Lemon-yellow egg whites, frothy and bubbly, are feverishly whipped until they first become billowy, then cottony and finally stiff like snow-caked mountain peaks. Piles of meringue pour forth from my shiny chrome bowl, tinged slightly brown from a mottle of Dutch cocoa and sweetened with sugar. The wobbly mound gracefully retreats from the mixing basin as the puffed-up eggs quiver and tremble. I mold the free-form nebula of egg and sugar into haphazard circles on a baking sheet. Our meringues are ready to bake.

My son and I watch the eggs transform below the oven’s calefaction; the viscous eggs become crackly, fragile shells, encompassing cottony, chewy meringue. We sit by the oven and peer into the inferno, waiting impatiently for the timer to engage with its beep beeps.

He stands at the sideline while I prepare my oven mitts. His desire to crack the meringues, to punch through their crispy jackets and sink his small hands into the marshmallowy interior is cut short as I distract him with a summons. We still have whipped cream to make, the glue that binds our meringue cake, and I need him to take charge. He quickly forgets the meringues.

A superlative cake, three stories tall, swathed with luscious whipped cream and milky mascarpone, sweetly floral vanilla bean and peppery, piquant ginger. Blood red cherries crown the cake, blushing rouge and bursting with tart, sweet liquid. All shiny and lacquered, the fruit glistens and whispers spring, red-stained kisses on an airy, ivory and chocolate tower.

Chocolate Meringue Cake, Ginger and Vanilla Cream, Fresh Cherries

6 large egg whites at room temperature
3/4 cup superfine sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons cocoa powder, sifted
1 teaspoon white vinegar
2 teaspoons cornstarch, sifted

1 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/4 cup mascarpone
1/4 cup confectioner’s sugar
1 vanilla bean, split
1 teaspoon finely grated fresh ginger

2 cups fresh cherries
2 ounces dark chocolate, shaved with a box grater or microplane

1. Preheat the oven to 275 degrees with rack in the center of the oven.

2. Place two sheets of parchment paper on two baking sheets. Using a pencil, draw two 8-inch circles on the first piece of parchment. Draw a third circle on the second piece of parchment. Flip the paper over so the pencil marks are on the bottom of the parchment.

3. Place the egg whites in a bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a whisk attachment. Beat on medium speed until soft peaks form. Increase the speed to high and add the sugar one tablespoon at a time, beating until the egg whites are thick and glossy and stiff peaks form.

4. Beat in vanilla and vinegar and remove the bowl from the mixer. Sift in cornstarch and cocoa powder and fold in gently with a rubber spatula.

5. Fill a pastry bag with meringue. Pipe the meringue onto the parchment circles. Smooth out the tops of each meringue with an offset spatula. Bake for 1 hour. Turn off the oven, prop the door adjar and leave the meringues in oven to cool completely, about 1 hour. The meringues should be crisp around the edges and springy in the middle.

6. To make the whipped cream, pour the cream, sugar and vanilla into the bowl of an electric mixer. Mix the cream, using the whisk attachment, until stiff peaks form. Remove bowl from mixer and fold in mascarpone and ginger with a spatula.

7. To serve, place the first meringue disc on a serving plate. Spread with one third of the cream. Top with the second meringue and more cream. Place the third meringue on top, spread with remaining cream and top with cherries. Sprinkle with grated chocolate and serve immediately.

Yield: Serves about 8.

Undressing a choke is a somewhat intimidating endeavor: wrangling the fibrous, sharp-tipped leaves, dissecting the uncouth, furry center. Steaming an artichoke is the simplest manner of preparation, for which the body and soul remain intact. To sauté, bake or fry, stripping the scales can be tedious yet gracefully accomplished with a quick hand and a sharp knife.

I fry my pruned globes in a Romanesque style; though not whole in the traditional fashion since I do not have a deep-fryer. I break down the vegetables quickly yet methodically, peeling and discarding the austere, unsupple armor. I peel and shuck, all the way down to the gossamer-thin inner leaves, soft as lamb’s ears. I remove a delicate layer of fiber from the stems and slice the chokes in half, revealing ethereal crimson petals. After artfully carving away the fur and colorful center, cutting the halves into quarters and then further into slices, the artichoke is suitable for cast-iron frying.

