Palindromes and Auld Lang Syne

Well, we have entered the new year: It is officially 2010—and, to my delight, I am writing this on a palindromic (reading the same backward and forward—from Greek palindromos, running back again) day: 01/02/2010…. Apparently, only 36 such days will occur this millennium. Pretty nifty, no?

Running back again, returning in my mind to what came before, seems to be my way of experiencing a new year. (I suppose that in some ways I’m more of a rear-view mirror, “What’s past is prologue” sort of person. Not that I don’t embrace the future with optimism, but I generally don’t move ahead without thinking back.) So on New Year’s, I prefer to think about the year gone by, to spend time in with established friends rather than rushing out to meet new ones, to cook and eat dishes that feel familiar and grounding. I even try to cook in my favorite pots, skillets, and pans—a sort of culinary nod to auld lang syne.

Joe and I had planned to shop and cook together on New Year’s Eve day, but he was running quite late, and another snowstorm was in the offing, so off to Whole Foods I went, joining a hearteningly cheery mob of pre-storm and holiday shoppers in filling our carts with yummy possibilities. (It's so interesting to see what constitutes "festive" food for different people. I confess to spending a good bit of time nosily scoping out what other people were gathering for their New Year's nibbles.) I resolutely resisted that curious pre-storm habit of stockpiling bottled water, milk, and toilet paper, heading instead straight to the produce section. Then, no specific menu firmly in mind, I strolled around, eventually settling on a few things that looked appealing: a variety of delicious mushrooms, including the ultimate splurge, a little stash of chanterelles; some lacinato (“dinosaur”) kale, a current favorite of mine because of its beautiful blue-green leaves and sweet yet hearty flavor; some red-stemmed Swiss chard; a selection of fresh herbs; mesclun; several shapely russet potatoes. Then I added a baguette and cheeses galore.

I came home and contemplated my bounty and what to cook. I was envisioning a meal of several small, tapas- or mezze-style plates, maybe. But as the afternoon waned and evening approached, I found myself reconsidering my options and my mood. And in the end, I decided to save the splurging (chanterelles!) and more elaborate cookery for the new year, instead turning back to an old friend: the venerable dean of comfort, The Potato. As the snow fell outside and I felt happily ensconced inside, a potato gratin sounded perfect—certainly not elegant, but undeniably honest and satisfying. Just to be not too boring, I decided to try a new recipe I’d been eying for a while, for a potato and chard “terrine.” (What makes it more terrine than gratin, I think, is that it features less cheese than many gratins, and the recipe calls for assembling it in a loaf pan rather than a more conventional gratin dish.)

No loaf pan for me, though, because I knew that I could prepare the potatoes in my favorite cooking vessel: the terracotta cazuela given to me by friends a couple of decades ago. Every time I use it, the cazuela reminds me of those friends and meals we have shared. And it has aged beautifully, developing a deeply rich and mottled patina that just improves over the years. Simple, predictably reliable, my cazuela effectively showcases any number of different dishes, from oven to table. Using it, cooking with it, connects me to the past in the present, and makes me happy.

Herewith, I give you the recipe, a variation on the time-honored and soul-satisfying formula of potatoes + butter + salt. Your choices of potato and cheese will determine the character of the dish. I used russets and Gruyère, and the result was a meltingly tender dish with gently robust flavors. Using Brie would yield a milder, creamier gratin. And of course, you could also substitute another vegetable for the chard—for instance, the lacinato kale. You can round out the meal with a salad and a glass of a nice red wine—our current favorites run to Argentine Malbecs—adding, say, a roasted red pepper soup if you require more sustenance. As for Joe and me, the potatoes and salad were plenty for us as we toasted in the new year.

Chard and Potato Terrine

Adapted from Georgeanne Brennan’s The Vegetarian Table: France

Georgeann Brennan puts out lovely cookbooks, with Chronicle Books. Her earlier book, Potager: Fresh Garden Cooking in the French Style, features a foreword by Alice Waters and offers exquisitely edited, simple yet nuanced recipes that highlight seasonal produce. The photographs, by John Vaughan, are luscious and inviting.

6 medium-sized potatoes, such as russet or Yellow Finn

18 baby chard leaves, or 9 large chard leaves, thick midribs removed

4-5 cloves garlic; one bruised, the rest slivered

6 ½ T butter

1 ½ t salt

½ t freshly ground black pepper

3-4 oz cheese, cut into small pieces; I used Gruyère, but you could use Brie or another favorite

¼ c heavy cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Peel and slice the potatoes as thinly as possible. (I used another old kitchen friend, my trusty mandoline, for this, but you can do the slicing by hand with little problem. Aim for slices about 1/8 in thick.) Set the slices aside. Coarsely chop the chard leaves. Rub your pan with the bruised garlic and ½ T of the butter. Arrange one third of the potatoes in a layer in the pan. Sprinkle with one third of the slivers of garlic and one third of each of the salt and pepper. Then dot with 1 ½ T of the butter and top with one third of the chard leaves. Although the chard may seem a bit bulky, know that it will wilt during cooking. Sprinkle one third of the cheese over the chard. Repeat the layers twice in the same way, ending with the cheese.

Note: It occurs to me that rather than following the stated sequence of layers, you could instead assemble this "palindromically"—just for fun. Next time....

Dot the surface with the remaining 1 ½ T butter and pour the cream evenly over the top. Cover with aluminum foil and bake until the potatoes are easily pierced with the tip of a knife, about 1 ¼ hours.

Serve hot or warm, sliced into wedges.

Serves 4 to 6... or 2 to 3 potato lovers on a cold winter's night.

Cheers, and best wishes to everyone for a happy, healthy, safe, & delicious 2010.