Roasted Cauliflower, Lemon, and Shallots

Looks great, no? We had it for dinner with grilled branzino last night. And the recipe couldn't be easier. One of Bruce's greats, I think.

But first, a confession. I've been silent the past day or so because I've been thinking. Dana started it. (Check out her thoughts in the comments here.)

My quandary has been about real food and sugars, brought on by those darn delicious cupcakes and their even more darn delicious frosting. I've been pondering all this because of some solid research on satiety and sugars, all discussed in our new book, the one named after this blog, a seven-step plan to get off processed food. (If you'd like to see more about that title, it's here.)

Anyway, I'm going to post a fuller detailing of the real food/sugar question tomorrow. For now, I thought I'd go really simple, sort of to save up some energy. I hope you'll all stay tuned and take part--because it's one of those crucial discussions we need to be having.

Anyway, on to the roasted cauliflower.

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Lemon Ice Cream

Years ago, when Bruce was testing recipes for The Ultimate Ice Cream Book, I almost came undone over this one. "Oh my God," I said, "you finally came up with a way to get butter into ice cream." (Maybe that's why the book is cresting half a million copies in print.)

Listen, butter is a spiritual experience. So to get it into ice cream, it's like some Dantean mystic rose unfolding in the kitchen. You think I overstate? Here's this technique: make a lemon curd, fold in cream, and freeze in an ice cream maker.

Brace yourself.

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Lemon Meringue Pie, Part 2: The Filling

Now that we've got the crust (see more here), it's on to the filling--and the lemonier, the better.

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Meyer Lemon Marmalade

The Meyer lemon celebration continues apace. This weekend's task: marmalade.

To be honest, I've been whining for Bruce to make marmalade for months now. He's a canning maven; last year's kumquat marmalade almost did me in. We'd long since run out and I started my official whining when I read all about Foodgal's luscious lemon vanilla marmalade. In fact, I'd already made her recipe in a small batch, one that I stuck in the fridge and scarfed down pretty fast on English muffins and toast.

But as Foodgal noted, and as was true in my case, the marmalade was a little soft. Frankly, I like a "French set," the slightly gelatinous set of great apricot or strawberry preserves, as opposed to the stiffer American set, familiar from store-bought grape jelly. But this marmalade wouldn't have held up very well if left at room temperature--which was all fine and good for a refrigerator marmalade as both Foodgal and I intended, but not so good for jars intended for months of storage down in our basement.

Bruce and I sat down the other morning over lattes and tried to figure out the (be)setting problem. After some crazy detours through university ag sites and various food chemistry journals, we discovered it lies with the citrus itself--well, actually, with its abundant acid--which can counteract and destablize pectins, thereby inhibiting the set in the jam-making process. A little citric acid, for example, makes strawberry jam irresistible; too much and the stuff won't set, even in that loosey-goosey French way.

So Bruce went away to figure it out--and by darn if he didn't make it all work. Here's how:

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Meyer Lemon Buttermilk Sorbet

It was pretty nasty this weekend--a bit of everything: snow, rain, sleet, ice, thunder, white-outs, you name it. I used to say there was only a picket fence between us and the North Pole. Apparently, it's blown down.

Mid-afternoon on Saturday, the postal truck skidded down the driveway to deliver a lumpy box to our kitchen door.

The minute the knife hit the tape, we could smell it: sweet, sour, irresistible. A box of Meyer lemons, thanks to Cheryl Sternman Rule, whose blog I adore. Apparently right from the tree in her front yard.

I danced around the kitchen. Nothing could have made me happier. I instantly cut open one of the lemons, sucked on it until my tongue buzzed.

Oh, the plans we have. Meyer lemon chutney. Meyer lemon vodka highballs. But first up, a luscious, no-cook sorbet.

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