Every year I receive a beloved hand-me-down from my parents: the bone from their holiday ham.

What’s so special about an eviscerated hog bone? It’s like the world’s greatest bouillon cube: a couple of hours in simmering water, with absolutely no other ingredients, creates an incredible stock. And that stock is the base for split pea soup, which we’ve been eating for dinner the last two days and still have plenty left for snacks.

Each time I make the ham stock, I’m amazed that the stock ends up just smoky, salty, and hammy enough. It doesn’t matter if I put in a little more or less water. It’s magic. (To be specific, however, the bone from one ham half is good for three to four quarts of stock.)

I wonder what else I could do with ham stock other than split pea or bean soup. Any ideas?

A baking book can do two things to make me cry. One is printing cup measures instead of weights. The other is calling for active dry yeast.

At least in the case of cup measure, there’s a genuine reason for the madness: most Americans don’t own a kitchen scale and are too stubborn to buy one. Hey, that’s cool. I can relate. I’m cheap and lazy, too, as you’ll see in a minute.

But active dry yeast? There’s no excuse. Instant yeast is sold in every supermarket, and it is cheaper (because you can use less) and easier to use than active dry, with absolutely no compromise in flavor. Using active dry is like sticking with canned peas after frozen peas were introduced. (Readers: this is your cue to stand up for canned peas in the comments.)

What’s the difference? Instant yeast (which is the same as “rapid-rise” or “bread machine” yeast) is processed differently at the factory in such a way that fewer yeast cells are killed, and you don’t have to proof it. Proofing yeast is one of those things that is just annoying enough to be a major barrier between you and delicious things you want to make. I don’t like to think of myself as the kind of person who would blow off an entire recipe just because I have to warm some water, empty a package of yeast into it, and wait a few minutes for it to bubble, but I’m totally that kind of person.

With instant yeast, you just toss it in with the flour and go. It’s a little more potent than active dry, so you can substitute by reducing the quantity by a third and skipping the proofing step.

Good baking books like Baking Illustrated only use instant yeast. So should you. Buy one of those little jars–around here they often go on sale for about $4 at this time of year–and keep it in the freezer. Then make raised waffles, bagels, pizza dough, and all that good stuff.

Here’s how my best Cornish pasty came out this year:

It looks like some kind of strange creature, doesn’t it?

Every year it’s the same thing: I really get the hang of the crimping part as I’m making the final pasty. I noticed while looking at other pasty pictures on Flickr (note: just using the tag “pasty” is not the way to go) that many people crimp their pasties on the side, not the top, and Laurie reminded me that most of the pasties we bought in Cornwall shops a few years ago were like that. I think they look too much like calzones when they’re crimped on the side.

Which reminds me, I could really go for some homemade calzones.

As Iris might put it, I just love parsnips. Yesterday we got an auspicious-looking bunch of skinny ones at the University Farmers Market, and I tossed them with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and roasted them for about half an hour until the tips were crunchy and the rest soft and lightly browned. They were as good as French fries.

Parsnips–which should really be called “sneeps,” the way Scots called turnips “neeps”–are heinously inconsistent. They don’t keep very well but don’t show their age much, either. Sometimes they have a woody core, sometimes not. If I see a slender, just-picked bunch, small enough not to need peeling, I’ll buy it, but often I want parsnips when such a bunch is not to be had. In that case I’ll usually slice them into coins and saute them with bacon; a little chewiness is okay in this format.

Last night’s parsnips were the side for [shrimp and grits with tomatillo sauce](https://www.rootsandgrubs.com/2006/11/26/tomatillo-duo/); I’ll be raving about this dinner for a while.

Today in the Seattle Times I have an article about enchiladas:

Resurrecting a Recipe

I think this is the best recipe I’ve ever published. I had very little to do with it. The original idea (stacked green enchiladas on top of spicy beans) comes from the late Barbacoa restaurant in Seattle, and the specifics come from Robb Walsh and Rick Bayless. These enchiladas are so good that I’ve made them at least twice since finishing the article, which is unheard of. Iris’s favorite part is the crunchy cheese around the edges. When Laurie saw the photo, she said, “Hey, crunchy cheese porn.” You also end up with leftover beans for lunch. If you like enchiladas, please try this recipe.

In other tomatillo-related news, last night I made the shrimp and grits recipe from The Lee Bros Southern Cookbook. I’m sure there’s nothing remotely traditional about tomatillo sauce on shrimp and grits, but a little tomatillo improves everything. I’m tempted to use the word “slurpy.” This morning over French toast, Iris sighed and said, “I just love grits.”