Even though it’s not the best time to talk about cranberries (seeing as we’re post-season and all the cranberries have vacated the grocery stores), I’m going to do it anyway.

But first, what’s up with the No-Cranberry-Anywhere Phenomenon? There were boatloads of the fruit in the stores from November to December and then, whoosh, they vanished. They’re not even in the freezer section. I know this because I’ve checked the freezers of the big stores, little stores, and the in-between stores.

Nothing.

Zip.

Nada.

It can’t be because they’re out of season. There are bags of blueberries, sweet cherries, and pineapple chunks in the freezers of all those stores year-round and those fruits are all out of season for most of the year. (And I’ll bet you one of my special little jars of frozen cranberry sauce that it’s easier to freeze cranberries than it is to freeze pineapple chunks.)

If I had known that cranberries aren’t carried in stores for ten months of the year, I would have stocked up in November. In fact, I’m marking my 2010 calendar right now, November 15: buy scads of cranberries. If you’re a cranberry lover, you might want to do the same. Go ahead and write it down; I’ll wait.

For the past several years, I’ve always had cranberries in the freezer. Maybe at one point I got wind of the upcoming cranberry shortage, stocked up, and then promptly forgot about the annual cranberry deprivation? Possibly. I forget to do a whole bunch of things if I don’t write it down on the calendar, stuff like renew library books, take food to a church potluck, tithe, and pee. (Just kidding about the potty break part.)

About a month ago, I mentioned—maybe in a post, maybe in a tweet—that I was on a cranberry sauce rampage, in search of my favorite cranberry sauce. There are a ton of recipes out there (just type “cranberry sauce” into the search bar of Epicurious if you don’t believe me), so the task was rather daunting. I ended up making three sauces: two cooked (candied ginger, Grand Marnier, and dried sweet cherries in one, and white pepper, ginger, and orange zest in the other) and one raw (with cardamon, molasses, and maple syrup). They were all good—strong, tart-sweet, and very cranberry—but none of them leaped out and grabbed me ’round the neck.

And then I went to my Aunt Valerie’s and had her cranberry relish. Now, this relish is not the same as cranberry sauce—less solidly cranberry and more fruity—so it did not solve my sauce issues. (I am officially accepting any and all cranberry sauce recipes. Do you have a favorite you think I might like? Leave it in the comments, and thank you very much.) But it was sweetly tangy and very fruity, light, fresh, and relishable. I liked it quite much. We ate it with ham for Saturday’s noon meal, and then again on Sunday with the made-to-order omelets and tea ring. There were a couple glass dishes of plain yogurt on the breakfast table, and I wisely thought to try some yogurt with the relish—a delicious blend of creamy, tangy, and sweet. I was hooked.

The relish inspired the aforementioned search for cranberries and after scouring the town and coming up empty-handed, I turned to my freezer where I found most of a 12-ounce bag. I went ahead and made the sauce, cutting the recipe in third, but I’m going to give you the whole honkin’ huge recipe as is (it makes a gallon). It goes down really easy, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble to have that much on hand. (If it is, remember that it freezes well.)

So, rephrasing what I just said, I consider this to be less of a straight-up cranberry sauce (you know, one that is full of whole cranberries and a couple other ingredients and you can only eat a little at a time because it is so packed with zip) and more of a cranberry salad (some cranberries and a lot of other stuff, too). “Relish” is the appropriate name for it—something you can eat an awful lot of, and with much gusto.

Cranberry Relish
From my Aunt Valerie

This recipe calls for jello, a food (can jello be called a “food”?) of which I am not a fan. But don’t get all up in arms just yet. The end result doesn’t look or taste anything like the ubiquitous jello salad of the 50s—a blobby quavering mass studded with maraschino cherries and grated carrot. In this relish, the jello is simply used as a thickener, one that you won’t even think about when you’re eating it. (There is some wiggle room with how much jello you use—two packages of jello make a thinner sauce and three will make it thicker.)