Golden brown and tender morsels result, earthy and salty and dappled with a spray of lemon, flecked with minty, peppery oregano picked from the soil. Each bite is crispy and nutty, its artichoke flavor intact, its flesh kissed by searing oil: a simple tribute to an intricate spring vegetable.

Crispy, Fried Spring Artichokes, Lemon, Oregano

3 large artichokes
1/2 cup olive oil
2 lemons
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon fresh oregano leaves, roughly chopped, plus a few for garnish

1. Zest and juice the first lemon. Set aside both the zest and 1 teaspoon of lemon juice. Fill a large bowl with cold water and add the remaining lemon. Squeeze the second lemon into the water. Discard the lemon halves.

2. Cut off about 1-inch from the top of each artichoke. Peel back outer leaves until they snap off at the base. Keep peeling leaves until reaching the soft, inner leaves. Trim and clean up the base of the artichoke with a paring knife.

3. Trim about 1/4-inch off the bottom of the stem and peel the sides of the stem with a vegetable peeler or paring knife.

4. Slice each artichoke in half and cut out the choke (the purple leaves and the fur). Cut each artichoke half into 1/2-inch slices, further trimming or peeling any fibrous leaves if necessary.

5. While working on the remaining artichokes, place the cut artichokes in the lemon water.

6. Before frying, drain artichokes on paper towels or a kitchen cloth and pat dry. In another large bowl, toss the artichokes with black pepper and lemon zest.

7. Heat olive oil in a 9-inch cast-iron pan over high heat. When oil is hot but not smoking, add the first batch of artichokes to the pan, cooking for about 2 minutes on each side, or until golden brown. Drain on a paper towel-lined plate. Transfer cooked artichokes to a bowl and toss with salt, lemon juice and oregano. Serve immediately.

Yield: Serves 2 to 3 as an appetizer or snack.

With their sultry, peppery aroma and rich oniony-garlicky flavor, ramps are ample for a very limited period. And it is their brief but glorious lifespan that defines their desirability. Their flat, broad leaves and evocative feathery plume beguile us with a come-hither suggestiveness.

I roast a bounty of ramps in a bath of slippery olive oil, a splatter of voluptuous sherry vinegar and mouth puckering lemon juice. The creamy white stems caramelize, the formerly verdant leaves coiling and wilting under the oven’s sultry spell. They emit a fearless, heady scent while cooking.

Though I consume a tangle of sweltering, tender ramps straight from the baking sheet, I let a handful rest to drape over butter drenched croutons and creamy, briny clouds of pearl-white burrata, all dappled with a staccato of juicy emerald-green parsley oil.

Like spring, ramps allure and tempt. In a flash they are gone, swaying their teasing hips as they disappear into summer’s haze.

Roasted Spring Ramps, Burrata Cream, Butter Soaked Croutons, Parsley Oil

1/2 pound leeks
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar such as Pedro Ximenez
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon sugar
1/3 cup olive oil

1 loaf of French bread, sliced on the bias into 3/4-inch slices
7-8 tablespoons butter, room temperature
1 medium clove garlic
5 ounces burrata or stracciatella
1/2 chopped tightly packed parsley leaves
1/4 cup olive oil

1. To clean ramps, remove thin outer layer and rinse thoroughly in cold water to remove dirt. Trim the roots and dry with a dish towel.

2. In a small bowl add sherry vinegar, lemon juice, salt, pepper and sugar and whisk in olive oil. Add clean leeks to a large bowl or a glass baking pan, toss with marinade to coat. Chill in refrigerator for about two hours.

3. While the leeks marinate, make parsley oil. Add parsley leaves and oil to a blender or food processor and blend until smooth. Push through a fine sieve into a bowl and discard parsley. Set aside the green oil to drizzle on croutons. If you prefer, use both the oil and the parsley for a chunkier sauce.

4. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spread ramps on a baking sheet and roast about 20 minutes, or until tender and slightly caramelized. Remove from oven and let cool to room temperature.

