In the spirit of Halloween, it's the ideal time to feature the more than 900 members of the gourd family, or Cucurbitaceae. As Ginger Rapport of the Beaverton Farmers Market wrote in a recent newsletter:

"Although pumpkin, squash, and gourd names are sometimes used interchangeably, it is important to remember that gourds are purely ornamental. Botanically a fruit but culinarily used as a vegetable, winter squash and pumpkins can be decorative and can also be food.

"Because of its very long shelf life, winter squash is a great source of vitamins during the colder months. In our growers’ stalls, you will find plenty of colors, shapes, and sizes to choose from, and each variety has its own personality."

With its easygoing nature—being a breeze to clean and peel, with a sweet, slightly buttery flavor and smooth texture—Butternut squash is one of the most commonly mentioned types and the easiest to find in stores. But venture a bit further afield and you'll discover a world of other varieties to choose from whether you're making soups, curried stews or even desserts.

Just this last week I whipped up a delightful appetizer of fried squash blossoms from a gift of zucchini flowers from Randy Long of Cohesive Farms, a farmer at the Headwaters Farm Incubator in Gresham. Then a hearty dinner of minestrone soup that included colorful delicata squash from my Stoneboat Farm CSA, a squash I'm fond of because of its harlequin coloring and the delightful fact that this variety doesn't require peeling. (Find the recipe below).

Squash seems to be a natural pairing with curry, and the aroma of a curried squash stew simmering on the stove dispels any chill in the wintry air—check out this recipe for curried coconut soup (with or without the accompanying roasted cauliflower).

Squash desserts go far beyond just pumpkin pie—I have fond memories of the squash sorbet that Dave concocted with the roasted flesh of one of my favorite varieties, the voluptuous Musquée de Provence. But if pumpkin pie is your jam, particularly with Thanksgiving looming, ditch the store-bought Libby's and pick up a squash on your next trip to the farmers' market, whether a warty-but-delicious French heirloom Galleux d'Eysine, our own PNW variety the Lower Salmon River, or a more familiar Hubbard. Here's the recipe for Squash (Pumpkin) Pie I make at least a couple of times a season.

So broaden your horizons and give the butternut a rest, whether by picking up a kabocha, black futsu, Gill's Golden Pippin or Koginut. There's a whole world of squash out there to explore!

Winter Minestrone with Delicata Squash

1 onion, diced in 1/2" squares
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 carrot, diced small
2 medium delicata squash, cleaned and diced in 1/2" squares
2 c. diced zucchini
1 qt. roasted tomatoes, breaking up the large chunks with your hands)
8 c. chicken or vegetable stock
2-3 c. cooked cannelini beans (I used cooked pinto beans from Sun Gold Farm)
1-2 c. chopped kale or other greens (optional)
1-2 c. chicken, sausage or meat, shredded (optional)
Salt to taste
Finely grated parmesan, pesto and/or olive oil for serving at the table

Saute onions and garlic for 2-3 min. until golden. Add carrots, saute 2-3 min. (This is the base that Marcella Hazan refers to as soffritto—the raw, diced vegetables are the battuto. The final stage is the insaporire, or sautéing the rest of the vegetables in that base. Who knew?) In any case, add the chopped zucchini and saute for 2-3 min. Then add the rest of the ingredients except for the condiments (for the table) and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer for 2-3 hrs. Serve with parmesan, pesto and/or olive oil.

You've likely seen them in the more authentic Mexican restaurants around town, and certainly if you've traveled to Mexico: Giant ribbed jars—called vitroleros—full of brilliantly colored aguas frescas. I had my heart set on making one in particular, the purple-hued beauty known as agua de jamaica after finding a bag of dried hibiscus flowers lurking in the back of my pantry.

I've seen palm-sized, brilliantly colored hibiscus flowers blooming in gardens on recent walks around the neighborhood, but the flowers that are dried for agua fresca are from a specific variety, Hibiscus sabdariffa. The dried blossoms in my pantry were originally part of a holiday punch-making kit from Three Sisters Nixtamal, and there were enough left for a half-gallon batch of agua fresca.

The basic idea is to steep the dried flowers to make a concentrated "tea" that can then be sweetened—the concentrate is quite tart on its own—and served as is over ice or, as I do, combined with a splash of soda and simple syrup. The drink is high in vitamin C and anti-oxidants, and is used in many cultures to aid in lowering blood pressure, easing urinary tract infections and for liver and kidney health. Plus it's delicious!

