Cranberry Sauce

This is an adaptation of a recipe I got from the November 1997 LA Times Food Section, back when we lived in the Land of the Forever Sun. It's really good, but I, I have made it better.

Combine the following ingredients in a saucepan:

1 & 1/2 cups sugar
3/4 cup water
12 whole cloves
4 whole allspice
4 pieces of cinnamon sticks
a goodly chunk of ginger
4-9 star anise

Edited to add: put the spices (save the cinnamon) in a tea caddy thingie if you have one. It will save you having to fish them out later. Trust me, they tend to disappear amongst the cranberries.


Cook, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved and the syrup is clear. I like to leave it at this point and let the whole mixture sit for 20 minutes, so the spices can really go to town. Then fire up the heat underneath the pot and add a package of cranberries. When they are popping wildly (about 5 minutes later), turn off the heat and cover. Let sit for ages. But before you do that add in the grated rind of at least 3 oranges.

And that's all you do. People will swoon and tell you it's the best thing you've ever made. Well, unless they are amongst those godless heathen who favour the canned variety, in which case you must feel free to ignore them and know that your tastebuds ARE superior.

End of the Season Tomato Tart

I'd include a photo, but we ate it before I thought of taking one. It was so luscious that Richard ate several pieces AND took a piece for lunch today. I even thought about getting up in the night to sneak a piece.

This recipe took root when I was attempting some canning with the last of our incredibly plentiful tomato crop. With 12 quarts of salsa sitting in the cold room, we didn't need more (even if it IS an excellent salsa), and space in our teenie freezer is limited, so I was trying to think of something different to do with those last few dozen tomatoes, particularly the Roman Candles (sweet yellow Romas). I decided in the end to slow roast them, which is essentially a fancy name for slicing them in half, placing them on a cookie sheet generously oiled with olive oil, and roasting them in a 350ºF oven until the skins start to brown. When they'd cooled I poured them into a large bowl and taste tested them for a few hours (ahem) until Richard came home, whereupon we both picked at them. A roasted tomato bathed in warm olive oil is an amazing experience.

At that point it was close to Dinner Hour, which in our house involves me making dinners for two adults and three kids, all of whom have differing ideas as to what exactly constitutes a Really Brilliant Dinner. After nixing the kids' ideas (macaroni, hamburgers, pizza), I hauled out some defrosted puff pastry, rolled it out, dotted it with cream cheese, an Italian sausage, some thyme, and those wonderful, wonderful roasted tomatoes. Then I cracked some coarse salt over the entire thing and popped it into a 400ºF oven. Eldest child ate it, middle child picked out the tomatoes and reminded me anew that she doesn't like "things like this," and youngest child ate it in about 25 seconds flat, but only because he'd been promised a black bottom cupcake for dessert. Richard and I, however, ate it and savoured every bite, banal as that sounds, because it was THAT good.