Rainbow Lasagna: The Queen of Vegetable Lasagnas

The farmers’ market today bore out the perfidy of the seasons. Tomatoes! Corn! Basil! Eggplant! In Massachusetts! At the end of October!

I like it.

Now there was plenty of squash, too—golden, speckled, and deep saffron-colored beauties of all different shapes and sizes. And kale and other greens and lots of fall inspiration. But I know there is plenty of time for them. I did buy some greens, and am snacking on crispy kale even as I write this. I wish I had bought those little pears so I could be eating a poire belle helene  (that’s French for something a whole lot better than kale.)  However.

I’ve been fiddling around with ingredients to play along with the blurring lines of summer into fall. The result is this delicate, light, fresh, colorful lasagna. I know. Those are not words you normally would use to describe the ubiquitous dish that graces the table of every soccer team in the USA relentlessly throughout the fall.

My family, or at least College Boy, could never really get enthusiastic about lasagna—the Italian-American version, that is. It is usually so heavy with cheese and ground beef and sausage and tomato sauce and cheese and then, more cheese.  Sinks like a stone, it does.

So here is the light, veggie version that fits well with your girls’ soccer team. The young ladies these days seem to prefer the vegetarian version and that is what you will get here. Lots and lots of vegetables.  As for those who turn up their noses, I think you will find this dish pretty (and tasty) enough to entice even the most vegetable-averse   family member to the table.

Rainbow Lasagna

The key to success with this lasagna is to slice the vegetables thinly and to salt them for 20 to 30 minutes before assembling them. The salt both softens the vegetables and extracts excess moisture, which eliminates pre-cooking. It also draws off the potential bitterness of the eggplant. The lasagna comes together with a white sauce instead of the familiar tomato sauce and has enough cheese to give it plenty flavor without hitting you over the head with an excessive dose. Also, if you can find Barilla no-boil lasagna, use it. More than a few people who tried this have asked me if the pasta was homemade. As if.

Serves 6 to 8

1 small eggplant, cut in 1/4-inch thick, lengthwise slices

2 medium yellow (summer) squash, halved crosswise and then cut in 1/4-inch thick, lengthwise slices

2 medium zucchini, halved crosswise and then cut in 1/4-inch thick, lengthwise slices

Salt

3 cups milk (low-fat is okay)

4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter

6 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Freshly ground pepper

Olive oil for the baking dish

1 large orange, yellow or red pepper, thinly sliced

1 cup ricotta (8 ounces)

1 cup grated Parmesan

2 large tomatoes (about 1 pound), sliced

1/2 package no-boil lasagna noodles (about 8 noodles)

1. Sprinkle the eggplant, yellow squash and zucchini slices lightly with salt. Lay them in a colander set over a bowl and let drain for about 30 minutes while you make the béchamel sauce.

2. Heat the milk in the microwave or in a saucepan on top of the stove until it bubbles at the edges but does not boil. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the flour and cook until the mixture is uniformly bubbly, about 2 minutes. You want to cook out the raw taste of the flour without allowing it to brown.

3.Take the pan off the heat and gradually whisk in about 1 cup of the hot milk, whisking until smooth. Slowly whisk in the remaining milk until smooth and return the pan to medium heat. Bring the sauce to a low boil, stirring constantly. Cook for about 3 more minutes, until the sauce has thickened. Remove the pan from the heat and season with 1/2 teaspoon salt and a few grindings of black pepper. Taste and adjust seasoning.

4. Lightly oil a 9 by 13-inch baking dish. Place a rack in the center of the oven and heat the oven to 375 degrees F.

5. Pat the eggplant, squash and zucchini dry with paper towels and wipe off excess salt.

6. Spread the pepper slices on the bottom of the baking dish and top with the eggplant slices. Dollop the ricotta in heaping teaspoon-size mounds over the eggplant and sprinkle with 3 tablespoons of the Parmesan. Cover with 4 lasagna noodles. Spread half the bechamel over the top of the pasta.