I checked with Wendy Downing, co-owner of Three Sisters Nixtamal, and she has dried hibiscus flowers at their shop, and they can also be found at some Mexican and ethnic groceries.

Enjoy!

Agua de Jamaica (Hibiscus Cooler)

2 c. dried hibiscus flowers
3/4 c. granulated sugar (more if desired)
6 c. water
Ice
Garnishes (see below)

Rinse and drain the dried hibiscus flowers in a large colander.

Bring water to a boil in a pot. Add the flowers and cover tightly with a lid. Remove from the heat and steep for 10 minutes.

Strain hibiscus water into a pitcher and discard flowers. Add sugar and stir. Refrigerate until time to serve.

Taste tea, and add more sugar or dilute with water to your liking.

Ladle into a tall glass filled with ice and garnish with fresh mint leaves or lime slices (optional).

Photo of Hibiscus sabdariffa from Wikipedia.

My mother loved to entertain, and I remember many evenings as a child reluctantly trudging upstairs to bed, falling asleep to the sound of vehement discussions and accompanying laughter floating up to my darkened bedroom. One of her rules was that she never tried a new recipe out on her guests, preferring instead to stay with the tried and true.

Me, I think there's no better excuse to try something you've never made before than having folks over. I first tried out a new (to me) sauce called "pesto" on guests—it was a smashing success—and over the years there have been myriad salads, braised meats and desserts that were, for the most part, well received. Though I have to admit there were a (very) few that, how shall I put it, will never be spoken of, or made, again.

So when a friend invited us to bring an appetizer for dinner the other night, I mulled over the usual suspects…dips, wings, crostini/bruschetta, etc.…but nothing really clicked. Plus I really didn't want to make a trip to the store. So I looked around and took stock: tomatoes and kale from our weekly CSA, and onions, garlic and parmesan in the pantry. Then I remembered a photo of an amazing tomato tart I'd seen on the cover of a cookbook, and the deal, as they say, was sealed.

The book's version was made with all sizes and colors of tomatoes, so it fit perfectly with what I had on hand—though it would have been terrific with simple red tomatoes, too. The thin layer of sautéed kale and parmesan tucked underneath was just the right bass note for the bright acidic treble of the fresh tomatoes. And the dinner that night, with great food, wine and friends laughing and talking, was one my mother would have loved. Even if I broke one of her rules.

Tomato, Kale and Parmesan Tart

For the crust:
1 1/4 c. flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 c. (1 stick) frozen margarine, cut into 1/2" pieces
2-3 Tbsp. ice water

For the filling:
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
4-6 leaves kale, sliced into chiffonade
1/2 c. parmesan, grated fine
3-4 tomatoes, sliced in 1/4" thick slices (cherry tomatoes can be halved)

Preheat oven to 375°.

Put flour and salt in the bowls of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add pieces of butter and pulse until the texture of cornmeal. With processor running, drizzle in water until it comes together in the bowl. (I usually use 2 1/2 Tbsp. and it comes together well without being too wet.) Remove from bowl, adding in any stray bits, wrap in plastic and refrigerate at least 1/2 hour.

Roll out dough on floured surface to make 12" round. Transfer to 9" diameter tart pan with removable bottom. Trim edges, leaving 3/4" overhang. Fold overhang in to form double-thick sides. Press tart edges to raise dough 1/8" above pan. Chill in refrigerator for 30 min.

Add olive oil to non-stick skillet and heat until oil shimmers. Add chopped onion and garlic and sauté until golden, stirring frequently to avoid browning. Add kale chiffonade and sauté until wilted. Remove from heat and set aside.

Line crust with foil and bake until golden, about 20 min. Remove from oven and cool slightly. Scatter kale mixture over the bottom of the crust, then sprinkle with parmesan. Top with single layer of tomatoes, arranging randomly. Place in oven and bake for 40 min. or until crust is browned and tomatoes are cooked through. Let cool slightly and remove outer ring. Slide off bottom onto serving platter. Serve warm or at room temperature. (And I hear the leftovers are great for breakfast the next day.)

An extreme heat warning was in effect for the Portland area, but I had five pounds of Bartlett pears from a generous neighbor's tree that were rapidly ripening on my counter and about half of them were ready to tip over into that over-ripe, past-their-peak stage.

