics to Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas." When I'm stomping on leaves in my tall brown Sechelles boots.

And when I turn the oven on to roast my dinner.

I love that part. Love the way my oven clangs to life like a furnace as soon as I spin the dial. Love that it instantly perfumes the air with warmth and hominess. Love that I can toss a myriad of seemingly incoherent ingredients together to create a completely coherent meal.

Purple eggplant, butternut squash, tempeh, pomegranate molasses, garlic, lemon... heaven.

The oven is the center of my universe during fall. During winter. During moments like this one where I can't fathom even slipping a toe outside of my blanket fortress. And it's recipes like this one that make me sort of love the cold, piercing air that sneaks in through the window slits in my apartment.

Pomegranate-Glazed Eggplant with Tempeh
Adapted from Heidi Swanson's Super Natural Every Day
Serves 4

Notes: I doubled the amount of eggplant and butternut squash, and added kale, lemon juice and brown sugar. I also increased the amount of cilantro, omitted the feta, and used less olive oil. Rather than smashing the raw garlic, I pre-roasted it so it would be easier to mash together with the other components of the sauce. As usual, I added an extra clove for good measure.

2 long, thin Asian eggplant, cut into small cubes
8 ounces tempeh, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
2 cups butternut squash, cut into small cubes
4 cloves garlic
1 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Zest of 1 small lemon
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1/3 cup pomegranate molasses
2 cups kale, sliced into slivers (optional)
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place unpeeled garlic cloves in small oven-safe dish. Roast for approximately 10 minutes.

Remove garlic and smash with sea salt into a paste. Place in small bowl, add red pepper flakes, lemon juice, lemon zest, olive oil, brown sugar, and pomegranate molasses. Whisk together.

Arrange eggplant, tempeh and butternut squash cubes in a glass baking dish. Toss with pomegranate molasses mixture until well coated. Spread into an even layer. Roast, stirring once or twice, for 30-45 minutes, until the eggplant is soft and the squash is starting to caramelize. Toss in the kale, let roast 5 more minutes.

Remove from oven and stir in the cilantro. Serve with farro, barley or brown rice.

Farro Risotto-Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms: An unnecessary necessity

I didn't do anything I was supposed to do today.

I didn't go to Bar Method this morning.

I didn't go to church this evening.

I didn't bleach the kitchen sink or go Christmas shopping or even bother putting on a bra.

Instead, I cloaked myself in sweats, put weird things on my face in an attempt to get rid of the scars that have suddenly taken up residency on my left cheek, and rented Friends with Benefits OnDemand. It was horrible. And by "horrible" I of course mean, I really enjoyed it and am currently considering rewatching it so I can pause the screen whenever Justin Timberlake takes his shirt off.

It was glorious. Not just JT's abs and his "these" muscles (Ashley will know what I mean by "these"), but the day. The laziness. The freedom I gave myself to be totally antisocial and ugly and weird.

And in the midst of all this inactivity and aloe vera face-painting (one of the home remedies for facial scars I found on a site I googled this morning), I made cookie batter. I folded laundry that I purposely scorched in the dryer so I could bury myself under a hot pile of it. And I spent an hour and a half standing over the stove making caramels while I listened to Coldplay's "Paradise" on repeat.

I love doing these types of things on Sundays. Things I don't need to do; things that I'm doing mostly for the pleasure of the slow, methodical process it takes to do them. Obsessively folding my underwear into neat little stacks. Refolding them if they aren't perfectly smooth and identical in shape and size to the one underneath it. This is the kind of stuff that fills me with that warm, glowy feeling of contentment. The kind of thing that recharges me for the impending week of tasks I actually have to accomplish.

A few Sundays ago I spent an entire afternoon preparing my dinner. I braised a portobello mushroom. I roasted and mashed a sweet potato. I made a port wine reduction. I simmered a farro risotto in broth I made with dried porcinis and vegetable stock. Then I put it all together in dramatic, restaurant-esque fashion.

It was complicated, time-consuming and completely unnecessary for a solo Sunday supper. But it was exactly what I needed -- because I didn't need to do it.

Farro Risotto-Stuffed Portobello Mushroom with Sweet Potato Puree
Adapted from recipe from Chef Scott Zwiezen of Elf Cafe
Serves 4

For Braised Portobellos
1 teaspoon olive oil
4 large portobello mushrooms, stems removed
1/4 cup port wine
1 celery stalk, coarsely chopped
1 carrot, coarsely chopped
1/4 onion, coursely chopped
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
2 teaspoons Better than Boullion Vegetable Base
Freshly ground pepper

Heat large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the teaspoon of oil, swirling to coat the base of the pan. Place the portobellos face down, and let cook until they just start to release their liquid, approximately 5 minutes. Add the wine, letting it cook off almost completely. Add a cup or so of water, the vegetable base, carrot, celery, onion, thyme, and a few good shakes of freshly ground pepper. Bring to a boil and then reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, until mushrooms are braised through, approximately 45 minutes to an hour. Remove mushrooms from broth and set aside. Strain broth into a separate saucepan.

For Sweet Potato Mash
2 large sweet potatoes
1 tablespoon butter
1/3 cup milk, give or take a little
Salt, pepper

While mushrooms are braising, preheat oven to 400 degrees. Pierce the sweet potatoes with a fork and roast until tender, approximately 40-45 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool for 10 minutes.

Once cool enough to handle, peel off the skins and dump potato into a bowl. Add butter, milk, salt and pepper, then mash using either a handheld electric mixer or an immersion blender. Add more milk as needed.

For Farro Risotto
1/2 ounce dried porcini mushrooms
1 teaspoon olive oil
2-3 large shallots, minced
1 large carrot, minced
3/4 cup farro
Pepper
Pinch of thyme
2 tablespoons goat cheese
2-3 tablespoons grated parmesan

Place dried porcini mushrooms in a heat-safe bowl. Bring two cups of water to a boil. Pour over porcini mushrooms and let sit for 30 or so minutes. Using a fine sieve, strain the liquid into the saucepan with the reserved portobello braising broth. Bring to a low simmer.

Chop rehydrated porcinis and set aside.

Heat a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the teaspoon of olive oil, swirling to coat the pan. Add the shallots and carrot and saute until tender and lightly caramelized, approximately 5 minutes. Add the farro, and cook for a few more minutes to lightly toast the kernels. Season with pepper and thyme. Add a half cup of the hot broth to the pan, and let simmer over medium-low heat until the broth evaporates. Keep adding broth as needed, a 1/2 cup or so at a time until the farro is cooked through, approximately 30 minutes. Stir in the goat cheese and rehydrated porcinis, and turn off the heat. Let rest for 10 minutes so it thickens up enough to be stuffed into the mushroom caps.

For Port Reduction
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup Port wine

Pour balsamic vinegar and Port wine into a small saucepan. Bring to a boil and then reduce heat, keeping at a slow simmer until it reduces into a thick, syrup-like consistency, approximately 45 minutes.

For Assembly:

Bring oven back to 400 degrees.

Place portobellos in a lightly greased glass baking dish. Stuff with farro risotto, then sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Bake in the oven until completely heated through and parmesan has lightly browned, approximately 15 minutes.

Reheat sweet potatoes in the microwave until piping hot. Divide evenly between four plates. Top with stuffed mushrooms, then drizzle with port reduction. Serve immediately, optionally with braised kale or green of choice.