5. While ramps are roasting, spread butter on both sides of the toast slices. Spread in a single layer on a baking sheet and bake, while ramps are roasting, for about 13-15 minutes until slightly crispy but still soft and springy. Turn once during baking.

6. Remove ramps from oven and let cool. Leave whole or cut into 2-inch pieces.

7. When croutons are cool enough to touch, rub one side with the garlic clove. Top each toast with burrata and one to two ramps. Drizzle with parsley oil.

Yield: Serves 8 as an appetizer.

My life has blossomed with the spring flowers, a few weak petals falling from my stem. While my family celebrated my son’s third birthday, my childhood home sold. My personal passions acquiesced to this bittersweet milestone, to our jubilant celebration and to the few physical sprains, stitches and fevers we endured.

Getting back on the creative horse can be mentally exasperating. But the season’s produce propels my inertia and provides a necessary rush of inspiration. Early spring citrus’ bold aromatics and floral flavors mimic nature’s dynamic vibrancy. Microgreens copycat the diminutive vegetation rearing its head from the new earth.

I make a salad of simple products that bridge the seasons and celebrate spring’s commencement. I steam crab until drunk in a grassy white wine and the juice of lively lemons, pert grapefruit and glowing oranges. A tangle of baby beet greens, new as adolescent spring grass, shimmer in a light vinaigrette of saffron, olive oil, lemon and garlic. Quick preserved kumquats, which I marinate for a week in silken olive oil, slippery spring onions, peppery garlic and lace with a dapple of red pepper, are subtly spicy, compulsively aromatic and flirtatiously savory. The kumquats’ vibrant tang plays a whimsical game of tag with the sweetly bitter saffron vinaigrette.

We feast on the golden-toned, resolutely dynamic salad while the sun’s tawny fingers extend through our incandescent glass windows. We feel the warmth of spring on our skin and on our palates. Winter, with its shivers and tribulations, is in the past. We have so much to look forward to this spring.

Citrus and White Wine Steamed Crab, Garlic Preserved Kumquats, Baby Greens, Saffron Vinaigrette

3 oranges, juiced
1 lemon, juiced
1 grapefruit, juiced
1 cup white wine
2 pounds king crab legs
12 preserved kumquat halves (make ahead, recipe follows)
1/8 cup saffron vinaigrette (make ahead, recipe follows)
2 cups loosely packed baby greens
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Thoroughly defrost crab legs in refrigerator before steaming, about 8-10 hours. Remove kumquats from the refrigerator and bring to room temperature while the crab legs thaw.

2. Place a steaming basket inside a large lobster pot and add wine and citrus juice. Cover the pot and bring to a boil. Add crab legs, cover the pot and steam for about 5-6 minutes.

3. Remove crab legs from the pot and cool. Once at room temperature, carefully remove the meat from the shells using kitchen scissors. Discard shells and membranes. Cut crab meat crosswise into 2-inch long pieces.

4. While crab cools, mix baby greens, fresh pepper and all but 1 tablespoon vinaigrette. If desired season with additional salt or lemon juice to taste. Slice 8 kumquat halves into thirds and toss with salad.

5. Pile greens into bowl and add crab meat. Drizzle remaining dressing over salad and either serve as is or toss gently to break up the crab meat. Place remaining kumquats on top of each salad and serve.

Yield: Serves 4 as appetizer.

Quick Garlic Preserved Kumquats

1 1/2 cups kumquats, washed, sliced in half crosswise (yielding about 1 1/3 cup sliced kumquats)
6 large garlic cloves or 7 medium, smashed with the back of a knife and sliced in half lengthwise
2 spring onions, whites and greens, washed, trimmed and cut crosswise into three pieces
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil

1. Add half the kumquats to a glass pint jar along with garlic, spring onions, salt and red pepper flakes. Cover with remaining kumquats and pour in enough olive oil to fill the jar, about 1 cup.

2. Cover with lid and store in refrigerator for 3-5 days before making crab. Extra kumquats can be used on salads, served on toast with butter, alongside poached or soft boiled eggs and on a cheese plate.