Normally I'd try to entice Dave into firing up his Oonie Karu and making one of his fabulous wood oven galettes, but he was knee-deep in smoking 14 pounds of bacon and really didn't look like he wanted to take on another project. Doing some research, it looked like I could get a small batch of jam made in about 20 minutes on the stove, which probably wouldn't overpower our ancient window AC unit that was doing its darnedest to keep up with the broiling temperatures outside.

I ran across a recipe for pear and ginger preserves on Serious Eats that would fit the bill with the ingredients I had on hand, though their recipe called for crystallized ginger that we can't keep in stock because of some snack hounds around here (ahem) who eat it like candy. So I upped the amount of grated ginger to account for that, and increased the quantity of lemon juice to give it just a little more spark—pear jam can be a bit "bleh" left on its own—and also mashed it for a smoother texture. In 20 minutes I had four beautiful jars of preserves and the house was barely warmer than when I started.

Whew!

Lemony Ginger Pear Jam

2 1/2 lbs. pears, peeled, cored and diced
1 1/3 c. cane sugar
1/3 c. brown sugar
3 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 tsp. zest
2 Tbsp. fresh ginger, grated with a microplane (about 3" knob)

Place pears, white sugar, brown sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, crystallized ginger, and minced ginger in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened and sauce has gelled, 20 to 30 minutes. If you'd prefer a smoother texture, at this point simply mash the cooked fruit with a potato masher. Remove from heat.

Ladle jam into clean jars, placing lids on jars after wiping any residue from the rim and outsides of the jars. Allow to cool on the counter, then move them to the refrigerator or freezer. If you want the jam to be shelf-stable, after ladling the fruit into the jars and cleaning the rims, place canning lids and rings on them and follow directions for water-bath canning.

Peppers are popping at our farmers' markets. When I went to the Hollywood Farmers' Market to pick up our CSA share from Stoneboat Farm then wandered the aisles to see what else I might need, there were brilliant red sweet Italian peppers, fluorescent green anaheims, sunshine-yellow sweet peppers, and grassy green serranos, jalapeños, poblanos, shisito and, of course, those sneaky-but-irresistible padrons.

I was hoping to make Hank Shaw's Nopales en Escabeche, but in a fairly thorough search I couldn't find cactus paddles anywhere. But, instead of calling off the whole shebang, I bought a pound of jalapeños from Eloisa Organic Farm and decided to proceed with the plan, using the carrots and onion I had in my CSA bag.

Mexican escabeche is that ubiquitous condiment familiar to anyone who's been to Mexico or has frequented an authentic Mexican restaurant. A combination of quick-pickled vegetables, it usually includes jalapeño peppers, carrots, onions and garlic, but can also have cauliflower, red onion, jicama or radishes in the mix.

The vegetables are generally sautéed for a few minutes—some recipes char the whole jalapeños in a hot cast iron pan—then the ingredients are simmered in the brine for a short period before being spooned into quart jars with the remaining brine. You can either seal them with a canning lid and, once they're cool, store them in the fridge, or water-bath can them so they're shelf-stable. The escabeche should then be ready to eat within a week and you're free to include them in tacos, tostadas, nachos, egg dishes, grilled meats or anything that could use a little pickley zing.

Mexican-style Vegetable Escabeche

1 Tbsp. neutral oil
1 lb. whole jalapeños
1 medium white, yellow or red onion, halved lengthwise, then thinly sliced vertically
3 medium carrots, halved lengthwise then sliced into thin coins or bite-size pieces 
1 head of garlic, cloves separated and peeled
2 bay leaves
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
1 1/2 c. water
1 1/2 c. white vinegar or white wine vinegar

Heat oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Place onions in pan and sauté for approximately 2 minutes.

Add jalapeños, carrots and garlic into the pan and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Stir frequently to prevent the vegetables from sticking and burning.

Add the rest of the ingredients to the pan and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce to a simmer for 15 minutes, or until carrots and jalapeños are tender. Remove from heat.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer vegetables into two clean wide-mouth quart jars and fill with brine that remains in pan. Place canning lids on jars and seal with canning rings. Cool to room temperature and store in fridge, or water-bath can them according to canner directions.

A couple of years ago I posted a recipe for a plum upside-down cake that has become a family favorite, one I make several times when plums (and particularly Italian prunes) are in season. It's a simple batter cake that comes together quickly, with a buttery, pound cake-like texture and a to-die-for caramelized, crunchy top and sides when inverted.

