I write down my thoughts, ideas and sometimes my dreams in these monthly letters and in return I get back recipes, comments, ideas and information from people near, dear, far and wide. That's a perk I never thought about when I first started writing these monthly things.

Put in a nickel and get back a dime.

Last month's letter brought a comment about Mr. Quick and his thumpity-thump gait from my oldest friend. She remembers her mother telling her that Mr. Quick did not in fact have a wooden leg but was wounded in The War. (The great one. You,know, WWII.)

Although I was slightly disillusioned that the egg man didn't have a wooden leg after all, I was happy to trade my creepy fantasy for the reality of hearing from a dear old friend. 

Last winter I stirred up all my locavore friends with an essay on increasingly hard-to-find Yuban and a reader turned me on to an online source. Sweet!

And then there was the care package from Hawai'i that contained the most giant tin of Yuban I had ever seen and a small precious bag of Kona estate-grown coffee for a taste test. I mean, come on! You are all spoiling me rotten! Thank you!

As an update, Inn guests still start their day exclaiming, "That's good coffee" and now also get a kick out of reading the hard copy of that controversial newsletter.

Don't worry Yuban. I still love you most of all.

You've also sent some great recipes and fun food memories.

When I got back from Argentina and was wondering what was that delicious salsa verde found on every plate, a reader provided not just the answer but a bonus recipe to give the steak a whole different flavor profile. Susan wrote:

That same month Lisa of Goatboy Soaps (which is the luxuriously creamy guest soap at the Inn), wrote:

When Rick and I first got married he had to teach me to cook (Irish Mother from "the North Shore"). The first way he taught me to make beef or pork was to put a layer of salt in a cast iron skillet, heat the pan and salt and then drop the meat onto the bed of salt for a great seared crust! You brought back memories ... and I'm considering dedicating my iron to caramelizing some sweet potatoes ... it's not like I ever iron anymore!! (Just kidding...)

In response to February's goat cheese and caramelized onion tart with olives Sid, who is a mighty fine Southern cook, tweaked the recipe by making the crust with "whole wheat flour and using olives stuffed with anchovies....YUMMY!"

Click on image to get the recipe.

After last week's balmy Indian Summer it is now freezing cold. I think it's time to let the summer heat go. I'll let Ray tell you about a delicious sauce that will send warmth your way on the coldest night:

By way of exchange, I got a suggestion rather than an actual recipe (no proportions, just "everything to taste") from a Sicilian guy today that you might want to try. He says it's the old way they make sauce for pasta in Sicily, which was influenced by African cuisine. It has no garlic! You mix some tomato paste with your best olive oil and when it's hot you add chopped onions which you cook in the mixture, stirring for evenness. Then add whole plum tomatoes (no skins) and ground clove, bay leaves and salt and pepper. Mix it all together and let it simmer so the tomatoes become mostly sauce and it thickens. If necessary, add more tomato paste. He says when it's done, the sauce should be thick, rich and sweet. You serve it on your favorite pasta. He tells me that the flavor is wonderful, but I won't know if that's only true for Sicilians until I give it a try.

This month most of us will be gathering for a big old Thanksgiving Day feast. I imagine quite a bit of food lore will play out on your tables. I'm a big fan of all that goes on around a holiday table. The food and recipes, the hands that go into making it, the gathering of family and friends, the eating, the drinking, the laughter, the tears, the revelations, the celebrations and most of all, the toasts.

My glass is raised in a toast.

Here's to you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. Thank you for your thoughtful gifts. Thank you for making my work something I wouldn't trade for anything.

My technology fairy (TF for future reference) visited the Inn this past weekend and walked me through the technique for this beloved food of her homeland.

Arepas? Arepas? How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

First off, you can't burn 'em no matter how distracted you get. I love when food talks dirty to me.

Secondly, they are versatile as all get out. Sweet, savory, fried, baked ... Arepas where have you been all my life?

Thirdly, they are new to me and I like new. I have this feeling that mystical and magical knowledge passes to me when someone teaches me a new food technique, especially if the food is a special treat from a foreign land. Somehow I absorb the sum of all the parts of their experience with the food. I gain an understanding of something that I didn't know before by working with the new food, eating it and of course, sharing it.

Think we can achieve world peace by teaching everyone to cook food from a different land? Maybe...

But today we'll just work on arepas.

You need the raw material, Harina P.A.N. TF sent me a package a while back.

Without her guidance I would have messed it up, clearly missing the clue that the name of the product "P.A.N." was lending. I was thinking tortilla but I should have been thinking bread.

Unlike filo dough and tortillas (two other mystical breads that dear alchemists have shared with me) the temperature of the water doesn't matter in this technique. Really, can it get any better?

Here's how it works:

1.     In a bowl add some Harina P.A.N and some salt.

2.     Add some water in the center of the bowl and begin smooshing the corn meal into the water.

Keeping adding water until you get a supple dough that is like playdough. It doesn't stick to your fingers.

It's a lot of fun and not stressful.

3.     Make fat discs out of the dough about 3 inches in diameter and about ¾ of an inch thick.

4.     Cook these mini bread discs.

The Ah-HA Moment: Like bread it starts out feeling like a lead balloon and just like bread it becomes light as a feather as it cooks.

I cooked my first batch under the watchful eye of TF in a cast iron skillet with a tablespoon of olive oil because I don't like to keep my oven cranking away all through breakfast. (You can bake these little guys off in the oven.) However, I do like the little char marks from the skillet.

I kept flipping them back and forth for a good twenty minutes on medium heat.

Flipping them back and forth I tell you! They are the most forgiving food in all the land!