After tasting Chef Harold Dieterle’s pitch-perfect signature duck meatballs at his West Village eatery Perilla, I was hooked. While meatballs are the dish-of-the-moment, Dieterle’s stray from convention: piquant, tender duck balls paired with homemade mint and ricotta cavatelli in a rich, velvety broth.

The meatballs are fatty ground duck mixed with panko and seasoned with licorice-flavored Thai basil and given a tongue-titillating bite with Sriracha. The finished dish is crowned with a delicate, yet decadent raw quail egg, giving the meatballs and dumplings a satiny richness. Chef Dieterle conjures up flavor profile combinations I’ve never tasted- fruity and herbaceous, spicy hot, earthy and creamy. Flavor nuances unfurl with every bite.

The most difficult aspect of making this dish at home, for me, was rolling the dumplings. I do not have a cavatelli mold and it took more than several misguided attempts to find my groove. Once I was able to comfortably roll the cavatelli, each piece looked more perfect than the previous.

There are several versions of Harold Dieterle’s recipe available online. I skipped out on the water spinach he uses at Perilla, mostly because it was not included in the version of the recipe I used. Though I know the chef prefers to grind his own meat, I had my local butcher do it for me, rather than toiling away with my insufficient meat grinder.

Chef Dieterle recommends using duck stock for his meatballs. If duck stock is unavailable or you do not have time to make your own, use a reduced chicken stock. If all else fails, veal stock is a fine option. However, I went out on a limb and used a combination of brown chicken stock, duck stock and veal stock purchased at an artisanal butcher.

Artfully plated, the meatballs are nestled in a warm bowl with chewy-tender mint cavatelli, moistened by spicy, deeply rich broth. Sprinkled with creamy parmesan, a delicate quail egg perched demurely on top, this dish is concurrently rich, surprising and comforting.

Harold Dieterle’s Duck Meatballs with Mint Cavatelli
Mint Cavatelli:
1/3 cup fresh ricotta cheese
1 large egg
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons chopped mint
Olive oil

Duck Meatballs:
3 teaspoons olive oil
1 onion, very finely chopped
5 cloves garlic, very finely chopped
1 pound ground duck
1 tablespoon coarsely chopped basil
2 tablespoons chile sauce such as sriracha or sambal
1/4 cup panko
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
3 shallots, sliced crosswise
2 plum tomatoes, chopped
1/2 cup white wine
8 cups brown chicken stock, veal stock, duck stock or combination
8 sprigs fresh thyme
4 tablespoons butter, cut into small pieces
4 teaspoons chopped mint
4 teaspoons chopped chives
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese, for serving
4 quail eggs

To make mint cavatelli:
1. In a large bowl, mix together ricotta and eggs; season with salt and pepper. Gradually sift in 3/4 cup flour. Add mint and knead mixture until a dough forms. Turn dough out onto work surface and knead a few more times until smooth; form dough into a ball, cover with plastic wrap, and let stand 30 minutes.
Sprinkle work surface with remaining 2 tablespoons flour. Turn dough out onto floured work surface and knead flour into dough. Roll out dough until it is 1/4 inch thick. Using a sharp knife, cut dough into 1-inch-wide strips. Run dough through a cavatelli maker or cut each strip into 1-by-1/2-inch pieces.

2. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Generously salt boiling water and return to a boil. Add cavatelli to boiling water and cook until tender and floats to the surface, about 1 1/2 minutes. Drain and transfer cavatelli to a baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and let cool.

To make duck meatballs:
1. Heat 1 teaspoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion and 3 cloves garlic. Cook, stirring, until translucent, about 5 minutes; remove from heat and let cool.

2. Add onion and garlic mixture to a large bowl, along with, ground duck, basil, chile sauce, panko, and eggs. Knead mixture until well combined; season with salt and pepper. Transfer mixture to refrigerator and let chill for 30 minutes.

3. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

4. Remove duck mixture from refrigerator and form into 1 1/2- to 2-inch balls. Transfer to a baking sheet. Transfer baking sheet to oven and cook for 10 minutes.