2 12-ounce packages cranberries, fresh or frozen
2 or 3 3-ounce packages jello, red raspberry or strawberry
5 naval oranges
4 big apples, cored and cut into wedges
1 cup sugar
1 20-ounce can crushed pineapple

Grind the cranberries in the food processor till they’re finely chopped. Transfer them to a kettle, add water (just enough to cover), and bring to a boil. Remove the kettle from the heat, add the jello, and stir till dissolved. Stir in the sugar and set aside.

Using a knife, cut off most of the peel of the naval oranges. (If you want a more bitter relish, leave on some of the rind.) Roughly chop the oranges (double check for seeds) and put them in the food processor (no need to wash it out between uses). Add the apple wedges. Pulse till well-chopped.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the chopped fruit and the cranberries. Add the can of pineapple (including the juice). Mix well, store in a tightly-lidded container, and chill. It will keep in the fridge for several weeks, or it can be frozen for longer storage.

Yield: one gallon

About one year ago: Earthquake Cake

It’s no secret that I like to spiritualize my food. I did it with the Angel Bread, Salvation’s Chocolate Chip Cookies, Tomato Bread Pudding and probably a bunch of other recipes that I can’t even remember now. Food has a way of begging to be etherealized, or it would, if “etherealized” was a word.

Creamy Blue Cheese Pasta with Spinach and Walnuts is one recipe that is sure to make the angels sing. Proof: I sang, and I’m fairly angelic, right?

It’s a basic recipe (well, expect for the cheese, which is a little high-end), and one that can be slapped together in no time flat, almost as fast as you can cook a kettle of pasta. It’s simple, folks, simple. And, in the same way that it’s the simple folk that hold the keys to the heavenly kingdom (now would be the place to quote scripture, but I’m not sure where those scriptures would be found, exactly—hmm, I must not be as angelic as I thought), it’s the simple foods that cause those heavenly angels to really belt it out.

Mr. Handsome is not a blue cheese fan, not at all. In fact, when he saw what I was serving, he groaned, actually groaned. I gave him the Hairy Eyeball and a smidge of What For, and he shushed right up, dished himself a decent serving … and then had seconds. And the next day when we were scrounging through the fridge for a light supper, he choose the pasta over the chicken-cheese enchiladas and the Vietnamese Pork Meatball sandwiches (with spicy mayo and pickled carrots and fresh cilantro). “It’s good,” he said, and then ducked his head sheepishly. Silly old goat. (There’s a scripture about sheep and goats, but I’m not going to get into that now.)

Creamy Blue Cheese Pasta with Spinach and Walnuts
Adapted from the November 2009 issue of Gourmet magazine

When I looked this recipe over again before writing it down here, I discovered that I had made it all wrong. I used a whole pound of pasta, but the recipe only called for one-half pound!

The end result was still delicious (obviously), just a lot lighter (and cheaper). I’m writing down the recipe as it is in the magazine, but if you want, you can double the pasta and still have a tasty meal. You’ll probably just want to add a bit extra of the pasta water to make it saucier (and more stretchable).

Keep in mind that I used only 5 ounces of blue cheese for that one pound of pasta and it was quite tasty. I can’t help thinking that a whole 8 ounces of the cheese for half that amount of pasta might be overkill. But then again, it might be even more heaven-like. Oh, wait! There’s an equation there: I ate it + I died = I went to heaven. Yes, it’s illogical, but let’s not argue the finer points, okay?

½ pound pasta, preferably of the spaghetti variety, but any type will do
5-8 ounces blue cheese, crumbled
1 cup walnuts, roughly chopped
10 ounces spinach, frozen or fresh, drained (mostly) and chopped
1 onion, cut into wedges
2 cloves of garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
½ teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

Put the onion and garlic into a food processor and pulse till it’s finely chopped.

Cook the pasta according to package directions. Reserve a cup of the cooking liquid, though you’ll only use about 1/4 cup of it—I like to play it safe. Drain the pasta.

