I grew up between my grandmother’s kitchen in Lyon and my father’s in Bologna, which is to say I grew up arguing about butter and olive oil.
Twelve years ago I bought a tired stone farmhouse in the Hudson Valley with a woodstove, a crooked garden and a dining table that seats fourteen if nobody minds elbows. Most of what I know about cooking happened at that table.
Here you’ll find what I’m cooking this week, how the house is coming along, and the suppers I host once a month for whoever wants to drive up the Taconic.
Delphine
Salt, Smoke & Sunday
My first book is a year at the farmhouse table: slow pots, garden plates, bread worth the wait and the long Sunday lunches that hold a week together. Out April 7 from Hearthside Press.
Signed copies ship from the farmhouse with a sprig of something from the garden.
On the stove this week
One recipe every Sunday, the one I actually made. This week it’s the pot of beans that started the whole book.
White beans braised with rosemary and garlic confit
A Sunday pot, ready in about three slow hours
Serves
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Soak the beans overnight. Drain, then cover with fresh water by two fingers in a heavy pot with the onion, bay and a long pour of oil.
Bring just to a simmer, then lower the heat until the surface barely shivers. Cook uncovered for two to three hours, adding hot water as needed.
Meanwhile, slip the garlic into a small pan, cover with oil and cook very gently until soft and golden, about forty minutes.
Salt the beans only once they are creamy. Stir in the confit garlic and its oil, the rosemary and lemon zest. Rest ten minutes before serving with torn bread.
The house is the other half
Limewash, old oak, things found at estate sales and kept for decades. A few rooms, as they are this autumn.
The kitchen, before anyone is upFriday focacciaThe dining room, afterThe garden, at the end of the day
Walk through
Suppers at the long table
Once a month I cook for fourteen strangers who leave as something closer to friends. Four courses from the garden and the woodstove, wine from the valley, and candles until they gutter.
Seats are released to Letters readers first.
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Sunday Letters
A short letter from the farmhouse every Sunday morning: the recipe, the garden, first word on supper seats and the book.