Saffron Vinaigrette

1/8 cup olive oil
1/8 teaspoon saffron, or a large pinch
1/4 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon sugar
3 teaspoons lemon juice
1/2 garlic clove pulled from jar of preserved kumquats, mashed into a paste

1. In a pestle, add saffron and about 1 tablespoon olive oil. Use the mortar to gently mash the saffron. Add remaining oil. Make 1 day prior to steaming crab and store in an airtight container.

2. Just before serving, add salt, sugar, garlic and lemon juice and mix well to combine.

For many, peanut butter and jelly is that classic combination that transports us to a time when pigtails and cartoons reined the earth and adulthood was an abstract pipedream. We noshed on crumbly, sticky sandwiches, crusts lovingly purged, as we donned our moms’ voluminous formalwear and clumsily clicked across the living room floor in her oversized pumps.

As we approach our son’s impending third birthday, I see the tables turning. He dresses up in our comically grandiose shoes, loves wearing mama’s billowy white shirts when he plays pirate and unknowingly forges ahead, blissfully incognizant of his impending adulthood. His favorite sweet snack is mini peanut butter “cakes”, little round cookies, signed with a gentle fork indentation, and layered with jam-infused marshmallow cream.

I created a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cookie recipe to add to my son’s collection of childhood baking memories, a hand-written, tangible heirloom for his retrospection. Almond flour gives the cookies a rich nuttiness while molasses deepens the flavors and imparts moistness often absent in flaky, crumbly peanut butter cookies. The resulting gem is chewy and toothsome and hyperbolically nutty. The smooth and sugary filling is laced with fruity blackberry jam and airy marshmallow cream.

A humble cookie, lovingly crafted for my beloved child. It speaks of youth’s simple pleasures yet warrants grown-up plaudits. The sandwiches fill our adult bellies with remembrance of tender innocence and leave a jubilant cream-laced mustache on my boy’s nascent face.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich Cookies

Cookies:
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoons molasses
3/4 cup peanut butter
1 large egg
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup almond four
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda

Filling:
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1/4 cup shortening
1 cup marshmallow cream
2 tablespoons blackberry, grape or strawberry jam

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or silpats.

2. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugars on medium-high speed until soft and fluffy. Add the molasses, peanut butter, egg and vanilla and beat about a minute on medium-low speed until smooth, scraping down the bowl as needed.

3. In a separate bowl, combine flours, salt and baking soda. Add the dry ingredients to the wet in about 3 batches, and mix gently using a rubber spatula.

4. Portion the dough using 1 heaping tablespoon per cookie. Roll each cookie into a ball and flatten slightly with the palm of your hand and then gently with a fork, in a criss-cross pattern. Place cookies about 1 1/2 inches apart on the baking sheets, about 9- 12 cookies per sheet. Bake until golden but still chewy, about 8 minutes. If the baking sheets do not fit side by side in the oven, rotate the pans between racks after 4 minutes.

5. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheets for about 5 minutes before transferring them with a thin spatula to a wire rack. Bake second batch of cookies and cool completely before filling them.

6. While the cookies cool, mix shortening and butter in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a whisk attachment. Add marshmallow cream and jam and blend until smooth.

7. To make the sandwiches, turn cookies upside down. Spread about 2 teaspoons of filling in the center of half the cookies. Place the second cookie on top of the filling and press down lightly. Repeat until all the cookies are assembled.

8. Store cookies in an air tight container for about 5 days.

Yield: Makes 45-50 individual 2-inch cookies, and about 25 sandwich cookies.

Valiant and crisp, like the fresh, tenacious buds prematurely blooming on the tree outside my window, celery is proud and steadfast. It is a stately vegetable, tall and resolute, with a mischievous plume atop its pale green stalk. Raw celery is not universally adored, but to those who extol its virtues, it is refreshingly spare, thirst-quenching and when served raw in wintertime, a nod to yellow summer days and warm-weather feasting replete with naked vegetables and simplistic salads.

