Fruit

This extraordinarily deep-flavored stew is one for a day when there is frost on the ground. The inclusion of applesauce isn’t quite as daft as it sounds, and there is much magic to be found at the point where the sharp applesauce oozes into the onion gravy. Boiled potatoes as big as your fist, their edges bruised and floury, are the ideal accompaniment.

Even though much of the bitterness of this cultivar has been bred out, some extra sweetness is often welcome. Casting around for something sweet to scatter over a plate of steamed kale, I suddenly remembered the Sicilian habit of adding golden raisins to soft, sweet onions. The contrast between the leaves and their seasoning is strangely comforting. Quite when you might eat this is debatable. We first ate it with treacly rye bread and Gruyère cheese, next to fillets of smoked mackerel. It is tricky to know where it would sit most comfortably.

I often take bright young leaves and their sprouting shoots, cook them briefly in boiling water, then toss them into sizzling butter seasoned with garlic and lemon as an accompaniment for grilled pork belly, a roast fillet of lamb, or a nice piece of fish. That said, it still takes up more room on the plate than the meat. Red Russian kale, which I often cook in this way, is finer boned than the curly plumes we know so well. The heavily laced leaves have a fragility to them, and wilt quickly after picking. For all their gentility and mauve-pink blush, they still carry something of the coarseness of the stronger stuff.

Sicily’s cooks make much of the eggplant. They fry it in crisp disks, with mint and vinegar; bake it with tomato sauce and salty caciocavallo cheese; stuff it with anchovies, parsley, and capers; or grill it over charcoal before seasoning with garlic and oregano. Occasionally, they will roll up a thick jam of eggplant in soft disks of dough like a savory strudel, called scaccie, while all the time matching it to the Arab-influenced exotica of their cupboards: anchovies, olives, fennel, mint, pomegranates, currants, and pine nuts. The thin, Turkish eggplant with the bulbous end is the one they prefer, though you could use any shape for their famous caponata, the rich sweet-sour stew braised with celery, golden raisins, vinegar, and bell peppers. I can eat this fragrant, amber slop at any time of year, but somehow I always end up making it when the sun is shining, eating it outside with flat, chewy bread and maybe some grilled sardines flecked with torn mint leaves and lemon. If you make it the day before, its character—salty, sweet, and sour—will have time to settle itself.

The smoky, parchment-hued cream moutabal is one of my desert-island dishes. Few recipes can produce anything as soft and sensuous as grilled eggplant, mashed to a pulp, and seasoned with lemon and sesame paste. The lemon is essential, working an ancient magic when involved with anything charred and smoky. Many lightly bake their eggplant for this, but without a good charring they lack the mysterious, smoky back notes that I consider as much a part of the ingredients as the eggplant itself.

I can live without nibbles with drinks (you might get an olive if you’re lucky), but from time to time the genre gets an outing. They tend to be more substantial than most, as I have a fear of anything that might fit the name canapé. Little rounds of toast piled with grilled eggplant in a lemon and herb dressing is a tantalizing mixture of crisp and soft.

Bok choy or, better still, gai lan will be perfect here. Eat it hot and spluttering from the pan.

There is something uplifting about refreshing food eaten on a frosty day. What follows is a light, fresh-tasting salad that makes your eyes sparkle.

As cuts of meat go, the turkey breast steak is a relatively new one and will please those who like their protein neat, mild, and fat free. This addition to the meat counter has its advantages for a quick supper. It can be sizzled in butter with a few aromatics (bay, black pepper, thyme sprigs, and a curl of orange rind tend to cheer it up). Turkey still reeks of Christmas, but the white meat less so than the legs, which always smell like a roasting Christmas lunch. Red cabbage makes a satisfactory accompaniment. Go further, with a few prunes and a bottle of Marsala, and you have something approaching a joyful Sunday lunch, though without a bone to pick.

The market: stumpy carrots, the prickle of frost, dark greens, the scent of wet soil. Here and there among the trestle tables are shallow baskets: Russian kale, tips of cavolo nero with their infant leaves, broccoli heads the size of a mushroom, and sprigs of purple and white sprouting so small you can hold ten in the palm of your hand. Each sprig of vegetable is so precious, so diminutive, as timid as a chanterelle. I pick them up with finger and thumb, which seems the way they must have been picked from their stems. These are shoots plucked from the stem after the growing heart of the plant has been removed. No smothering of cheese sauce, just a three-minute trip in the steamer and a classic hollandaise to dip them in, let down with a dash of cream and a grating of zest from a blood orange.

