of chestnuts and plenty

Happy New Year! The first day of the year is a good day for talking about a healthy start and new beginnings. It’s a day for fruit salads and resolutions. But we lived so much in every inch and corner of last year that it’s spilled over into this one. Resolutions will have to wait. Today, I’m still reflecting.

Last year was full—full of blessings. Of celebrations and new things. It was a year of grabbing each moment and living in it a little more richly—allowing space and time for doing or cooking or eating or learning something that grabbed my attention at a given time, a freer form of living I learned from my sweet husband. I spent more time luxuriating over details on the garden. I splurged a little on that fine stinky cheese or handmade chestnut raviolis at Eataly, despite the knowledge that I could make (the later) at home for half the cost.  I enjoyed the craft of crackly crust breads I dream of making myself, and not for a minute regretted that I haven’t gotten to that yet.

Last year, I read books, books like The Invisible Bridge and The Shoemaker's Wife, which let me travel far beyond our four walls, let my mind and soul soar to new places and times, like a tiny village of the Bergamo Alta in the Italian Alps at the turn of the last century.  It is there that I imagined this meal, and how it came to be in our table—a meal from the time of artisans, when handcrafted foods unassumingly filled our kitchens—a time of hand cut ravioli and Robiola that aged in the cellar of every family home. It left such an impression on my soul that when Gourmet asked me what my best meal of the year was, this one came immediately to mind. It’s now a part of their collection of the Best Things We Ate in 2012 on Gourmet Live, and one of dozens of memorable meals, moments, and riches I count among my own year's bests.

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I always thought it odd that in our culture on New Years Eve, we party until the ball drops, and start the New Year pulling our pillows over our eyes. I’m much more inclined to want to sit around a table with good friends and a generous spread of food, as we did last night, giving thanks for the plenty in our lives—the friendships, our dear families, good health—and then, at home quietly in our beds, think about what we want to carry forward into 2013: meals like this one, the love of color and texture and intoxicating photography, the instinct to stop long enough and often enough to write down the amazing things our tiny girl is saying and learning, to savor the pink of her cheeks and lips when she first wakes up, to keep dreaming about making my own crackly crust breads, and when I can not, keep treating myself to those made by others.

More than anything else, I want to carry forward gratitude—gratitude to God for all the tremendous opportunities we’ve been given; Gratitude to our friends, our family, our communities for making life rich, and for believing in our little family; Gratitude to all of you who come here to read and be fed. I hope you’ll keep coming, and most importantly, I hope your new year is full of plenty. 

Photos and Recipes © Sarah Copeland 2013

Please credit source when using on Pinterest. All other uses require permission via email.

cooking with love + paprika

When it comes to family, András and I couldn't have been born into better ones— we adore our own parents, and each other’s. But while we're fortunate to see my family four, five, sometimes six times a year, the 4,000-odd miles between us and Hungary, where András is from, means that will never be the case for him. We do our best. We visit once a year and stay as long as we can, we Skype each Sunday and email photos back and forth. But still, truth be told, I take for granted that they—these four healthy grandparents Greta has, András parents, and my own, will still be there, strong and lively as ever on the one day when we hope we can stay a little longer, visit more often.

Recently, we had a scare with Anya, András mother, and it made me look those 4,000 miles straight in the eye. Everything turned out to be just fine, but it softened my too-rare sensitivity to the concession that for András, a life spent together with me would be a life apart for his family, too.

There's not a great deal I can do about that big ocean between us, but if there's one thing I know that brings home a little closer to him, it's cooking with love and paprika.  Lecsó--a stew of onion, pepper, and tomato that’s loaded with the heady aroma of rich paprika, is the one meal we always eat when we’re in Hungary, no matter the season. And when we miss Hungary, and the people it holds, it is Lecsó I cook, serving it as his mother does, over thick slabs of rustic brown bread. If it is bread with flecks of caraway like the one she makes fresh most days, all the better.

Lecsó is not the most beautiful food on the planet, but its flavor can blind you. And it couldn’t be simpler to make. The trick is finding the right peppers. Hungarian long green peppers are most like banana peppers or Italian frying peppers, thin and crunchy, and melt into the stew. You'll need a few hot Hungarian wax peppers—small, green and spicy—which for lack of ever finding them, I'm committed to growing in my garden forever more. I always use Hungarian paprika for this dish because of the round, rich flavor and depth it lends. 

Lecsó is great served warm or cold (though I prefer it warm), and because it keeps well for days in the fridge or freezer, I always make a big batch...maybe one even big enough to last until Thanksgiving.  

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Lecsó

Serves 2 to 4

3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced

4 long Hungarian, banana, or Italian frying peppers, seeded, deribbed, and thinly sliced

1 to 2 hot Hungarian wax peppers, seeded, deribbed, and thinly sliced

5 large firm, ripe tomatoes, chopped

2 tbsp Hungarian sweet paprika

1/2 tsp Hungarian hot paprika (csípős)

sea salt and freshly ground pepper

Whole-grain bread

Butter, at room temperature

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft and just golden brown, about 6 minutes. Add the peppers and stir to coat with oil. Season with about ½ tsp of salt. Cook the vegetables until softened, stirring often until they seem to melt together, about 10 minutes. Stir together the tomatoes and paprikas in a medium bowl and stir them into the vegetables in the pan. Continue cooking, seasoning with salt and pepper, stirring often until everything is soft, a roasted red color, and deeply flavored, about 10 minutes more. Serve warm over fresh buttered bread. 

All Photos + Recipes © Sarah Copeland 2012

Please credit when posting on Pinterest. All other uses require permission via email. 

Postcards from Hungary

After Hungary and Helsinki, Chicago and San Francisco -- all the places I've been in the last 30 days, I'm here at my desk, in New York. But my mind is still far, far away, in our quiet kitchen in a small village in the Bakony, eating Guylas with my tiny girl, the summer sun streaming in on her back...

{in the test kitchen} poppy strudel

This is what I'm working on today in the test kitchen. It's kind of top secret, but I know one Hungarian boy who is going to love me extra when he comes home.


P.S. are poppy seeds hard to find in your neighborhood?