On Tuesday I got a couple of ears of corn from the supermarket, but it left us wanting more and better corn. So yesterday we all went down to Pike Place Market to hit the Alvarez Farm stand and relieve it of six ears.

We had leftover chili and my favorite corn-off-the-cob recipe. It looks like this:

And you make it like so. Cut the kernels off as many ears of corn as you like. If you haven’t done this before, it’s easier than you think, but you need a sharp knife and the patience to go chasing after errant niblets. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium high. Add some minced green chile (I like jalapeño best here, but poblano or anaheim would be fine, too) and scallions and cook for a minute or so. Add the corn and season with salt. Cook for about ten minutes, stirring occasionally, until the corn is getting browned. Deglaze the pan with a little water so you don’t miss the delicious stuck-on corn juice.

I still have some pureed chipotles in the fridge, so I’ll probably try a chipotle version next. Whatever you do, don’t substitute oil for the butter; I did this one when we were out of butter, and it made the Aztec corn god angry.

Sour cherry season lasts, oh, about ten days here in Washington, and we’ve been taking full advantage. These cherries are expensive (best quality ones are often $7.50 a pound, even more than Rainiers), fragile, and harder to pit than sweet cherries. Why have we dropped a good $40 on them so far this month? Well, I’m writing an article. But that begs the question.

I’ll give you the answer in the form of an analogy and then the form of a crostata.

Imagine you’ve never had a lemon. Somehow you made it to adulthood and just never happened to taste one. Then someone hands you a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade, or a lemon tart.

You can’t erase your memory of lemons, Eternal Sunshine style, but if you’ve never had a fresh sour cherry, you’ve got a couple days left in the season, and I hope you’ll find that their effect on desserts is as bracing and indispensable as lemon. (I’m trying to stop myself from making a “lose your sour cherry cherry” joke, and apparently I just failed.) Furthermore, only the terminally weird (I say this affectionately) eat lemons plain, but I’m happy to snack on sour cherries right off the stem.

Here’s that crostata. This is an awesome recipe that *didn’t* make the cut for the article, so hopefully that will keep you on the edge of your seat until next June. In the meantime, if you can’t find the real stuff, Trader Joe’s jarred morello cherries are totally acceptable.

**SOUR CHERRY CROSTATA**
Makes 6 individual crostatas
Adapted from Room for Dessert by [David Lebovitz](http://www.davidlebovitz.com/)

*For the dough:*
5 ounces unbleached all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons lard
3 tablespoons ice-cold water, plus extra if necessary

*For the frangipane:*
3 ounces almond paste
3 tablespoons butter, room temperature
1-1/2 teaspoons sugar
4 teaspoons flour
1 large egg

*For the crostata:*
3/4 pound fresh sour cherries, stemmed and pitted
2 tablespoons butter, melted
1/4 cup sugar

1. **Make the dough.** Combine the flour, sugar, salt, butter, and lard in a large bowl and mix with a pastry blender or your hands, leaving fairly large chunks of fat–larger than for pie crust. Add water and mix, squeezing the dough into a ball. Add a little more water if necessary. Flatten into a disc, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate at least an hour.

2. **Make the frangipane.** Stir all the frangipane ingredients together in a bowl, or mix with a stand mixer. If you stir by hand, you probably won’t be able to get out all the lumps of almond paste, but it won’t matter by the time it’s baked.

3. **Assemble the crostatas.** Preheat the oven to 400°F. Divide the dough into six pieces. Roll one piece out into a 7-inch circle and transfer to a parchment-lined baking sheet. If it’s not terribly circular, that’s okay. Spread with about two tablespoons frangipane (I found it easiest to do this with my fingers) to about an inch from the edge. Stud the frangipane with as many sour cherries as easily fit. Fold up the edge of the dough roughly, pinching it in places as necessary, to hold the filling in. Repeat with the other dough pieces. Brush the edges of the dough with melted butter. You may not be able to fit all the crostatas on one sheet. If you need to bake in two batches, refrigerate the second sheet while the first is baking.

4. Bake 30 minutes or until the dough edges are nicely browned. Let the crostatas sit on the sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a rack and cool another ten minutes, then eat.

My least favorite dinner growing up was roast chicken. I didn’t actively dislike it, but it tasted, you know, like chicken. Like nothing.

So I’ve never roasted a whole chicken. There is one roast chicken in Seattle that I do like, and it’s the one that is synonymous with roast chicken here: Le Pichet. I will bet you five bucks that if you collar a random Seattle foodie and say, “I want to go out for roast chicken. Where should I go?” they will answer, “Le Pichet” before you finish asking the question.