5. Heat 1 teaspoon olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add remaining 2 cloves garlic, 1 shallot, and plum tomatoes. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 2 minutes. Add wine and cook until liquid is reduced by half, about 4 minutes. Add stock and thyme; let simmer for 20 minutes.

6. Strain liquid through a fine mesh strainer set over another large saucepan, discarding solids. Transfer meatballs to liquid and place over medium heat. Let meatballs simmer until cooked through, about 30 minutes.

7. Heat remaining teaspoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add remaining 2 shallots and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent, about 2 minutes. Add meatballs and their cooking liquid, cavatelli, butter, mint, and chives; let cook for 2 minutes.

8. Divide mixture evenly between 4 bowls. Sprinkle over freshly grated parmesan cheese and crack a quail egg into each bowl; serve immediately.

Yield: 4 servings

For many, tasting an oyster for the first time is a memorable culinary milestone. Crisp, icy flesh slides down the throat, sometimes delighting, sometimes shocking and sometimes revolting. Nuanced, briny flavors stimulate the tongue. Consuming something so fresh and dynamic, tasting of the vivacious environment from which it came, titillates thrill-seekers and pleasure-hunters.

I recently brought home a half dozen Kusshi, which are still somewhat rare on the East Coast. Kusshis are grown in British Columbia. The name means “precious” in Japanese and they are known for their deep, cavernous shell which yields plump, soft and juicy flesh, and a clean, smooth flavor.

I love most oysters: big, small, tender, chewy, coppery, lemony, brassy, cucumbery, sweet, melony and creamy. Sometimes nothing beats Wellfleet oysters, ubiquitous on the East Coast, and the very first variety I ever tasted. Eating Wellfleets recalls trips to Cape Cod, the smell of the salty air, the sand between my toes, the oysters tasting sweetly of Atlantic Ocean seaweed. I find myself partial to Pacific Northwest oysters, however, like the Kusshi or Kumamoto, both petite and sweet, tender and juicy.

I hadn’t opened an oyster in over ten years when we brought the Kusshis home. Prying an oyster open is a primal act. A quick twist of the wrist reveals a creature’s habitat, exposing its naked, still-quivering flesh, ready for instantaneous consumption. Eating the tiny bivalve is visceral because of their rawness. Nary a minute lapses between life, death and mastication. Opening an oyster for the first time is thrilling but also an emotional rite of passage.

Oyster purists prefer their bivalves undressed or with a simple squeeze of lemon, revealing their uniquely briny personalities and ocean-salt nuances. I served the Kusshis plain and dressed up with apple kimchi and yuzu mignonette. Kusshis are ideal unadorned, their small bodies tender and fleshy between the gums and their flavor delicate and sweet.

While the apple kimchi is bold and sweet, and packs a spicy punch, it drowns out the naturally mild flavor of the Kusshi. To make the apple kimchi, you can use homemade or good quality store-bought kimchi. Blend it to a near pulp and mix with diced apples. I suggest using apple kimchi for brinier oysters like Kachemak Bay or Island Creek.

For the Kusshi, we preferred the mouth-puckering and citrusy yuzu mignonette to the apple kimchi. For a half dozen oysters I use half a finely diced shallot, or about 1 tablespoon, about 1/2 teaspoon of yuzu juice and rice wine vinegar. The yuzu is tart and briny and brings out the naturally sweet and cucumber flavored flesh of the Kusshis.

I recommend making both the kimchi and mignonette to meet your taste needs. I like my apple kimchi with a lot of kimchi while others tend to prefer it sweeter. In that case, use less kimchi and more diced apple.

Apple Kimchi
1 apple, cut into a 1-inch dice
1/4 cup kimchi

Puree kimchi in a blender to a fine chop but not quite a puree. Mix with freshly cut apples. Serve right away or refrigerate for up to 4 hours.

Yield: About 1 cup apple kimchi

Yuzu Mignonette
1 tablespoon finely chopped shallot
1/4 cup rice wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon yuzu, or to taste
Ground black pepper to taste
Salt to taste, optional

Combine ingredients and chill. Serve with oysters on the half shell.

