Welcome to the dahl house.

It's not that I tend to be late; it's that I like to take my time. The way I see it, so many aspects of our lives require hustle, when I can I prefer to dilly-dally. Putz, if you will. I do not look on this as wasteful, or unproductive. On the contrary, I think putzing is necessary in order to hear the voice inside, the only one, that in the end, really matters. And so, after a long holiday season and a rather abrupt move in the midst of a snow storm, I finally took some time, in the fleeting days of January, to take stock of the past year and set some goals for the coming one. Of course, most of these are private, although as they play out you're likely to hear whispers of them here. But a few of them -- the food-related ones -- I wanted to share.

This year, I want to be here more, because I like it here, and frankly, so few things are completely mine creatively. I want to continue to learn about food, but I also want to turn my attention away from what seems overly excessive, or overly indulgent, or overly privileged. Not that I don't like those things, but they're awfully well-represented. I want to think more about balance and education, and I want to write more about those things, but I also just want to write more in general. I have a more immediate goal, and that is to start cooking with spices. It probably sounds easier that it is, at least to me it does. I mostly work with salt and pepper and nutmeg and often red pepper and dry and fresh herbs. My spice cabinet is full of lots of other things, powders with "exotic" names like Nigerian cayenne, white pepper and turmeric. I've cooked with all of them, but often with mixed-results. So, spices.

A dish that's been in pretty steady rotation lately at my house is a simple dahl (also spelled daal, dal, or dhal). Dahl is a healthy and hearty soup, or stew, made from beans, peas or lentils. Maybe you've had a version of it at an Indian restaurant. When I have it's often yellow in color, and served at the beginning of the meal. Dahl is found in Bangladeshi, Indian, Nepali, Pakistani and Sri Lankan cuisines, and it is a good source of protein if, like me, you eat little or no meat. I found a basic recipe for masoor dahl, Indian dahl made with red lentils (masoor is a type of lentil), online. After several takes, all of which were delicious but varied slightly due to ingredients I had on hand, I found my preferred balance of spices. Dishes being well-spiced, or even spicy, is not enough. Here, balance and intention are key.

Dahl can be garnished in a number of ways and served with rice or bread, such as naan or roti. I finished mine with a dollop of Greek yogurt and a thick piece of sour herb bread (to mop up every last drop).

Simple spicy masoor dahl.

1 cup masoor (or red) lentils, rinsed and picked through
4 cups water, or stock
1 medium white onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger (substitute 1/8 teaspoon dry ginger)
1 tablespoon grapeseed oil, or substitute
1 teaspoon cumin seed, toasted and ground
1 teaspoon fennel seed, toasted and ground
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon tumeric
1/2 teaspoon Nigerian cayenne
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
7 black pepper corns, ground
2 tablespoons tomato paste (optional)

In a small-sized skillet, dry toast cumin and fennel seeds over medium-high heat until the seeds grow slightly darker in color and become deliciously fragrant (3 to 4 minutes). Move seeds to a bowl to cool. Grind when cool to touch.

In a medium-sized stock pot, heat oil on high and sauté onion until it starts to brown (approximately 7 minutes). Add garlic and ginger, and sauté for 2-3 more minutes. Add lentils and water, and bring to a boil.

Once boiling, stir in spices, and reduce flame to medium-low. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes, or until lentils are soft.

Serves 2-4.

Note: Many recipes I read called for the lentils to be brought to a boil before the other ingredients were added. I chose to slightly brown the onion to give the soup a richer flavor (they don't call caramelized onions a vegetarian's bacon for nothing). Also, some dahl recipes call for the spices to be cooked in oil before being stirred into the cooked lentils at the end. I opted to reduce my soup with the spices. It just seemed easier, and it was.

Love like soup.

Because I like to cook, and perhaps more because some might describe me as a little possessive of my kitchen, it's not often that others prepare home-cooked meals for me. When it does happen (and it does happen and I cherish every moment), I am always grateful. It's inspiring to see how others work in the kitchen, what kinds of dishes they are driven to create. Selfishly, I'm often most thankful for the opportunity to truly sit back and relax, a task I find difficult and surrender to only with force or wine. It's occurred to me that this is one reason cooking for others gives me such joy: it's a gift of time and a sign of affection. Feeding someone is one of the most thoughtful things we can do. It's love in action.