Though uncooked celery is much-maligned for its fibrous texture and conspicuously watery flavor, I make a salad of its flesh and bones. And despite a few pre-prandial doubts, the salad was viscerally bold and toothsome. Tall, slim and lithe, the creamy, soft green vegetable is tossed with sanguine, fleshy blood oranges, peppered with earthy toasted hazelnuts and a dapple of nutty Gruyere. Vinaigrette of nutty hazelnut oil and sweetly woody sherry vinegar lend a creamy roundness to the crisp, cold stalks.

As we try to replenish our systems and rid our bodies and minds of winter’s emotional toll, it is important take comfort in simple pleasures.  Let the season’s stressors melt away, let late March’s lamb displace the lion. Let us wait for spring, bellies aflutter.

Celery Salad with Blood Orange Supremes, Toasted Hazelnut

1 bunch of celery, plus leaves (about 5 cups), thinly sliced
3/4 cup blood orange supremes
1 tablespoon hazelnut oil (or walnut oil)
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 teaspoon packed lemon zest
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon sherry vinegar such as Pedro Jimenez (or aged Balsamic vinegar)
1/2 cup hazelnuts, toasted, skins removed and roughly chopped
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 ounce finely shaved aged Gruyere plus 1 ounce shaved with a vegetable peeler

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spread the hazelnuts in a single layer on a baking sheet. Toast for about 10-15 minutes until golden and fragrant. Remove from oven and let cool completely. Remove the skins and coarsely chop.

2. In a small bowl, whisk together hazelnut oil, olive oil, sherry vinegar, lemon zest, salt and pepper.

3. In a large bowl, combine the celery, oranges, hazelnuts and finely shaved Gruyere. Add the vinaigrette and toss to coat. Sprinkle with remaining cheese and serve immediately.

February is the month of love songs and sonnets, cold air and darkness, both contradictory and intertwined. I tend to buck tradition, eschewing the all-encompassing hubbub of Valentine’s Day. But this year I’m feeling romantic inspiration, an oppositional pull from my status quo. Blame it on my beautiful family, or the true tale of unwavering love on my night table. Or simply blame it on the intoxicating fruit, their glowing coral flesh, sanguine interior and aromatic oils. Their sweet and sour pulp, polarizing like the month itself.

I slice into the deep crevices, the fleshy, pock-marked skin releasing juice and oil into the air.  Slowly simmered in bubbling, thick syrup, the orange slices emerge jeweled, glassy and kaleidoscopic. I dip one end of each round in lush dark chocolate and dust each morsel with sparkly gems of sea salt.

Like February, the candied fruit is slightly sweet and slightly bitter. The crackly salt and velvety chocolate is an ideal love match, a candied orange’s perfect valentine.

Dark Chocolate Dipped Candied Blood Oranges

6-7 mini blood oranges, manderines, clementines or other small citrus
1 cup granulated white sugar
1 cup water
1/4 cup light corn syrup
3-4 ounces good quality dark chocolate
1/4 teaspoon sea salt

1. Scrub the orange to remove dirt and wax coating. Using a sharp knife, slice the oranges crosswise into 1/8-inch thick slices.

2. Combine sugar, corn syrup and water in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat and simmer for about 4 minutes, until slightly thickened.  Add the oranges and reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer gently for about 60-70 minutes, carefully turning the oranges several times to coat, until very tender and translucent.  Reserve the syrup for another use.

3. Remove pan from heat and let the oranges sit in the syrup for about 10 minutes.

4. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Carefully remove the fruit from the syrup with a slotted spoon and transfer to Silpat, or a parchment-lined greased cookie sheet. Place the oranges in the oven for about 1 hour.

5. Transfer oranges to a wired rack and let rest for about 24 hours until mostly dried.

6. In a double boiler, melt the chocolate. Dip the slices halfway into the chocolate. Allow any excess to drip off the oranges and sprinkle with a few grains of sea salt. Allow the candy to harden on a Silpat or parchment paper in the refrigerator.

8. Oranges will keep about to several weeks in an airtight container or in the refrigerator.

Yield: Makes about 25-30 candied orange slices.

When I’m ailing and fighting off winter’s indignant curse, warm liquids are a boon to the body.  Cooks have always known chicken soup to possess transcendental curative powers but now science is on board, confirming the soup’s hydrating and possibly even medicinal qualities.