I made it recently when we had three small but very ripe peaches left over from Dave's foray into ice cream-making (another delicious recipe I'll share soon). They were super-flavorful Red Havens from Kiyokawa Family Orchards in Hood River that I'd found at Hollywood Farmers' Market.

And they needed to be used right away.

Since their skins were fairly thin and not too fuzzy I decided to skip peeling them, which worked quite well after baking, so if you feel like being brave and eschewing the dunk-in-boiling-water-then-in-an-ice-bath method for peeling peaches, feel free!

Peach Upside-Down Cake

For the baking pan/dish:
3/4 c.butter, softened, divided
1/2 c. packed brown sugar (for buttered pan)

For the cake:
2 c. fresh peaches (3 small or 2 large), sliced into wedges
3/4 c. sugar
1 lg. egg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 c. milk

Preheat oven to 350°.

Melt 1/4 cup butter; pour into an ungreased 9-in. round baking pan. Sprinkle with brown sugar. Arrange peach slices in a single layer over sugar.

In a large bowl, cream sugar and remaining butter until light and fluffy, 5-7 minutes. Beat in egg and vanilla. Combine the flour, baking powder and salt; add to creamed mixture alternately with milk, beating well after each addition. Spoon over peach slices and smooth top.

Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 45-50 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes before inverting onto a serving plate. Serve warm or at room temp.

I am loving our neighborhood co-op, the Alberta Co-operative Grocery. I admit to being stuck in the supermarket chain rut until its employees called for a boycott after two years of working without a contract, and we were forced to find an alternative. Fast.

The change, frankly, has been revelatory…while the store itself is much smaller, the co-op seems to have just about everything we normally shop for, the brands it carries favor local producers and the bulk of the goods—including the bulk goods—tend to be organic. The prices are much better than at the chains, too, and between our Stoneboat Farm CSA and the co-op, our grocery bill is noticeably reduced. It even has a senior day every Tuesday for 10 percent off your total bill.

I was checking out the other day (yes, a Tuesday) when the cashier asked me what I was going to make with the miso I had in my cart. Since I'm putting miso in just about everything these days, I rattled off a list of my favorites. She then began describing her latest favorite featuring miso, a miso-glazed roasted eggplant, and how much her up-till-then eggplant-hating husband had done a 180 on the vegetable after she made it for him.

I was sold.

After arriving home I sat down and looked up several recipes (some even in actual books) all with some similarities to the one my cashier friend had described, but none was exactly the same, so I was left to wing it. While my guys are not eggplant averse—Who could dislike the cheesy goodness that is this Eggplant Parmesan?—they flipped out over the version of roasted Japanese eggplant in the recipe below.

I'll keep working on it to see how it holds up with different sizes of the fruit, but I'd recomment sticking with smaller-sized fruits or, better yet, the long Japanese varieties.

Miso-Glazed Eggplant

For the eggplant:
6 Japanese (long) eggplants, approx. 3-4 oz. each
2 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil

For the glaze:
4 Tbsp. miso (white or red)
1-2 Tbsp. sugar or honey, depending on how sweet you want it
2 Tbsp. mirin or dry white wine
1 Tbsp. fish sauce
1 large clove garlic, pressed or finely minced
Toasted sesame seeds (optional)
Slivered green onions (optional)

Preheat oven to 450°.

Slice off the stems of the eggplants and remove any remaining bits of the cap. Slice eggplants in half lengthwise and, with a paring knife, score the cut side of the eggplants in a crosshatch pattern about 1/8” deep. Brush with toasted sesame oil. Place cut-side down on a parchment-lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for 10 minutes.

While the eggplant is roasting, put all the ingredients for the glaze in a small mixing bowl and combine well.

Remove the eggplant from the oven and turn up the temperature to 500°.

Carefully turn over the halves so cut side is facing up. Brush with miso glaze and place back in oven for 5 min. Turn up the oven to broil and place the pan 8-10” from the element. Broil until glaze bubbles and begins to char slightly, 5-7 min. Remove and serve sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds and chopped cilantro or green onions.

I'm sure some sage has written wise words correlating adversity with opportunity and growth. And you would be well within your rights to ask why I'm bringing this up in a post that's ostensibly a recipe for strawberry sorbet, and the answer is this: When Dave developed lactose intolerance in his early 40s we were devastated. As I wrote at the time:

It was a very bad day. One of those days that forever changes you. A day that delineates a definite "Before" and "After." The life-altering occurrence? My husband found out he was lactose intolerant. And, no, not just the "take a Lactaid pill and have some cheesecake anyway" kind of lactose intolerant, but the kind where it's inadvisable to partake of butter, fresh cheeses or any product containing milk without risking...ahem...shall we say "explosive repercussions."