4. Place a layer of yellow squash over the bechamel, followed by the tomato slices. Top with 4 more lasagna noodles. Add the zucchini in one layer and spread the remaining bechamel over the top of the lasagna, making sure to cover the edges with the sauce. Sprinkle with the remaining Parmesan and bake for 60 to 70 minutes, until golden brown. Let the lasagna rest and settle for about 10 minutes before slicing into serving pieces.

Jam Tutorial

This is a jam tutorial.  No blah, blah, blah, just how to make jam. It is not too late. It is not too hard. There are plums and apples and quinces still in the market, and when all else fails, you can make marmalade using the same method.

Equipment:

• a large pot, the wider the better to allow for maximum evaporation of liquid. This is a traditional jam-making pot. The copper conducts heat well and the sloped sides allow for aforementioned evaporation but you don’t need one like this. I am obsessed, and anyway, I found it at a yard sale. Any large, wide pot will do.

• a wooden spoon to stir the jam (so you don’t scratch the bottom of the pot).

• a large metal spoon so you can test the jam.

• a ladle to fill the jars.

• jam jars, lids and screw bands. When you buy jam jars, the whole kit and caboodle is included. You can re-use jars and bands, but must replace lids each time since the rubber rim ceases to be effective in sealing the jar after one use.

• a wide-mouth funnel. You could probably manage without one, but it will be a lot messier, and it comes in handy for all sorts of things (pouring a dessert into a fancy stemmed glass dish without totally schmearing the sides, for example)

• a pair of tongs, preferably the kind pictured here,  to make grabbing the jars easier.

The fruit and sugar

Plan to make jam in small batches—use no more than 5 pounds of fruit. Use the best fruit you can find, slightly under ripe is best. Why preserve something for later that you don’t even want to eat now?  

Cut the fruit in approximately 1-inch pieces or slices. If you are using berries, wash and pick over them. Discard any that are soft in places. The ratio is: twice as much fruit as sugar by weight. For example, 5 pounds of fruit to 2 1/2 pounds of sugar (2 1/2 pounds =5 cups of sugar).

Lemon juice: always a nice accent, and you can use the zest as well.

Flavors: you can use flavorings like ginger (cook a piece of ginger root with the jam and then discard it) or lavender (infuse the sugar with lavender flowers by chopping them up together in the food processor and leaving them for a day or two, then strain the sugar to remove the lavender bits) or any other herb, like sage or tarragon (cook the jam with sprigs of herbs and then pull them out at the end) but don’t go crazy. Simple is always better.

Pectin: I only use packaged pectin for one jam (raspberry-blueberry) because the fruit has so little natural pectin that it turns out more like a sauce than jam, which would be okay by me but most people I give it to would not be impressed. Otherwise, skip the packaged pectin. It only makes your jam watery and sugary, since it cooks for very little time (not enough for evaporation to take place) and to make it work, you need much too ­much sugar.

Cooking The Jam:

Combine the sugar and fruit in a large pot and slowly bring it to a boil. (The pot should be large enough to allow the jam to boil up, which it will. A lot.) The juice from the fruit will soon combine with the sugar to make a syrup. As soon as that happens, cook over medium heat and let it boil away. When foam rises to the top, ignore it, or if you must, skim it off. Stir more as the jam thickens, to keep it from scorching on the bottom, until it reaches the jellying point.

Testing the Jam:

This is the trickiest part about making jam: How do you know you’ve reached the jellying point? I mean, really, really know?  We demand certainty, don’t we? Making jam scares us,because there is no number on a thermometer than can definitely predict this crucial point. So, before I answer that question, you need an attitude adjustment. You are not seeking perfection. You are seeking some ephemeral essence of summer in a jar that says so much more than that. If you want perfection, go buy some Smucker’s because they make a point of turning out jam that is exactly the same every time. It’s called quality control. It is definitely not the right spirit for this project. 

I said I wasn’t going to do the blah, blah, blah, but bear with me for a second here. You need a certain mindset when you make jam. You have to lighten up and let go, honey! You need to be okay with,  ‘my jam turned out runny so I am going to stir it into yogurt or pour it over ice cream, or drizzle it on toast like honey.’ Or, on the other hand (and I speak from experience),  ‘my jam turned out like a rubbery, impenetrable jar of goop, so I am going to dump it all back in the pot, add water,  heat it again until it boils for a full minute and then put it back in the jars, knowing that I might need to take another trip to the market for some additional lids (sold separately.)’