Yield: About 1/4 cup or enough for half dozen dozen oysters

I habitually make cooking difficult for myself, especially birthday and holiday feasts. Special occasion meals usually involve multiple courses, and oftentimes an architectural diagram outlining ingredients, flavor profiles and plating schemes.

A few years ago I made a somewhat simple meat and potatoes themed dinner for my husband’s birthday. I struggled to select a pitch-perfect vegetable to accompany beef tenderloin with herb-infused butter and potatoes au gratin. He dislikes artichokes (crazy!), we’ve overdone crispy roast asparagus (for shame!), and we deemed broccoli too quotidian for his birthday meal.

We settled on this inspired and elegant braised carrot dish from a 2008 issue of Gourmet Magazine. It is so effortless I make it not only for special occasions but for everyday dinners.

The technique is almost elementary: cook leeks until soft, tender and subtly golden, their sweetness exemplified, their bitterness eviscerated. Add carrots to the leeks along with water and vinegar, simmering until the carrots soften and the liquid evaporates.

It is the perfect side to accompany crispy-skinned roast chicken, to back up a birthday roast or even with a simple salmon en papillote. I gravitate to this dish and it always fulfills my cravings. Vinegar adds a tangy, mouth-puckering kick to the sweet leeks and earthy vegetable. It hits every note.

If you need a last minute quick vegetable to spice up your Christmas or Hanukkah feast, look no further than this timeless, simple and above all, deeply flavorful side dish that might just outshine your protein.

Carrots and Leeks
Adapted from Gourmet Magazine

3 medium leeks (white and pale green parts only)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 pound carrots, cut diagonally into 1 1/4-inch pieces
1 1/4cups water
1/2 cup red-wine vinegar

1. Halve leeks lengthwise, then cut crosswise into 1-inch pieces and wash

2. Sauté leeks in butter with 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium-high heat until softened, 5 to 6 minutes.

3. Stir in carrots, water, and vinegar. Cook, covered, over medium-high heat until carrots are tender, 20 to 25 minutes.

4. Boil, uncovered, until liquid has evaporated, 3 to 5 minutes.

Yield: 4 servings.

Chai has been my most beloved hot drink since college. My best friend and I would routinely escape the chaos of our senior seminars, papers and job applications and seek ephemeral solace in the dusky, dimly-lit basement of the town’s local coffee shop. We’d spend hours discussing romance, friendship and careers over piping hot bowls of pumpkin-spiced chai served under fluffy, weightless clouds of alabaster milk foam.

For me, late fall is chai season. Not only does it kindle nostalgia for my days as a hopeful, nascent undergrad but because chai’s spicy warmth restores the body and soul as the season transitions from crisp and brisk to bleak and raw.

Though I consider myself a tea enthusiast I have never attempted to make chai at home. Over the years I’ve experimented with loose tea but have been apathetic when it comes to chai. Always the hunter, I opt for the indefatigable coffee house crawl, in search of the superlative cup, rather than brew homemade. Chai is simple enough to make and I consider myself a pretty decent cook. And I am most definitely adept at brewing a meritorious cup of tea.

When my cousin David recently suggested I try his much-tweaked, much-loved and much-perfected recipe for chai, I resolved to finally kick my store-bought habit.

Masala chai, an Indian word literally meaning spiced tea, is made by brewing black tea leaves, milk and a sweetener with a potpourri of spices. The spice mixture varies from region to region in India but often includes cinnamon, cloves, ginger, cardamom, star anise, fennel, and pepper. My cousin uses cinnamon, green cardamom pods, fresh ginger, cloves, white peppercorns and star anise.

The tea base for traditional Indian chai is usually a robust Indian black tea such as Assam or Darjeeling. David also swears by Maté or Rooibos but I stick with Assam for my brewing experiment.

Making chai is a spirited, magical process. Crushing the spices with mortar and pestle releases a fresh, piquant scent. Watching the tea leaves bloom and unfurl in the boiling liquid is a thing of beauty, relaxing and addictive.

