I don’t normally post the “old stand-bys,” the banana breads and blueberry muffins that all cooks have snug in their oldest recipe boxes. I figure we all have our favorite recipe, or method, for making these foods, so why throw my version in and muck everything up?

That’s not to say I don’t love reading about them on other blogs. Whenever I see a banana bread or simple blueberry muffin I remember that it’s high time I make some again. These posts are my gentle reminders, telling me that I’ve gotten too caught-up with newfangled, out of the ordinary recipes. I’ve lost track of the foods that are simply needed if you want a warm, cozy home.

Zucchini bread brings me home. Just one whiff of the baking bread zips me back to my mom’s kitchen, where my sisters broke eggs and I begrudgingly measured flour (I wasn’t a cook back then, though I loved to eat) and my mother helped us read the recipe from her big old cookbook.

I loved zucchini bread… I still do. The combination of cinnamon and clove remains my favorite for baking. It shouts family, holidays, sitting around the kitchen—love. I was amazed when I realized that I’d never baked it for Jim. Me, with all my domestication and home-cooked meals, the frilly aprons that I wear when cooking to feel more 50’s housewife, my nurturing need to feed him.

Maybe I wanted to keep my childhood memory to myself. Maybe, living too far from my sisters and mother to see them often enough, I felt like I needed to horde away my treasured thoughts of them—I wasn’t going to share.

Then I came to my senses. How silly of me! Every man (or woman) should, at least once, come home to a freshly baked loaf of zucchini bread, made by someone they love. Everyone should experience this dense, moist loaf, warm with the scent of cinnamon and clove and flecked with little green bits of summer. The crisp, sugary crust should be bitten into by every single person on this earth, because it’s that good.

There’s a reason why it’s a old favorite.

Zucchini Bread

makes one loaf

• ½ cup buttermilk*
• ¼ cup vegetable oil
• 1 ½ cups sugar
• 3 eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 2 cups grated zucchini (about 1 large or 2 small)
• 2 cups AP flour
• 1 ½ teaspoons baking soda
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• ¾ teaspoon ground clove
• 1 cup golden raisins

Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Grease a 9-by-4 inch loaf pan. Combine buttermilk, oil, and sugar in a medium bowl or your stand-mixer workbowl and whisk until light-colored and fluffy, a few minutes. Add the eggs and vanilla and whisk a few minutes more (it will seem very liquidy now, that’s okay). Fold in the zucchini.

In a large bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, powder, salt, cinnamon, and clove. Stir to combine. Mix the raisins into the flour then combine everything with the wet mixture. Stir until completely combined, but no more.

Pour batter into loaf pan. Bake for about an hour, or maybe 70 minutes, or until the top is firm and a toothpick comes out clean. Let the loaf cool in the pan for a bit before turning it out onto your counter. Enjoy with a cup of tea and some smooching.

*I use buttermilk to lighten up the batter but if you don’t have it, you can substitute oil in its place, using 3/4 cup oil for the recipe.

Over the past couple weeks, I haven’t been cooking anything that takes longer than 10 minutes—the pizza, many salads, a few pieces of fish—but Jim and I had something serious brewing up in our kitchen. Like, 6 days brining and then 24-hour waterbath serious. Yes, a serious, 7+ day recipe. Beef tongue.

We’ve been eating more ethically lately, buying meat from the small, local, and humane meat producers in our area. We get to see how the animals live before they are slaughtered—on big open terrains, munching on grass, or hanging by the lake. They’re happy. And I’m much happier too—the meat tastes better, I don’t feel badly eating it, and it’s healthier.

But it’s more expensive. In my new favorite cookbook, we’re told that to eat meat ethically, you should expect that half as much meat will be twice as expensive. It’s true. This shouldn’t deter you, however, but unless you’re a bahgillionaire, you’ll have to rethink your meat-eating. Firstly, you’ve got to eat less meat. Fill your dinner plate up with substantial foods, like lentils, so that you fill up without needing a big hunkin’ steak. (Though, of course, remember to splurge on the steak every once in a while.) Secondly, you’ve got to start cooking with cheaper cuts—chuck, short-ribs, etc.—and offal.