The key to a successful pot of chicken soup is the aromatics, as well as a good-quality bird. For my healing broth I use traditional accoutrements:  stately celery, erect carrots, forthright onion and bashful parsnip. Leeks, fennel seeds and fresh, crisp fennel impart a subtle depth, a lightly tinged anise flavor. The juice of a Meyer Lemon, one of my favorite winter fruits, creates a luscious, full-bodied soup with a sumptuous tang. Skim the fat that bubbles to the surface during the simmering process for a crystal-clear, luminous broth.

When we’re not sick and want our soup as a hearty, satiating meal, I add matzo balls, flavored with ground fennel seeds and a dapple of verdant, plumed fennel fronds. I use downy, unctuous butter for my matzo balls, but only when we’re not in the midst of Passover. Replace butter with vegetable oil or schmaltz during the holy days.

A cozy bowl of palatably hot soup is reassuring: the steam’s slow, serpentine movements, its sexy wafting heat and familiar, soothing aromatics.  The perfect replenishing antidote to winter’s bitterness.

Meyer Lemon and Fennel Chicken Soup with Fennel-Scented Matzo Balls

Chicken Broth:
3 to 4 pound whole chicken, washed and cut into 8 pieces
About 4 quarts water
2 medium celery stalk, roughly chopped
3 large carrots, peeled and quartered
1 large parsnip, peeled and quartered
2 garlic gloves, peeled and smashed
1 large fennel bulb, including stalks with fronds, cut in quarters
1 medium onion, with peel, cut in quarters
2 small leeks, white and light green parts, roughly chopped and rinsed well
2 teaspoons fennel seeds
1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns
1 teaspoons kosher salt, plus additional to taste
Juice from 1/2 meyer lemon, plus the rest of the lemon for garnish

Fennel-Scented Matzo Balls:
1 cup matzo meal
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon fennel seeds, ground in spice grinder or with a mortar and pestle
2 tablespoons finely chopped fennel fronds
4 large eggs
4 tablespoons butter (not for Passover), vegetable oil or schmaltz

1. In a 5 quart soup pot, add chicken and 4 quarts water over high heat. Cover the pot and bring to a simmer. Uncover, reduce heat to medium and skim the foam from the surface. Add celery, carrots, parsnips, garlic, fresh fennel, onion, leeks, fennel seeds, 1 teaspoon kosher salt and black peppercorns.

2. Simmer for two hours over medium heat, uncovered, occasionally skimming the impurities and fat from the surface. Remove soup from heat.

3. Set a chinois or fine-mesh strainer over a large bowl. Using a ladle, remove the sock from the pot and strain into the bowl. Once stock is removed, remove chicken and carrots from the pot and set aside. Discard remaining vegetables and the stock at the bottom of the pot.

4. Cool stock in refrigerator and once cold, skim off remaining fat.

5. To make the matzo balls, mix matzo meal, salt, baking powder, ground fennel seeds and fennel fronds in a large bowl. Break the eggs into a separate bowl and beat with a fork. Fold eggs and butter or oil into dry ingredients, mixing gently to combine. Do not overmix.

6. Refrigerate batter for an hour. While the batter is chilling, fill a large pot with 4 quarts of water and 1 tablespoon of salt and bring to a rapid boil.

7. Using wet hands, roll the mixture into 1-2 inch balls and set aside on a baking sheet. When the water comes to a rolling boil, drop in matzo balls and simmer for about 30-40 minutes on medium heat. Transfer matzo balls to a clean cookie sheet with a slotted spoon.

8. To serve, reheat soup and add salt to taste and juice from half a Meyer lemon. Serve with matzo balls and garnish with lemon slices. You can also add cleaned and deboned chicken meat and carrots back into soup for a heartier, more rustic meal, or save it for another meal.

Yield: Makes 6 to 8 servings of soup and about 20-22 matzo balls.

