This Winter is Pistachio-ing Me Off!

There’s a blizzard outside and a flurry in the kitchen.

Yep. We got another blizzard in New England. The eleventeenth this month. Oh, and there’s another on tap for the day after tomorrow. And another next weekend. At this point, only a miracle will save one of us in the house (and I include the felines in this) from going completely Jack-Nicholson-in-The-Shining before March hits.

No bueno.

No bueno.

Puttering in the kitchen saves my sanity during these bleak days (seriously: is anyone else feeling very Ethan Frome-ish?). My desperate attempts to find inspiration will leave no cabinet unexplored on a day like this. Today, this bag of pistachios played the role of muse.

Snow day inspiration.

Snow day inspiration.

Last week, I read about a cast iron skillet focaccia on Serious Eats featuring pistachios, olives, and rosemary. It’s a no-knead dough, so there is only about 10 minutes of hands-on time. It also smells like heaven when it bakes.

Olive, pistachio, and rosemary foccacia.

Olive, pistachio, and rosemary foccacia.

Yes.

Yes.

I also ran across a recipe on The Kitchn for salted pistachio brittle; such great payoff for such easy work, but one must be patient. This brittle goes through an awkward adolescent phase before ultimately becoming a swan.

Brittle cooling. Supremely unattractive.

Brittle cooling. Supremely unattractive.

Brittle glamour shot.

Brittle glamour shot.

However, since the Spousal Unit is decidedly not a candy guy, I took some of the brittle, gave it the good mortar and pestle treatment, and sprinkled it on top of simple shortbread cookies*. I even drizzled half with bittersweet chocolate.

Shortbread cookies with pistachio brittle. Some with bittersweet chocolate drizzle.

Shortbread cookies with pistachio brittle. Some with bittersweet chocolate drizzle.

(*NB: these are 1-2-3 cookies from Michael Ruhman’s genius book Ratio. If you own no other kitchen book, own this one. It will teach you more about the fundamentals of cooking than any other book out there.)

Now, I just want an enormous scotch and a promise that spring eventually will come.

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