Offal is the entrails and internal organs of the animals that make your meat. Offal’s the lump category for things like heart, liver, and tongue. Offal’s cheap. I mean, real cheap. The big ol’ tongue we bought from our fancy-pants free-range organic meat supplier was about 5 bucks—put that in perspective with the about 30 dollars we spend there on pork tenderloin. Offal’s cheap.

It’s also quite fatty too, which is all the more reason to keep your portions small. The taste of tongue is delicious—meaty but awesomely tender. I don’t really know how to describe it, other than I think it has the flavor of a steak-um. A steak-um but 10 bahgillion times better. Try it. You’ll get a delicious meal, money left in your bank, a clear conscience, and leftovers for days. Can’t beat that.

Pickled Tongue

adapted from the River Cottage Meat Book

For the Brine:

• 5 quarts of water
• 1 pound light brown sugar
• 3 pounds coarse sea salt
• 1 teaspoon black peppercorns
• 1 teaspoon juniper berries
• 5 cloves
• 4 bay leaves
• 1 sprig of thyme

For the Brined Tongue:

• 1 whole fresh beef tongue
• 1 herb satchel (with thyme, oregano, celery seeds, and peppercorn)
• 3 small carrots, chopped
• 1 onion, halved
• 1 leek, halved crosswise and lengthwise
• 1/2 garlic bulb, outer leaves removed

Put all the ingredients for the brine into a large stockpot and stir well over low heat until sugar dissolves. Bring to a boil, allow to bubble for 1 to 2 minutes, then remove from heat and let cool. Once cooled, put the tongue in a large non-metallic container (i.e. Tupperware) and cover it with the cooled brine. Put in the fridge and let brine for 6-7 days. (Or up to 10 if you tongue is over 6 pounds.)

Days later, when your tongue is (finally) ready, remove from brine and soak it in fresh water for another day, changing the water at least once. (Soak for two days if you have an over 6 pound tongue.)

When ready, remove the tongue to a dutch oven with the ingredients for the brined tongue. Cover with fresh water, bring to a simmer, then poach gently on the stovetop over low to medium-low heat for 2½ to 3 hours, or until tongue is very tender and yields easily when pierced.

Then (you’re not done yet) remove the tongue and discard the rest. Place tongue on a cutting board and peel or cut away the skin (you’ll understand what I’m talking about when you see it.) When you’re removing the skin, make sure to get rid of all of it, cutting the outer layer off pretty generously–the meat of the tongue is very tender, but the skin’s texture isn’t very pleasant.

Serve with lentils and cabbage, and a good, grainy mustard.

Serves 10 or more.

I’ve been feeling better great lately. I’m still sore in my lower back/hip area, but mostly after I work out, and hardly enough to get upset about. And yes, I’m even working out. This, for me, is a happiness that has me giddy—when you write a food blog that features bacon on more posts than not, working out is an important part of your life. You may have also noticed, I’ve been busy. Since starting my new site over a week ago, I’ve been scouring the web for drool-worthy food photography, reading endless articles on food, and spending way too much time in front of my computer screen—it’s been a blast.

I’ve met great new people with gorgeous blogs, I’ve formed relationships with bloggers who I knew of but hadn’t spoken with before, I’ve emailed more people in 5 days than I have ever emailed in my life. I’ve gotten compliments, hate-mail, encouragement, and deterrents. It’s been a roller-coaster. And I haven’t cooked anything that takes more than 20 minutes.

This is not to say, however, that I didn’t eat well this week. For one, I went to Bouley Upstairs, and had some phenomenal sushi that was accompanied by a burger (the charm of this place is that you can order both.) And, I had this pizza.

This peach puff pastry pizza to be exact, with locally grown arugula, red onion, and fresh goat and fontina cheese. To say it was delicious would be an extreme understatement. It was superb—gobbled up within minutes. The peppery arugula cut through the buttery puff pastry and creamy cheeses, the red onion was sharp and clean, and the peaches added a sweet level that transcended the meal way up above your ordinary delicious.

And it was easy. Like, you’ll never want to eat fast food again when you can have this, easy. A piece of week-night perfection.