Yesterday the sky was cold and crying, the ground sodden. An afternoon indoors requires the whimsical crunch of freshly popped kernels to bring us stasis, to equalize our environment. We built forts and imaginary campfires to accompany our crackly foodstuff. Paper snow snipped from tissue paper gently blankets my hardwood floor.  The laughter-inducing ripple of salty popcorn whispers of happiness and youth and we blissfully shovel handfuls of the warm morsels into our eager mouths.

While I make simple buttered popcorn for my son, I hope he will try my grown-up version of the kid-friendly snack.  I pop my corn in coconut oil, which imparts the familiar salty-sweet aroma omnipresent in movie theaters. Grassy herbs, creamy parmesan and earthy truffle oil elevate the humble, flowery puffs from quotidian nosh to delicacy. Buttery, salty and rich, a luxurious mottle of cheese enhances the richness of the truffle oil. The herbs add a fresh lightness to contrast the intense flavor of the oil.

Turns out, he likes embellished popcorn. An incandescent smile washes over my face as I relish in my young son’s developing palate.

Truffle, Parmesan and Herb Popcorn

1/2 cup popcorn
3 tablespoons coconut oil
1 teaspoon truffle Oil
1 tablespoon melted butter
1 1/2 teaspoons finely chopped chives
1 1/2 teaspoons mixed herbs, finely chopped (I used rosemary and thyme)
1/3 cup Parmesan, grated with a Microplane
3/4 teaspoon Maldon Sea Salt (or kosher salt)

1. Spread coconut oil on the bottom of a large, heavy pot and add popcorn kernels. Turn up heat to medium and cover with a tight-fitting lid.

2. The popcorn will begin to pop after a few minutes. Shake the pot on occasion and when the popping begins to slow, remove pot from heat and pour the popcorn into a large bowl.

3. Add melted butter and truffle oil to popcorn and mix thoroughly. Toss with chives, herbs, parmesan and salt.

Yield: About 8 cups of popcorn.

To build our strength in the steadfastly bitter, bleak months, we need nourishment; comfort food that helps us wiggle free from the winter’s binding forces. I don’t crave heavy sauces, thick and creamy. I want bright dishes that utilizes the season’s ingredients but pay tribute to summer’s luminous exuberance.

For the New Year, I made a healthful, winter version of pesto, a dish I usually reserve for the warmer months when basil is plentiful. The sauce is a richly deep evergreen, made from thick, hearty kale. Incandescent Meyer lemons rouse the pesto, the yellow-toned flesh adding a sun-kissed vibrancy. Toasted walnuts and creamy parmesan lend an apropos earthiness, also serving as a reminder of the terra ferma below the crackling, frozen ground.

The flavors and textures of kale pesto meld into a bright, herbaceous sauce with pungent, grassy notes. Every bite of silky, bespeckled pasta makes me thankful for lovely winter produce and fills my heart with hope for a warmer, brighter season.

Kale, Walnut and Meyer Lemon Pesto

1 bunch kale, thick stems removed and coarsely chopped
1/3 cup walnuts
1 large garlic clove, finely minced into a paste (2 teaspoons)
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano or Pecorino Romano, plus extra for serving
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper to taste
Lemon zest from 1 Meyer lemon, or about 2 teaspoons
1 1/2 teaspoons Meyer lemon juice
1/2 cup olive oil
1 pound pasta

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. On a baking sheet, toast the walnuts until they are lightly golden, about 8 to 10 minutes. Remove from baking sheet and let cool.

2. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add the kale and blanch until bright green, about 1-2 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the kale to a colander. Reserve the cooking water. Cool slightly and squeeze out remaining water from kale.

3. Add kale, walnuts, garlic, cheese, salt, pepper, lemon juice and lemon zest to a food processor. Pulse until smooth, scraping down the sides with a spatula. While the food processor is running, drizzle in the olive oil and process until smooth.

4. Return the reserved cooking water to a boil and cook pasta according to package directions, until al dente. Drain the pasta, reserving about 1/2 cup of cooking water. Return the pasta to the pot and add the pesto and a bit of the water, adding additional until the desired consistency is achieved.

5. Serve pasta sprinkled with additional cheese.

Yield: 1 cup pesto, serves 4-6.