While the pasta is cooking, heat one tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet and add the chopped walnuts. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring constantly, for 2-3 minutes, until golden brown. Transfer the nuts to a bowl, set the skillet back on the burner, and add the other 2 tablespoons olive oil, the chopped onion and garlic, and the salt and pepper. Cook for 2-5 minutes until the onions have softened, but not browned.

Add the spinach, blue cheese, and 1/4 cup of pasta water (more if you want a thinner sauce), and simmer until the greens have wilted and softened and the blue cheese has melted. Add the red wine vinegar and stir well. Add the cooked pasta and toss to coat. Sprinkle with the toasted walnuts and serve immediately.

About one year ago: Baked Hash Brown Potatoes

The barn really is going up; it’s just that, except for a jagged hole up high in the metal side of the barn, you would never know.

The other day another big truck came by. It dumped off a lot of big pieces of wood. I think they’re called beams or studs or frames. Wait a sec …. Hone-e-y? What were those large pieces of wood that got dumped off here before we went on our trip? I-joists? They’re 36 feet long? Okay, thanks. No, no one’s asking—I was just wondering.

So it was I-joists that got dumped off. Mr. Handsome oversaw the whole process. It was kind of slow, and involved lots of backing up, beeping, and caveman-like grunts and whoas. I stayed on the deck and watched from behind my camera.

The kids didn’t even come running to look. Once you’ve seen one big load of wood, you’ve seen ‘em all.

Just so you know, the sticks of wood that Mr. Handsome is brandishing? They were for in case the driver made one false move. Mr. Handsome was fully prepared to fly at him, and deck him upside the head.

Just kidding. They were to put under the beams to keep them off the wet ground, but that was boring so I made up that little lie. I hope you’ll forgive me.

And really, Mr. Handsome didn’t have an angry bone in his body at delivery time. He was positively glowing, so excited was he over that bit of over-sized kindling. When he walked in the door afterwards, I took one look at him, slapped my hand over my eyes, and screeched “I need sunglasses!”

“Oh, be quiet,” Mr. Handsome said, all gruff and tough-like. And then he grinned and about split his face in half. He’s so dang cute!

The wood sat in the yard for a couple days until Mr. Handsome decided that he better get it under cover before we went on our trip so he spent one entire morning shoving beams into the barn through a little hole that he hacked in the side up the barn, a-way up high.

They’re big sticks of wood, so Yo-Yo and Miss Beccaboo had to help. It involved lots of lifting, holding, climbing, and shoving. Sometimes Mr. Handsome stayed outside on the ladder and waited while the kids sprinted around to the inside…

where they climbed the shelving units till they got to the top, up high there, close to the roof….

and then he fed the beam in through the hole to them so they could nestle it into its resting spot.

Other times they all worked together from the outside, Mr. Handsome on the ladder closest to the barn and the kids at the bottom end of the beam, pushing it up to him. When they got into that position, the kids didn’t have any other choice but to stay put and push. If they got tired and dropped the beam, it would smash their toes and they knew that. They’re smart kids that way. But they’re smart kids in other ways, too. They discovered that if they bleated pitifully—Papa, hurry, hurry, HURRY!—he would come save them.

We can’t do it! Our hands are slipping!

Hang on, hang on, I’m coming.

I said ‘I’m COMING!‘

Alright, I have it. You can let go now.

And all the while I was thinking, Let my kiddies’ piggies survive this, please.

Aah! Yikes! THAT kid isn’t supposed to be up there!

Yoo-hoo! Anyone in there know what’s going on outside? Anyone??? SOMEBODY GET THAT KID!

Truth be told, I didn’t say anything. I just ran inside quick to grab the camera. By the time I got back, Mr. Handsome was already bellowing at Nickel to get down off that ladder right this very minute. I clicked fast.

They worked all morning long. Mr. Handsome said he would’ve been in a real fix without the kids’ help.

Just think how many MORE things we’ll be able to accomplish in a couple years when the kids are that much bigger, stronger, and smarter. But not smart enough to get out of doing any work, of course.

About One Year Ago: In which I almost burn the house down…twice. (Kind of.)