Sweeteners range from white refined sugar to brown sugar to honey to coconut sugar. One stop shoppers can opt for condensed milk, both the dairy and the sweetener rolled into one. Personally I prefer my chai with frothy whole milk and unrefined sugar.

David’s recipe is an intricately aromatic tea with high notes of cardamom and undertones of tongue-tickling white pepper and cloves. While he adds milk directly to the pan at the tail end of the process, I upped the ante and added milk foam using food science writer Harold McGee’s foolproof technique of vigorously shaking milk in a mason jar until frothy, and microwaving until the foam sets.

Remember, this is not Starbucks’ chai, which I find cloyingly sweet and overly spiced. True chai is subtle and elegant, almost understated in its flavor.

Masala Chai Latte

7 cups water
1 5-inch cinnamon stick, broken into pieces
2-inch long piece of fresh ginger, peeled
12 green cardamom pods
5-6 cloves
6-10 white peppercorns
2-3 star anise
1 vanilla bean
1/2 cup loose tea leaves, such as Assam or Darjeeling
Milk to taste, or about 5 cups
Honey or sugar to taste

1. Bring water, cinnamon and ginger to boil in a large saucepan. Simmer until fragrant and until the cinnamon starts to turn the water a light brown.

2. Using a mortar and pestle, finely grind the cardamom pods, cloves, peppercorns and star anise. Add the spices and vanilla bean to the simmering water.

3. Simmer another 5 minutes, or until fragrant, and add the tea leaves. Remove pan from heat and let the tea steep for about 4 minutes.

4. Strain the tea through a very fine mesh strainer into another clean saucepan. Add milk and honey or sugar to taste.

5. Alternatively, pour milk into a mason jar with a lid. The milk should fill the jar about halfway at most to account for the foam. Shake the jar vigorously until the milk is frothy and doubled in size, about 30 seconds. Remove the lid and microwave for 30 seconds. Pour as much milk as you want into your cup of chai and then scoop the foam on top.

6. Pour leftover tea into mason jars and store for reheating. Chai flavor improves with time.

Yield: Without milk, makes about 6-7 cups spiced tea.

The persimmon is a beautiful fruit: a vibrant, glowing coral-hued orb, smooth and shiny like a marble bubble. However, the persimmon is much maligned thanks to one of two commercial available varieties. The Hachiya, the more widely grown persimmon, is extremely tannic. If eaten prematurely, the tongue is treated to symphony of bitterness that lingers, an almost tangibly caustic sensation that envelops the taste buds. When ripe, the fruit, shaped like a glossy plum tomato, can be sweet and earthy, the flesh very soft and juicy. But eat them at your own risk. The window of opportunity for a ripe Hachiya is scanty.

The Fuyu, less available than the Hachiya, is a much more acquiescent fruit. This is the non-astringent variety, resembling a diminutive ochre heirloom tomato. Though not lacking tannins, they are less bitter than their counterpart and more quickly shed the nasty, tongue-puckering quality. They are also versatile. Consume them when firm like an apple or wait until they are soft and fleshy.

Despite the Fuyu’s more charming resume, the Hachiya is more commonly utilized in baking. However, I was determined to find a use for the dozen Fuyu I picked up in Chinatown other than diced in salads, wrapped in Prosciutto or a simple accompaniment to a roast protein. I wanted the Fuyu persimmons to take front and center, their sweetness playing off butter and sugar. So, I made a French tart.

I used a buttery tart shell: flaky, lightly browned and delicate, filled with a simple pastry cream that I folded into a bit of whipped cream. Instead of lining the tart with apples, citrus or berries, I candied autumn-ripe Fuyu persimmons until mellow and supple and lined the tart, overlapping the fruit like flower petals. The secret to properly candying persimmons is time, the heat low and the process slow. Cooking the hard fruit in caramel syrup over low heat renders them succulently sweet and tender, the glaze shimmery like freshly blown glass. Nutmeg and cinnamon permeate the persimmon with a fragrant, late-fall subtleness.