When my friend Chris arrived at work Sunday with a bag in tow, I thought he'd brought himself dinner. So imagine my surprise when he handed it to me and said, "I have a gift for you." Inside was a container of caldo verde, a Portuguese soup made with garlic, kale, potatoes, onions and chorizo. I had never heard of it, but it sounded downright dreamy and the perfect antidote to the rain that had been falling hard for what felt like weeks. Leaving work Sunday, I cradled my bag of soup to my chest, and rushed it to the safety of my own kitchen, where I reheated it late yesterday afternoon, adding some crusty bread and a few meaty olives.

And boy, did I feel special. I'd been out -- again, in the rain -- since morning, and I was cold and wet and exhausted. Warming the soup took less time than the toast, and I savored the extra minutes by standing over the warm stove, inhaling deeply the smokey aroma. The soup itself was light and simple. Chris later told me he'd pureéd the soup base of garlic, potatoes, onion and sausage, then added thin chiffonades of raw kale, which retained a little of their hearty texture and turned the soup a brilliant mossy green. I added a pinch of red pepper for color (and taste), and between that and the garlic, I felt alive.

I also felt inspired by the gesture. Forget muffins. Nothing says love like soup.

Thursday morning No. 2.3.

A good deal of my morning was spent thinking not about breakfast, but about soup, specifically the pot I whipped up last night. It seems as if everyone (but me, thankfully) has been plagued by colds this season, and yesterday I took advantage of a friend's to make matzo ball soup. I love a good chicken soup, and while my version of matzo ball soup is far from traditional, it's full of health-giving ingredients such as garlic (for cough and croup), ginger (for fever and to increase blood circulation), lemon (vitamin C) and hot peppers (more vitamin C plus a sinus decongestant). These things, paired with the pure joy of eating a nice, fluffy matzo ball, are sure to clear a stuffy head and offer up a metaphorical hug. It's possible I enjoyed the soup more than the patient, since my sense of smell and taste are in tact. To be sure, we both felt great after a bowl (OK, two) and several episodes of Rome.

Cooking for health is not a topic I spend a lot of time on here, but now seems a good opportunity to plug what I'd like to think we already know: in the same way food is medicine, food -- including lack of food -- can run us down. Although most of what I share here seems to born from pleasure, I also hope that my emphasis on local, organic and seasonal produce; whole grains; and a mostly vegetarian diet acts as inspiration to consider what you put in your body. A few weeks ago, I did a little cleanse (no alcohol, caffeine, dairy, meat or processed foods). By sheer coincidence, a Twitter friend urged his followers to do the same for 30 days, with the assurance: "It will change your life." While I'm not willing to be quite so extreme (I am, after all, a bartender), I do think that stepping away from certain foods and substances can provide a chance to evaluate how your body changes with and without their use. My cleanse left me feeling great, and knowing unequivocally that I do not need certain things on a daily basis, no matter how much I enjoy them.

Matzo ball soup, incidentally, isn't something I would eat on a cleanse. More likely, I'd make a broth like this one. But on these fleeting days of winter, I think there's nothing better. For those celebrating Passover this weekend, opt for a vegetarian version. Enjoy!

Hearty and healing matzo ball soup

Ingredients

Soup

1 large onion, diced
2 medium-sized carrots, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons raw ginger, peeled and minced
3 small organic chicken breasts, trimmed and cut into bite-sized pieces
1 quart organic chicken broth
3 tablespoons dried basil
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon nutmeg
2 tablespoons dried rosemary
1 to 3 whole dried chili peppers
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Sea salt, a pinch and to taste
Black pepper, to taste

Matzo balls

2 eggs
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 packet Manischewitz matzo ball mix

In a medium-sized stock pot, heat extra-virgin olive oil over medium heat, add onions and a pinch of salt. Cook until onions become translucent (2 to 3 minutes).

Add carrots and celery. Cook until they begin to soften (3 to 5 minutes).

Add garlic and ginger. Cook for roughly 30 seconds, then add chicken. Stir until contents are mixed and chicken is just seared (2 minutes).

Add stock. Liquid line should be roughly two inches above meat and vegetables. Bring to a boil.

Add chilies, herbs and nutmeg. Cover and simmer 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, beat two eggs with vegetable oil. Add packet of matzo ball mix, and stir until even. Refrigerate for 15 minutes.

In a separate pot, bring 2 1/2 quarts of salted water to a boil.

Wet hands and form matzo batter into balls approximately 1 1/2 to 2-inches in diameter. End result should be 7 or 8 matzo balls.

Gently drop matzo balls into boiling water, reduce heat and cover for approximately 10 minutes.