So here are the telltale signs that your jam is ready, and it is the best that you or I or anyone can do.

It stops streaming off the spoon in a single, thin stream like this:

It starts sheeting off the spoon and the droplets merge, like this:

It looks like this when you put a spoonful on a plate and stick it in the freezer for a couple of minutes and then run your finger through it to make a channel that does not melt back together and the surface wrinkles:

Preserving in a water bath:

You can just leave it in the fridge (up to 3 months) or you can put it in a boiling water bath so that you can store it on the pantry shelf for longer. But please, not forever. It kind of loses its sparkle after about a year.

Fill the jars (yes Virginia, clean jars. Why that always needs to be mentioned I don’t know, but now I’m mentioning it. And while I'm on the subject, they don't need to be sterilized first. You will heat and boil the heck out of them later.) Wash them with soapy water and rinse well or just run them through the dishwasher. Leave a 1/4-inch headspace (the space between the top of the jam and the lid.) The contents of the jar will expand as air gets pushed out, so you don’t want to fill the jar to the bursting point.

Wipe the rims with a wet paper towel so they are squeaky-clean. (This protects it from mold.) Place the lids on the jars and screw on the bands, but go easy, cowgirl. You don’t want the jars to explode because you were overzealous about tightening the bands (actually, I’m not so sure this has ever really happened, but just don’t do it.)

Place the jars in a pot of boiling water lined with an old dishcloth to keep them from moving around and crashing into each other and cracking (I’m pretty sure this could have happened to someone.) Be sure the jars are covered by 2 inches of water. Add more boiling water if the water evaporates. Gently boil for 10 minutes. 


Remove the jars—those fancy tongs come in handy here—and set them on a kitchen towel to cool. You will soon hear the pop-pop-pop of the lid. The little bubble in the center of the jar lid, which you may not have noticed, will now be depressed. But you won’t be. You will be soooooo proud of yourself. And you should be.

Label and date the jars (use a sharpie or a pretty label).

I might have forgotten something. Ask me a question. I’m jam good at jam making, if I do say so. Click to go to recipes for plum jam and peach jam.

Jelly vs. Jam: It must be jelly ‘cause jam don’t shake like that

You make jelly from the juice of the fruit and it is clear and lovely to look at as well as handy to spread on toast. Try it with apples, grapes, quinces or just about any fruit you can think of. The method is similar to making jam insofar as reaching the jellying point and canning is concerned, but you need to cook the fruit with water and then drain it overnight or for several hours through cheesecloth. No cheating. You just have to wait it out or you will have cloudy jam, and then, what would the point be?

Cut the fruit (apples and quinces) or not (grapes, berries). Put fruit in a pot and cover it with water. Cook until the fruit is soft, usually about 20 minutes or so. Line a colander with cheesecloth (or use a jelly bag), set it over a large pot or bowl. Dump the fruit and water into the colander. Let it drip (see above about not squishing or pressing it). 

Combine the juice with sugar in a large pot. The ratio is usually 1 cup juice to 1 cup sugar, though you may be okay with 1 cup juice to 3/4 cup sugar. Cook until it reaches the jellying point and proceed with the boiling water bath.

Jam is everywhere. I haven’t even scratched the surface.Look here for more ideas:
David Lebovitz’s apple jelly.

Divina Cucina’s tomato jam (there’s still time)

More tomato jam from white on rice couple

Chez Pim’s green gage plum jam

Café fernando’s pomegranate jam

Chocolate and zucchini’s pear and cocoa nib jam

Send me your recipe or link if you have one you want to share.

If all this makes you tired, buy some of my friend Bonnie’s jam.

Bread and Butter Pudding with Raspberries

It’s summer.

It’s fall.

It’s summer.

It’s fall.

Don’t tell the weather gods the date. They don’t care. 

Summer officially ended about two weeks ago, but we have been having very warm, humid days recently, and they were deceptively preceded by blasts of cool air. In my habitual pessimistic fashion, I have been bracing for that autumnal chill since August. Luckily I have been disappointed.