Persimmon Tart
Tart Shell:
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
Pinch kosher salt
1/4 cup confectioner’s sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into tablespoons
1 egg yolk, beaten
1 tablespoon ice water

Pastry Cream:
1 cup whole milk
1/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon corn starch
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
2 egg yolks
1/2 vanilla bean
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/4 cup homemade whipped cream

Persimmons:
3-4 Fuyu persimmons, thinly sliced, skins on
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/4 cup apricot preserves or marmalade
1 teaspoon orange zest

To make tart shell:
1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees with rack in the middle.

2. Pulse flour, sugar and salt in a food processor until well combined. Add butter one tablespoon at a time and pulse, about 10 times, or until mixture resembles pea-sized lumps.

3. Add egg yolk and water and pulse until ingredients are just incorporated and dough is very soft.

4. Roll dough out on a lightly floured work surface until about 1/8-inch thick. Transfer pastry dough to a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Press the dough up the sides of the tart pan and trim off overhang. Prick the dough with the tongs of a fork several times.

5. Line tart shell with a piece of greased foil and fill the shell with dried beans. Bake, on middle rack for 10 minutes. Remove the beans and foil and continue to bake until golden, about another 15 minutes. Cool tart shell on wire rack.

To make pastry cream:
1. In a small pan, mix the sugar and egg yolks. Sift flour and cornstarch into the egg mixture and whisk until you form a smooth paste.

2. In a small saucepan, bring the milk and vanilla bean to a boil, just until it begins to foam. Immediately remove from heat, remove vanilla bean, and steadily pour milk into egg mixture, whisking constantly. If the mixture curdles, pass through a fine mesh strainer to remove impurities. Scrape out seeds from vanilla bean and add them to milk mixture. Discard bean.

3. Return the pot to the stove. Over medium heat, cook cream, whisking constantly, until it begins to boil. Turn down heat to medium-low and simmer, whisking until thick. Promptly remove from heat. Pour pastry cream into a bowl and cover the surface with plastic wrap. Cool at room temperature.

To candy persimmons:
1. Combine sugar, corn syrup, water, nutmeg and cinnamon in a saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat and simmer for about 5 minutes, until slightly thickened. Add persimmons and reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer gently for about 45 minutes to an hour, turning the persimmons several times to coat, until very tender.

2. Remove pan from the heat and carefully remove the fruit from the syrup with a slotted spoon. Reserve the syrup.

Assemble tart:
1. In a medium bowl, fold whipped cream into pastry cream.

2. Melt preserves with 1 teaspoon of water in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Add 1/4 cup of persimmon syrup and orange zest to the melted preserves. Set aside to cool slightly.

3. Spoon pastry cream mixture into cooled tart shell and spread evenly with an offset spatula. Line persimmons on top of pastry cream, overlapping them slightly. With a pastry brush, coat the top of the tart with the glaze. Tart is best served the day it is made.

Yield: Serves 8.

I ritually reserve candy-making for the holiday season. Even though we don’t celebrate Christmas, candy and confections are an essential part of our annual winter repertoire. From November through the New Year, the air in our house is rich with the provocative scents of sweet and salty chocolate sandwich cookies, sugar-dusted spongy marshmallows, hazelnut madeleines, fruit-flavored jellies, crystallized candied nuts and nutty marzipan cookies.

Jumping the gun on candy this year, I begin to think I’m compensating for something. Or perhaps I’m over-compensating. I’ve long since stopped feeling inadequate around the holidays. I stopped questioning, as a young child, why Santa skipped our chimney. But the feeling of missing out on the cheer, the food and the togetherness never fully subsided. And I’m feeling it tenfold this year.

As hard as it is to admit, I’m ready for the first light dusting of sugar-like snow. I’m ready for ice crystals to hitch onto our glassy, frigid windows. Ready for the overwhelming feeling of warmth that radiates from baked goods in my oven; the distinctly sweet, familiar aroma, wrapping itself around me like a hug from a long-lost relative. I’m feeling ready to set up camp and hibernate in my kitchen.