As Joni Mitchell wrote: "You don't know what you've got till it's gone."

It led to a complete rethinking of our very profligate and, frankly, thoughtless use of dairy in everything from our morning toast to creamy casseroles to buttery pastries and desserts. Store shelves today proudly proclaim their products to be "dairy free" and "vegan," with lactose-free butter, milk and cheeses in stock almost everywhere. Even restaurant menus now offer dairy-free options and label entrées "DF" or "V," but thirty years ago it meant switching to margarine and tofu-based simulacra of our beloved dairy products.

And you could pretty much rule out a romantic date night—the machinations involved in trying to ascertain what was and wasn't available, the wait staffs' eyes rolling around their heads and a whimper of "I'll have to check with the kitchen" uttered in complete helplessness, then ordering something and hoping desperately they'd got it right made for a less-than-relaxing experience.

But the upsides were legion, as well. One of the big reasons for Dave's dive into sourdough—yes, it predated the nation's "discovery" of this ancient technique during COVID, particularly by middle-aged white men—was because reading paragraph-long bread labels on shopping trips was taking way too long and the "may have been produced in a facility using dairy" descriptions felt too risky. I could also list benefits like discovering the infinite and delicious permutations of olive oil cakes, and the concomitant escalation in our use of (organic) olive oil, or, to get back to the point of this post, the discovery of fresh sorbets that were like the creamier, less icy Italian versions our Cuisinart ice cream maker produces.

With local fruit season just beginning to burst onto the scene, you can count on several berry and stone fruit sorbets appearing as luscious cappers to backyard soirées here at Good Stuff NW. For instance, this strawberry version is easy, taking less than an hour to pop into freezer and then three or four hours to freeze.

Don't have an ice cream maker in your kitchen inventory? No problem! Read to the last part of the recipe below and check out how my friend Mary Bartlett made the incredible sorbet pictured on the left using just a whisk and her freezer.

Fresh Strawberry Sorbet

2 pints fresh strawberries
1 1/4 cups simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water, warmed and stirred until sugar is completely dissolved)
2 Tbsp. fresh-squeezed orange juice or a teaspoon or two of triple sec or Cointreau (optional)

Cool the simple syrup in the refrigerator.

Put the rinsed, stemmed and halved strawberries into a food processor or blender with a quarter cup of the simple syrup and blend until smooth.  Pour the mixture into a larger bowl. Mix in the rest of the simple syrup (or to taste). Mix in the orange juice or booze, if using. Pour into an ice cream/sorbet machine and follow manufacturer’s directions. Freeze for a few hours before serving.

No ice cream machine? No problem! My friend Mary Bartlett said: "Follow the instructions, make the base and put it in a bowl that will go into the freezer. Place the bowl in the freezer. After one hour, using a whisk, stir the mixture. (Pro tip: Keeping the whisk in the freezer between stirrings will help speed the process along.) Repeat this hourly for about 4 to 6 hours.

Photo of blue bowl and hydrangeas by Denise della Santina. Photo of sorbet in china cups by Mary Bartlett.

I first saw this spectacular dish years ago among the drool-worthy photos at Portland's late, lamented Florentine outpost, Burrasca, and was intrigued with its verdant green color and creamy texture. You see, we eat a lot of risotto around here, since it's easy to adapt to whatever you have in your pantry or vegetable bin—it's quick, around twenty minutes cooking time—and, in summer, doesn't heat up the kitchen. Summer is also when fresh herbs are plentiful in gardens and at farmers' markets.

Plus, if you make it in the summer and get too warm standing in front of the stove, you are allowed a glass (or more, depending on how quickly you drain it) of a chilled white or rosé.

For this particular recipe, I had on hand a fair amount of arugula and parsley I'd bought at the farmers' market over the weekend, as well as chives and tarragon from the garden, but you can use any greens that come to hand, like spinach, chard, sorrel, kale, chervil, dill, basil or the like. Eminently flexible, you can design your own flavor profile—I'd only caution you to not overload the mixture with stronger-tasting herbs, but let them weave in and out of the milder ones.