Peach Puff Pastry Pizza

• 2 peaches, cut into thin slices
• 1/2 pound of arugula
• 1 red onion, sliced thinly
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• 1/4 cup safflower oil
• salt, pepper
• 1 package puff pastry, thawed and flattened with a rolling pin so it is about as big as your sheet pan
• 3 ounces fontina cheese, grated
• 3 ounces fresh goat cheese

Preheat the oven to 400ºF. Marinate the peach, arugula, and onion in oil, salt, and pepper while you thaw and prepare your puff pastry

Roll out your puff pastry and set on a greased baking sheet, rolling the very edges to make a crust. Spread the marinated mixture on the puff pastry. Bake for 10-15 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown.

Remove from oven. Sprinkle on the fontina cheese and then crumble the goat cheese over that. Put back in the oven for another 5-7 minutes so that the fontine cheese melts (goat cheese will never really melt.) Let stand for 5-10 minutes before cutting and serving. Goes very nicely with a good Sauvignon Blanc.

What do you do when you don’t have a grill but the best meat at your favorite local meat producer is the spareribs? Do you cry, lamenting your bad decision to live in an apartment where you don’t have a backyard and grill-space? Do you opt for the much-more-expensive and getting-down-right-old (but otherwise delicious) pork tenderloin that you get all the time? Do you run out of the little farm-store, spear-in-hand, straight for the cows chewing peacefully in their pastures, intent on making a kill just so you can get that sought-after and never available rib-eye steak that would be so perfectly done in the oven? No, no. Don’t be silly. It would take them at least two-weeks to dry age that steak—just take the spareribs.

I did take the spareribs and I have to admit I was pretty bummed over not having a grill until I found this recipe for Chinese Spareribs in the River Cottage Meat Book (thanks Anita for leading me to this wonderful book!) Truthfully, even after I found the recipe, I tossed and turned over making it instead of barbecued ribs. I thought about whose house with a grill I could invite myself to, I thought about making them in the oven. I was upset.

And then, as things usually go, Jim told me I was being crazy and took me out to buy the ingredients for Chinese Spareribs—he’s such a good decision-maker. And a lucky one, too, because these ribs turned out to be the most succulent, fragrant, falling-off the bone, reminiscent of but waaay better than Chinese take-out ribs. All of the ingredients, which seemed too strong when I first put them in the pot, fused together to create the flavor that everyone tries to get when making Chinese food at home. The recipe’s a keeper. The kind of recipe that you use at dinner parties for bosses when you want to get a raise or for a first date when you want to be fallen in love with or at home with your boyfriend when you want to say thank you for putting up with your crappy moods for the past six months: The best kind of recipe.

Chinese-Style Spareribs

adapted from The River Cottage Meat Book

• 3 pounds spareribs, preferably organic grass-fed
• 3 tablespoons sunflower oil
• 3 inch piece of fresh ginger, grated
• 8 large garlic cloves, crushed
• 5 tablespoons dark soy sauce
• 10 tablespoons light soy sauce
• 1/3 cup light brown sugar
• 10 tablespoons brown rice vinegar
• 1 cup pineapple juice, preferably fresh

Cut spareribs into peices about 2-4 ribs wide. Heat oil in a large pot. Fry spareribs until browned on all sides. Add ginger and garlic and fry until they release their aromas. Add in soy sauces, sugar, vinegar, pineapple juice , and enough water to barely cover ribs. Bring to a gentle simmer, cover, and cook for 2 1/2 hours, stirring occasionally and not letting the liquid get too low.

Remove spareribs from pot. Let the liquid simmer away until it makes a rich, syrupy broth. Put the spareribs back in the pot to re-warm them. Serve with slices of radish or spring onion.

I woke up a little too early today with a bit too much creative energy and, seeing that Tastespotting up and went, decided to start my own food-spotting site. FP Daily. Check it out—I’d love feedback!

Who said that I didn’t need a kitchen-aid mixer?  It couldn’t have been me—I mean, food processor breads are wonderful, but come on… look what I flippin’ got for my birthday today!!!

Thank you, Jimmy!!! Yippee!