I’ve commenced my sugary bounty with a very simple, almost childishly easy candy: caramel apple cider lollipops, flavored with a hint of freshly grated cinnamon. The finished product resembles petite stained-glass rounds, glassy jewels perched proudly on a stick.

To make lollipops, boil a mixture of basic ingredients: sugar and water; alternatively, boil sugar, water and corn syrup until it just begins to caramelize. After quickly removing hot caramel from the heat, add flavoring. In this case, I used a small amount of reduced, super-tart apple cider and freshly ground cinnamon. The cinnamon lends an aromatic spicy flavor. While the apple cider is not immediately detectable, the spice works with the juice reduction to create the perfect autumn flavor. Keep in mind that the darker the caramel, the more bitter the final product. I happen to like dark caramel, the flavor almost reminiscent of toasted marshmallows.

There are many options for flavoring lollipops: fresh lemon or orange zest, fruit juice, extracts, spices, tea reductions or fresh herbs such as mint or rosemary.

I can’t wait to try other flavor combinations. And once we hit the inevitable February slump, I’m sure I’ll be ready for mojito flavored pops, or anything that tastes of sun and summer.

Caramel Cider Lollipops

4 tablespoons apple cider
Vegetable oil (if using parchment paper)
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup light corn syrup
1/2 cup water
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

1. Bring apple cider to boil in a small saucepan. Simmer over medium heat until it is reduced to 1 tablespoon. Set aside.

2. Place a silpat or parchment paper on a cookie sheet. If using parchment, coat paper with a thin layers of vegetable oil.

3. Bring sugar, corn syrup and water to a boil in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Stir until sugar dissolves. Insert candy thermometer and boil, without stirring, until the thermometer registers 310 degrees (hard-crack stage). Once the caramel reaches hard-crack stage, about 12-15 minutes, remove from heat and quickly stir in apple cider and cinnamon.

4. Spoon the hot caramel onto the silpat or parchment. As soon as you poor the syrup, carefully place lollipop sticks in the candy.

5. Allow the candy to cool and harden, about 10 to 15 minutes. Use a pastry spatula to remove the lollipops from the silpat. Store in an airtight container for up to 1 week.

Yield: about 15 lollipops.

Apple picking is a childhood rite of passage. For me, apple picking at our local orchard is one of my earliest memories: crystal clear visions of glistening trees, drooping heavily with ruby red fruit; crisp, cool air laden with the hyperbolically heady scent of stale apples, rotten to the core, fertilizing the ground that gave them life.

Last weekend was my young son’s first apple picking experience. For him, it was a mind-blowing one. Not because he can yet marvel at a tree’s ability to produce life-sustaining food. Nor does he relish the spicy, floral taste of an apple, the experience of biting into its crispy flesh, sticky juice running down his youthfully round chin.

As the memory of the experience fades, we hope he will remember his first major fascination: apples. At 18 months, thoughts of apples consume every fiber of his tiny being. For the past three months, apple has been his favorite word. He has built an impressive and voluminous collection of toy apples, as well as books featuring prominent images of edible garnet and emerald orbs.

Since the munchkin isn’t much of a fan of eating apples but regularly partakes in apple sauce, I thought I’d introduce apple butter. I prefer to make my apple butter with crispy, bracingly tart Macintosh, the epitome of early autumn.

Apple butter is basically a highly concentrated form of applesauce. By slow cooking apples with liquid, the sugar in the apples caramelizes, resulting in a tawny-hued and deeply concentrated puree. Tangy, sweet and spicy, the ambrosial apple butter tastes of the holidays, pungent hints of cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg upfront, a smoother, vanilla flavor following, almost reminscent of cherries and chocolate.

I hope the munchkin approves.

Spicy Apple Butter
4 pound Macintosh (peel on) washed, quartered and cored
1 cup apple cider vinegar
2 cups apple cider
2 cups dark brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
4 whole cloves
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons lemon juice

1. In a large heavy-bottomed pot, combine apples, cider and vinegar. Cover pot and bring to a boil. When the mixture begins to boil, reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the apples are soft, about 20 to 30 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.