Le Pichet’s roast chicken is made to order, which means it takes about an hour. They start with a good chicken and cook it perfectly, of course, but this alone isn’t enough to convince me. I’m sure you could take a *poulet de Bresse*, slaughter it just before cooking, and serve it to me with crisp, golden skin, and I would still pick at it.

What distinguishes Le Pichet’s chicken is sauce. When Laurie and I ordered it, I believe it came with an Armagnac cream sauce with chestnuts. That may not be exactly right, but it’s certainly plausible. They change the sauce and vegetable constantly. [Here it is](http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/pacificnw/2002/1117/cover06.html) served with roasted apples and potatoes and some kind of rich looking gravy. In every case, there’s enough sauce that you won’t have to endure a bite of chicken with neither sauce nor skin.

I made roast chicken last night and took the saucy strategy even further by marinating the chicken and then turning the marinade into sauce. The recipe is from Fine Cooking, January 2004, which is their best issue ever. In addition to the roast chicken, there’s a groundbreaking article on vegetable sautes. For weeks after receiving this issue, I was making what Laurie called the “vegetable saute of the day,” with selections like fennel, red onion, and arugula; green beans and radicchio with shaved parmesan; or mushrooms and spinach with soppressata crisps. Then we lost the issue and had to reorder it from [finecooking.com](http://www.finecooking.com/) for $10. I suggest you do the same.

Here’s the roast chicken recipe. There are three other suggested marinades and endless possible variations, so buy that magazine.

**ROAST CHICKEN WITH SESAME SAUCE**
Serves 4

1 chicken, cut into six serving pieces (we continue to be delighted with organic Smart Chicken)

5 large cloves garlic, minced or pressed
1 teaspoon kosher salt

*For the marinade:*
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
1/3 cup tahini
1/3 cup soy sauce
1/3 cup dry sherry or rice wine
1/3 cup honey
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons sesame oil
2 teaspoons hot sauce or chile garlic sauce
1 bunch scallions, cut into 1-inch lengths

Toasted sesame seeds for garnish

1. Combine the marinade ingredients in a bowl and mix well.

2. Dry the chicken pieces well and give them a few pokes on each side with a knife for maximum marinade exposure. Rub the chicken with salt and garlic. Place in a large Ziploc bag and add the marinade ingredients. Press the air out of the bag and marinate overnight in the refrigerator, turning the bag over once.

3. Preheat the oven to 400°F. Remove the chicken from the bag and place the pieces in a large Pyrex roasting pan. Pour the marinade over the chicken. Let the chicken sit out at room temperature while the oven preheats. Roast for 1 hour, basting frequently after the first half hour.

4. Remove the chicken pieces to a serving platter. Defat the sauce with a spoon (I’m terrible at this) or by straining into a gravy separator. Cut the chicken breasts in half and serve each person half a breast and one leg or thigh. Spoon sauce over the chicken and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Make more sauce available at the table.

I think I’ve come up with a new way to kill a conversation. I’ll wait until someone mentions flour tortillas, and then I will say, “You know, I make my own flour tortillas.”

“Wait, wait!” I will say. “It’s not like beating your clothes on rocks! Besides, I’ll bet you’re in on that needlepoint craze.”

Seriously, making flour tortillas is easy, and they’re a jillion times better than Diane’s, though recognizably the same kind of thing. Last week we made quesadillas with the homemade tortillas, roasted poblanos, seared onions, and cilantro. I recommend you do the same.

**FLOUR TORTILLAS**
Makes 8
Adapted from Fine Cooking, July 2006

9 ounces all-purpose flour, plus a bunch more for flouring surfaces
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 cup (a little over 1-1/2 ounces) cold lard
2/3 cup warm water

1. Mix the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add the lard and cut in with a pastry blender or your fingers until you reach oatmeal consistency. Stir in the water until the dough comes together.

2. Turn out onto a floured board and knead a couple of minutes, until it’s smooth.

3. Using a scale, portion the dough into eight 2-ounce balls. Cover the balls with plastic wrap and rest at least 30 minutes or up to 2 hours.

4. Heat a 10- or 12-inch cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Roll one ball out into a very thin 9-inch circle, reflouring as necessary. Place the proto-tortilla in the skillet and cook until it bubbles up and browns in parts on the bottom, about one minute. Pop any large bubbles with a fork and flip the tortilla. Continue cooking until browned in spots on the other side, about one minute. Remove to a plate and repeat with the remaining dough balls.

Note: These freeze well, though I’m not sure for how long, since I’ve only actually tried freezing them for two days. Reheat in the microwave or a skillet.