Risotto Alle Erbe/Herb Risotto

3 Tbsp. olive oil
2 Tbsp. butter or margarine
Half of a medium yellow onion, chopped fine
3 cloves of garlic, minced
2 c. arborio or other short-grained rice
1 c. white or rosé wine
5 c. chicken stock
3 c. mixed green herbs (I used arugula, parsley and chives), chopped fine
2 Tbsp. tarragon, chopped fine
2 c. parmesan or romano, grated fine

Heat olive oil and butter over medium heat in large saucepan until it shimmers, then add onion and sauté until translucent. Add garlic and sauté briefly, then add rice and sauté for 2 minutes, stirring constantly to prevent sticking.

Add wine and stir until it is absorbed into the rice, then begin adding stock a ladle-full at a time, stirring frequently, allowing the stock to be absorbed before adding more (I keep the stock warming in a pot on a nearby burner—it absorbs much more quickly when it's hot). When about half the stock has been used, add the finely chopped herbs and stir them in until they wilt slightly, then continue adding the stock until the rice is slightly chewy and the risotto has a creamy texture. Add 1/2 c. parmesan and stir to combine. Serve immediately.

Check out these terrific risotto recipes and expand your risotto horizons!

My neighbor Bill has a backyard vegetable garden that rivals some of our small-acreage farmers. He's currently havesting fava beans, snap and shelling peas, lettuces, herbs and radishes, with several beans, all sorts of peppers, Astiana tomatoes, carrots, berries, figs, cucumbers, shiso, basil and squashes in the queue—there are undoubtedly others, too, but who can keep track?

He and his partner in crime, Jen, are both teachers and spend much of the summer pickling, preserving and freezing the bounty from their back yard, pulling out jars and bottles that tide them over throughout the winter months.  Fortunately for me, they're generous to a fault and live just two blocks away.

Above is his second harvest of fava beans. He shared some of the first picking, which I added to a salad under a gorgeous filet of grilled salmon, then he asked if I could help out with this second massive haul. My answer was something akin to "Hell yes!" and I rushed over with bag in hand, coming home with at least five pounds of pods.

Bill had mentioned making risotto with some of the beans from his first picking, so since it was a mild spring evening I decided to follow suit. After doing some research online, I decided to eschew the suggestions combining favas and asparagus and focus instead on the favas themselves, accented by a bit of Dave's smoky bacon and some of the savory Cretin mint from Alice Doyle at Log House Plants in Cottage Grove.

Fresh Fava Bean Risotto

4 lbs. fava bean pods
1/4 lb. bacon, cut in small 1/4" cubes
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 medium onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, finely minced
2 c. arborio or other short-grained Italian rice
1 c. dry white wine
4 c. chicken broth
1 c. Pecorino Romano, finely grated
1 c. Parmigiano Reggiano, finely grated
1/2 c. (1 stick) frozen butter, cut crosswise into quarters
2 Tbsp. mint leaves, finely chopped
Salt to taste

Bring a medium saucepan full of water to a boil and salt the water. While it heats, shuck the fava beans into a mixing bowl and discard the pods. When the water boils add the beans to the pot. When it returns to a boil, cook for three minutes, drain and submerge in ice water. When they cool, drain again and remove outer casings from the largest pods (or about 1/4 of the total). Set the peeled pods aside. Place the remaining unpeeled beans in a food processor or blender and process, adding just enough water to make a smooth purée. Set aside.

Heat the stock in a medium saucepan and keep warm over low heat.

Place the bacon in a large saucepan or risotto pot and fry over medium heat until crispy. When it's almost crisp, add the olive oil and heat for a few seconds, then add the onion and garlic to the pan and sauté until tender. Add the rice and stir to combine.

When the rice begins to get hot and crackle, add the white wine and stir gently until it's absorbed. Then begin adding the hot broth a ladle at a time, stirring gently and adding another ladle of stock as it absorbs. Repeat until the rice is almost done (it will be al dente but not crunchy), stir in the fava purée and allow it to come to a simmer for three minutes. Add the cold butter and a heaping cup of the grated cheeses and stir vigorously to emulsify the butter. Check for salt adding as needed.

I like to serve the risotto in the pan with a ladle, scattering the peeled favas over the top with the mint and grated cheese, though for a "company dinner" you might want to plate it in individual wide bowls garnished with the peeled beans, mint and cheese. (Make sure to serve plenty of grated cheese on the side!) A salad of soft lettuces is ideal to serve with this risotto, especially with my Sweet Red Wine Vinaigrette dressing.

Get Jen's great-grandmother's recipe for Quick Refrigerator Pickles.