I know. The weather is not a very scintillating subject. Unless you are a raspberry picker. Gone are the peaches, before I could make my second batch of jam. So thank you, raspberries, for hanging on until the first frost. You are still there for the picking along with the obvious apples. And we of the slightly more subtle persuasion will have our berries.

Now that I have my bucket o’ berries, here is what I am going to do: Bake something. Because just as sure as I could fill my bucket yesterday, the weather will change tomorrow and I won’t mind turning on the oven. Oh ye fickle winds of New England.

I am not good at change.

Those shifting winds make me nervous, so whatever I bake must be something I can dive into with all my heart and soul, something smooth and rich, something sweet but not too sweet,  something that, when you eat it, says,  Don’t worry, everything will be all right.

Once a long time ago, alone in a remote country house in Vermont, I made a pot of rice pudding. I made it for a friend who was coming to visit the next day. It was an old-fashioned recipe, slow-cooked, the kind of pudding you leave in the oven for half a day, stirring every once in a while.  Just lots of milk and a little sugar and a little rice. It didn’t look like it would turn into anything.

Indeed, I stirred that pudding as directed and all day it called to me. Stir me. Stir me. When it was done, it said, Cool me. Cool me. It was thick and creamy and smelled faintly of the fairy dusting of cinnamon I had sprinkled over the top of it during its last spell in the oven. Finally it said, Eat me. Eat me.

Now I didn’t mention this earlier, but the Time of the Pudding was a very unsettling time. I had gone to the house alone, to think, and I wasn’t coming up with anything. Not anything at all. My life felt like it was falling apart.  When the pudding had cooled for a while, just for comfort, I took a teensy taste. And then, like Goldilocks, I ate it all up. Every last, deliriously luscious little bit.

I felt better. I broke some rules. I didn’t wait to share the pudding with my friend. I realized I could start all over again the next day. I could make something wonderful even though, at the beginning it didn’t look like it would turn into anything. Things change, and then they change again. You never know exactly what is around the corner. It’s good to plan and project and dream and stay optimistic, but you don’t always know how it’s going to turn out.

Which is why I love this pudding. I’ve made it often enough to know it will make me happy and I will have to use all my willpower not to eat every little bit of it when nobody is looking. It is all well and good to adjust to the winds of change, but sometimes you need reassurance. Or maybe it is simpler than that. Maybe you just need a really good recipe for bread pudding.

Bread and Butter Pudding with Raspberries

Don’t be intimidated by the water bath method of baking this pudding. The water acts as insulation and allows the custard to cook gently for a dreamy, creamy consistency. Just set the baking dish in a larger pan (like a roasting pan) and bring it close to the oven before you add the water to the larger pan. You can even pull out an oven shelf, set the pans inside and then pour in the water; you don’t need that much. Serve it warm or cold, as you like.

Serves 6

4 tablespoons soft, unsalted butter

1/2 large baguette, cut in 3/8-inch thick slices

1 1/2 cups (6 ounces) raspberries

3 eggs

1/4 cup sugar

Finely grated zest of 1 lemon

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 cups whole milk

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 to 2 tablespoons Confectioner’s sugar for garnish

1.  Generously butter a shallow, 2-quart baking dish. Heat the oven to 350 degrees.

2. Spread the remaining butter on the bread slices. Arrange them with the buttered side up in overlapping layers in the baking dish. Tuck half of the raspberries in between the slices and scatter the remaining raspberries over the top of the pudding.

3. Whisk the eggs, sugar and lemon zest together in a medium bowl.  Stir in the cream, milk and vanilla and pour the mixture evenly over the bread. Press the bread down into the custard with the flat of one hand and set it aside for about 20 minutes to allow the bread to absorb the custard.

4. Before baking, gently press the bread into the custard one more time. Set the pudding dish inside a larger baking pan. Pour about 1 inch of hot (not boiling) water into the larger baking pan. Bake for 50 to 55 minutes, until the pudding is lightly browned and almost set. It should be very slightly quivery in the center.

5. Remove the pudding from the oven and remove the baking dish from the water bath. Let it cool for at least 15 minutes to allow the custard to set (it will continue to cook a little). Dust with confectioner’s sugar and serve warm or cold.