2. Pass the puree through a food mill or chinois. For a smoother texture, add mixture to blender or food processor and blend until very smooth. Pour puree back into the pot and add sugar, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves. Simmer over low heat for one hour, stirring frequently, uncovered.

3. After the first hour, remove two of the four cloves. Add lemon juice and vanilla extract and simmer for another half hour to an hour. Stir frequently to avoid burning, scraping the sides of the pan with a spatula.

4. When the puree has reached desired consistency, remove the cloves. Place hot apple butter in hot sterilized jars. Seal with dry, sterilized lids and rings. Process in water bath for 10 minutes if you intend to store the apple butter long-term. Otherwise, seal jar and refrigerate for up to 3 weeks.

Yield: Makes about 6 cups.

As summer unfurls into fall, home cooks all over the four-seasoned states rush to capture and preserve the taste and feel of warmer months by pickling, saucing and drying fruits and vegetables. Although I missed the boat on canning heirloom tomatoes and jamming stone fruits, I made a few batches of fruit leather, a less-enduring method of preservation.

Though it doesn’t last as long as its canned counterparts, fruit leather is an attempt to briefly immortalize short-lived fruit. It is also a throwback to childhood, and nostalgia flows like water every autumn.

Like canning, fruit leather doesn’t capture the freshness of fruit, though it does bottle, so to speak, the bounty to savor during the cold, bleak months. And it can last for weeks, even months, if properly packaged.

There are several methods to make fruit leather. You can use a dehydrating machine or an oven set to low temperature. You can cook the fruit prior to dehydration or simply puree raw fruit and dehydrate.

When making fruit leather, pick your fruit or vegetable at its peak. The finished product delivers more of a punch than fresh fruit, so make sure to account for changes in sweetness, tartness and acidity when adding flavor enhancers such as lemon or honey.

White Peach and Meyer Lemon Fruit Leather
4 ripe white peaches, skin on (should yield 4 cups diced fruit)
1 tablespoon good honey (if needed, depending on sweetness of fruit)
2 tablespoons Meyer lemon juice, or to taste

1. Preheat oven to 140- 150 degrees.

2. Wash the peaches thoroughly. Remove pits and chop roughly. Put peaches, honey and lemon juice in blender and puree until smooth and slightly frothy. Taste the puree and adjust for sweetness or tartness.

3. Wait until the froth subsides and pour the puree onto a parchment lined baking sheet. Spread with a spatula making sure the puree is even, about 1/4 inch thick.

4. Bake for 8-12 hours until dry and no longer sticky. Cooking times vary depending on juiciness of the fruit.

5. Cool at room temperature for several hours until the fruit leather softens.

6. Cut into strips and store in either parchment or plastic wrap, rolling each sheet tightly. Place in an air-tight container and store in a dry place, or freeze.

The dog days of summer have ebbed and flowed. Recipes for cold summer soups and raw vegetable salads are being tucked gently into storage. Soon we’ll be eating creamy butternut squash risotto, piping hot fall vegetable soups and ubiquitous apple cider donuts.

But before we bid adieu to zucchini and usher in their fall, hard-shelled counterparts, say hello to a lingering taste of summer. This elegant salad takes advantage of a plentiful vegetable that, though usually served cooked, works well in the raw. I like to keep things Spartan, dressing the zucchini in a straightforwardly light lemon vinaigrette that uses a combination of olive oil and walnut oil. The nutty walnut oil brings out the earthiness of the summer squash and pairs perfectly with a sprinkling of toasted hazelnuts or walnuts. To tie the flavors together, I finish it with the ne plus ultra of nutty/fruity hard cheeses, Parmigiano-Reggiano.

Like with eggplant, it is important to salt and drain the zucchini. It changes the stiff crispness of the slices to more of a pasta-like texture, while still retaining the characteristic snap.