This tastes no more of beets than a carrot cake tastes of carrots, yet it has a similar warm earthiness to it. It is less sugary than most cakes, and the scented icing I drizzle over it is purely optional. The first time I made it, I used half sunflower and half Brazil nut oil, but only because the Brazil nut oil was new and I wanted to try it. Very successful it was too, not to mention boosting everyone’s zinc levels.

Clean flavors here, a delightful main-course salad for a summer’s day. You could use other fish, such as red mullet, if you prefer, but the richness of mackerel’s flesh goes well with the sweet beets and tart marinade. Some watercress would be good with this, and maybe a few slices of dark bread and butter.

In Greece and Turkey, this bread is called Christopsomo or tsoureki (also known as lambpropsomo during Easter). It differs from stollen in that it’s proofed before baking, but the proofing time is shorter than for panettone. Mastic gum, also called mastica, is an aromatic gum resin derived from the bark of a Mediterranean shrub tree in the pistachio family. It can be found at stores that specialize in Greek and Middle Eastern ingredients. It adds a subtle and......breath-freshening flavor and aroma (no surprise, it has long been used as a natural breath freshener).

Although this is made from the same dough as the panettone, the final proofing time is very different: none! Stollen’s origins are attributed to Dresden, Germany, but it is made in many forms and variations throughout Europe. The name refers to baby Jesus’ blanket and it is filled with fruit to signify the gifts of the Magi. It can be folded and formed into a crescent shape or simply rolled up into a log. It is usually finished with a brushing of melted butter and heavily dusted with either confectioners’ sugar or granulated sugar. My German friends like to age their stollen for weeks before eating it, but I like it best as soon as it cools—it never lasts more than a day, let alone weeks. Almond paste is a sweet confection made with sugar and ground bitter almonds; when flavored with rose water or treated with other flavorings and food colors it is also known as marzipan. I find it amazingly delicious. It can easily be rolled into a cigar-shaped bead and used as a center core for stollen; the amount is up to you but about 4 ounces (113 g) per small loaf is probably enough.

For sticky buns, be sure to use pans with at least 2-inch-high walls, as the slurry will bubble and foam while baking and could overflow a pan with a shallow rim. Place the pans on a sheet pan to catch any glaze that does bubble over. I’ve given you three options for the sweet slurry in the bottom of the pan. Each is delicious, so you’ll just have to give them all a try and see which you prefer. Thanks to recipe tester Jim Lee for the delicious creamy caramel slurry recipe, a classic cream and sugar version, which is very easy to make. His caramel is different in texture and color from Susan’s (my wife’s no-longer-secret recipe!), which is made from a sugar and butter combination, but both result in serious childhood flashbacks. If you use the honey almond slurry, yet another wonderful glaze, it would be a good idea to use slivered or coarsely chopped almonds if you sprinkle nuts over the dough before rolling it up. Whichever version you use, the uncooked slurry should cover the bottom of the pan to a thickness of about 1/4 inch.

We have Mexico to thank for the tangy flavor combination of cilantro, jalapeño, and lime, although this sauce complements all types of cuisines. Pair it with crispy appetizers like the Chickpea Cakes (page 39) or Indonesian Corn Fritters (page 155), or serve it alongside the Indian Spiced Scrambled Eggs (page 75). Try pouring it over grilled chicken or fish for a zesty finish. Serve this sauce in the first hour after blending, when its color is brightest.

My contribution to my family’s Thanksgiving meal has always been cornbread. In making it so many times, I discovered that it’s a great vehicle for fruit, cooked grains, or vegetables. This variation has a thick batter, so these are more like biscuits than bread. Pale orange and scarlet-flecked, these biscuits make a beautiful addition to a holiday table.

Habaneros are wonderful citrus-infused chiles that come to us from Mexico. If you can’t find habaneros, substitute a couple of jalapeño peppers and a splash of orange juice. Habaneros are powerful and will sting badly if accidentally rubbed near the eyes, so always wear gloves when handling them. Serve with the Stuffed Poblano Chile Peppers (page 165).