Using a slotted spoon, remove matzo balls from water and add to soup. Simmer another 10 minutes.

Upon serving, finish with black pepper. Salt to taste.

Serves 4.

Thursday morning No. 2.1.

Yes I still keep a Thursday routine, although lately it's been surprisingly unconventional. Is it the "dog days" of winter that have me tired of eggs and oats? I never thought I'd bore of either, but this documentation process has me thinking an awful lot about variety. As much as I'd like to eat pancakes every day, I pride myself on eating fairly healthfully. With locally grown fruit scarce because of the season, it's a challenge. I like to sauté kale in extra-virgin olive oil with a clove of garlic and red pepper flakes. Or, make an apple salad. But today I wanted something different. It's no wonder that after several cups of PG Tips, I was inclined to indulge in a sort of brunch.

I made a pot of lentil soup yesterday, and like all soups, it tasted even better the day after. While it reheated, I set an egg to boil. I also boiled a little more water for a fresh cup of tea. Sheep's milk yogurt has become a staple in my house, and I thought a spoonful would brighten and add tang to the earthy and sweet lentils (which I'd cooked in water with carrot, celery, onion and potato and spiced with coriander, cumin, nutmeg and tumeric). It did, and the egg added nice texture. I forced myself to pause mid-meal to snap the photo above at bottom right. I wanted to remember the meal just like that: healthy, hearty and oddly beautiful (at least to me). Hours later, I am still satisfied, and happily distracted by future possibilities.

* Note: Snazzy egg holder was a gift, and is made by Holmegaard.

Soup re-imagined and reboiled.

It's funny to think that -- once upon a time, and not too long ago -- I saved recipes from the daily newspaper. Like clipping coupons, it seems outdated and even quaint. With the death of print magazines (or, because of it), saving favorite issues makes some sense. But newspapers dirty your hands and the print fades. They pile up quickly and are outdated by press time. Most of the good ones are archived online. Saving them (nostalgia aside) seems pointless. Yet, I used to enjoy -- even look forward to -- doing just that, especially recipes (coupons inevitably went unused). I started in college, when I was forced to learn to cook. I wasn't particularly good at it, but being a vegetarian made mastering a few dishes easier. I still cook many of the same things: grains and legumes and simple pastas. I remember the first time I made soup from scratch. I felt triumphant. And all I had to do was follow some instructions.

Those instructions, memorized and long-ago re-imagined, are the basis for most of the soups I make today. I start with an onion, a few carrots and a couple stalks of celery, then I add whatever is on hand. The other day, I had a bag of bok choy from my CSA share, and I gambled on adding it to the pot. I had some radish greens, too, and as I watched them wilt, I envisioned cannellini beans and tomato. Cans of both went into the pot, along with two bay leaves, a handful of dried basil and a few sprigs of fresh thyme. The result was a simple and hearty faux ribollita, one I've been enjoying more and more every day. The bok choy retained a wonderful crunch, while the tomato and white beans are sweet, a little buttery and comforting. I like the idea of having a pot of soup on the stove at all times, one like this one; it's vegan, so can sit out all day, and it can be added to and reboiled. Maybe it's a little old-fashioned. But so are coupons and newspapers and many other things I love.

Faux ribollita

Ingredients

1 large yellow onion, diced
2-3 medium carrots, scrubbed (but unpeeled) and sliced into rounds
2 stalks celery, washed and sliced
1 to 2 pounds leafy greens, washed and trimmed
2 15-ounce cans of cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1 28-ounce can of crushed tomatoes
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to finish
2 tablespoons dried basil
1 tablespoon fresh thyme
1 tablespoon salt, plus more to finish
2 bay leaves

In a medium-sized stock pot, heat extra-virgin olive oil over medium heat, add onions and a pinch of salt. Cook until onions become translucent (2 to 3 minutes).

Add carrots and celery. Cook until they begin to soften (3 to 5 minutes).

Stir in leafy greens. When the greens begin to wilt, fill pot with water (or stock) until the water line is roughly two inches above vegetables. Bring to a boil.

Add basil, bay leaves, thyme and remaining salt. Simmer 30 minutes, then cool.

Add beans and tomato, and reboil. Salt to taste.

Serve with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and a nice piece of bread.

Soup will reduce and thicken with each reboiling.

Serves 6-8.

It was hot, we ate vegetarian.