Zucchini Carpaccio
3 large zucchini, washed, skin on, and thinly sliced into strips with either a Y vegetable peeler or a mandolin
1 1/2 plus 1/4 teaspoons salt
1/8 cup lemon juice
1 teaspoon packed lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon honey
1/8 cup good quality extra virgin olive oil
1/8 cup walnut oil
2 tablespoons packed basil chiffonade
2 tablespoons packed mint chiffonade
Toasted and roughly chopped walnuts or skinless hazelnuts to taste
Parmigiano-Reggiano to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Sprinkle zucchini with 1 1/2 teaspoons salt and drain over a colander for about 10 minutes.

2. In a large mixing bowl, whisk the lemon juice, lemon zest, honey and salt until combined. Whisk in oils. Add zucchini and toss well.

3. Arrange zucchini slices, gently overlapping, on a serving platter. Sprinkle with herbs, nuts and black pepper. Grate Parmigiano-Reggiano over salad and serve.

Yield: 4 servings.

Late this spring, Culture: An American Yogurt Company opened one block from my apartment. I surmised it would be yet another amalgamation of overexposed Pinkberry and Red Mango. I supposed it would quickly become a page in the prodigious book of failed NYC eateries.

Color me mistaken. Their fro-yo is off the hook, kids! Sweet and smooth, tart and tangy, it is like crack for 99.9% of customers. With toppings like key lime pie (lime curd, honey and graham crackers), fresh or muddled fruit, dark chocolate chunks or pina colada (fresh pineapple, caramel sauce and coconut macaroons) and flavors that run the gamut from mango strawberry to white peach to Nutella, they blow the competition out of the water with creativity and flavor.

The yogurt is made in Culture’s back room from hormone-free and antibiotic-free milk. The eatery itself is a certified New York State dairy, which means they make their product on site, soup to nuts, including milk pasteurization.

Not only have I become a regular patron, I’ve got a full-on, unequivocal addiction. They post their daily specialty flavors on a sidewalk chalkboard, an evil little ploy to add patrons to their already long line. And it works; the sign, in pretty pastel colors, begs you to “come hither” like a sexy sea siren luring lost mariners. It takes a heaping bucket of willpower not to fall prey to a Culture yogurt habit.

To ward off the demons, I decided to play yogurt god in the kitchen and create my own evil-good fro-yo masterpiece- lemon meringue frozen yogurt “sundaes.” I made a fairly simple vanilla bean and white chocolate yogurt from thick Greek yogurt and wrapped it in a coat of silken, creamy lemon curd. The addition of sweet white chocolate created more of a creamy semifreddo rather than a tart, icy frozen yogurt. Paired with the sweet-tart lemon curd, the flavors are perfectly balanced although the “sundae” ultimately feels more like a dessert splurge than Culture’s refreshing product.

Culture: An American Yogurt Company
331 Fifth Avenue
Brooklyn

Lemon Meringue “Sundaes” with White Chocolate Frozen Yogurt and Lemon Curd
White Chocolate Frozen Yogurt:
1 vanilla bean
4 cups whole milk Greek yogurt
1/4 cup superfine granulated sugar
1 ounce finely grated, high-quality white chocolate

1. Remove seeds from vanilla bean pod. In a large mixing bowl stir sugar and vanilla bean seeds into yogurt.

2. Melt chocolate in a double boiler and let cool slightly. Incorporate into yogurt, whisking briskly. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

3. Process in ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions.

Yield: 4 servings.

Lemon Curd:
3 large eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon finely shredded lemon zest
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice (from about 3 lemons)
1/2 teaspoon cornstarch
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 teaspoon olive oil

1. In a double boiler or stainless steel bowl placed over a saucepan of simmering water, whisk together eggs, sugar, lemon zest, lemon juice and cornstarch. Cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens, about 5 minutes.

2. Remove from heat and immediately pour through a fine strainer to remove lumps. Cut the butter into small pieces and whisk into the mixture. Add olive oil and whisk. Let cool.

3. Cover immediately with plastic wrap so a skin doesn’t form and refrigerate for up to a week.

Yield: 1 1/2 cups.