I laugh at myself often for fronting a flippant attitude toward cooking and entertaining. While it's true I'm not a planner like, say, Martha Stewart, I'm not exactly a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl (I wish I was, but I'm not). Last week, I didn't have much time to prepare for my dinner party in advance; I had a lot of time to think about it, though. I spent countless hours meditating on the menu, chatting with food friends about their favorite meals to serve, and perusing cookbooks and Web sites for inspiration. I had decided the meal would be vegetarian, since one of my guests is a devout one, and I wondered briefly whether my other guests would mind. I decided it was important to accommodate my vegetarian friend (to paraphrase another friend who's also a vegetarian: nothing's worse than going to a dinner party and having to eat a bunch of side dishes, like you were an after thought). Beyond that, though, I did nothing. On Saturday, I surveyed my weekly CSA share, and on Sunday, still undecided but feeling inspired (by the weather, by my produce, by my love for accessible, simple and -- dare I say? -- sexy foods), I asked myself a very important question: What sounds good?

Here's what I came up with:

Campari and soda, lime

Spicy olives courtesy of the Bedford Cheese Shop
Tortilla Española
Ombra NV Prosecco

Chilled cucumber and coconut purée, roasted beets
Broadbent NV Vinho Verde

Spaghetti with roasted summer squash, Parmigiano-Reggiano, lemon
Mixed greens
Italo Pietrantonj 2006 Montepulciano d'Abruzzo

Mast Bros. Chocolate

Part Italian, part Spanish, it was a Mediterranean feast! The only thing missing was a terrace. I'm still giving myself little back pats and smiling smugly; it was so nice. And easy. And good. And did I mention easy? Had I planned ahead, this meal would've taken 30 minutes to assemble. Instead, it took roughly two hours; not bad, considering.

When cooking multi-course meals such as this one, I like to prep (i.e. wash, chop, mince, slice, peel, deseed, etc.) everything I'll need to cook the meal before I start actually cooking. I find it makes the process so much easier, and it kind of makes me feel like I'm on the Food Network. Once that's done, I strategize, or map out the order in which I'll do what. Since the cucumber purée required several hours to chill, I started there, first sautéing some onions and garlic before pulling out the food processor to blend together the remaining ingredients. Once that was done and in the fridge (er, freezer), I tackled the tortilla -- a common Spanish tapas made of thinly-sliced potato and onion, cooked with egg, olive oil and salt. A tortilla is typically served at room temperature, so I let mine cool at the heart of the table while I set our places around it. Meanwhile, I had a handful of beets roasting in the oven (a foolproof way to roast vegetables quickly, I like to make a "hobo-pack." Fill parchment paper or foil with washed and trimmed vegetables, a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper. In roughly 40 minutes at 400 degrees*, beets will be tender with skins that easily rub away).

With the first two courses done, only the pasta remained, and that I saved until just before we sat to eat. Campari and soda in-hand, I set the water to boil, and while the pasta cooked for roughly 10 minutes, I halved and juiced a lemon, and tossed some already roasted summer squash and Parmigiano-Reggiano into a bowl. When the pasta was done, I quickly drained and tossed it into the bowl with a drizzle of olive oil. The heat from the pasta melted the cheese, lemon and oil into a bright but delicate sauce that allowed for the earthy flavor of the summer squash to shine. Surprisingly, it was the hit of the night, although I can't stop thinking about the chilled cucumber purée, so refreshing and simple. I think, along with this chocolate, it's my new summer staple.

Chilled cucumber and coconut purée with roasted beets
Adapted from Martha Stewart Living

Ingredients

4 medium cucumbers, peeled, seeded and sliced in 1/4" segments
5 small to medium-sized beets, roasted (see above)
2 medium onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups coconut yogurt (or 1 1/2 cups plain yogurt)
3/4 cup water
3 tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to finish
Juice of 1 lemon (if substituting plain yogurt, use the juice of 1/2 lemon)
1/2 cup fresh dill or parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper, to taste

Heat olive oil in a medium-sized skillet over medium heat, add onions, garlic, and a pinch of salt. Cook until onions are translucent, add 1/4 cup water. Cover and cook until soft (2 minutes). Let stand until cool.

In a food processor, combine onions, garlic and cucumbers. Process until smooth. Add coconut yogurt, another pinch of salt, and 1/2 cup water. Process until smooth.

Refrigerate mixture in a covered bowl for at least two hours.

Before serving, stir in dill or parsley and lemon juice. Salt and pepper, to taste.

Garnish with chilled, roasted beets and additional parsley.

Serves 6-8.

* Note: Cooking time is approximate and could vary depending on vegetable type.