Dear Readers,

I have never received so many requests for a column as I did for this one, leading me to believe that somewhere out there in Pilates-land is a steadily growing (and steadily gaining) underground movement bent on reinstating the primacy of butter and cheese in the food pyramid.

If you're out there, true believers, leave me a trail of Gouda crumbs to your lair, and I'll be there with my elastic waistband on.

In the meantime, here is a reprint of what is apparently my most popular recipe.

Oh, gratin

Everywhere, I am inundated with magazines featuring photographs of steaming pumpkin pies, warming winter stews and "comfort foods" meant to be consumed in large quantities so that I may rack up the fat stores I need to make it through the winter.

I should be eating salad, I should be running laps, I should be making protein powder and fat-free yogurt smoothies and washing them down with wheat germ. But the air is nippy, the leaves are gone, my boots and wool socks are out of storage, and I know that sooner or later I will break down and go to the grocery store in a trench coat and dark glasses to anonymously procure the ingredients for the ultimate warming winter "screw-it-I-can-just-wear-a-bulky-sweater-for-a-month dish."

I speak, of course, of a gratin.

"Gratin" is actually a loose term. Anything baked with cheese and cream can be considered a gratin, I think. People are most familiar with "potatoes au gratin," but potatoes do not have a monopoly — parsnips are good in gratins, as are sweet potatoes, as are carrots, as are, in fact, zucchini.

Gratins are, of course, a product of northern France. Who but the French could possibly have dared to marry cheese and potatoes in such a heady, devil-may-care fashion?

There is nothing more addictive, more delicious, and more insidious than a really well-made gratin. An amalgamation of starches, cheese or cream, and possibly breadcrumbs, a gratin symbolizes everything that we as a body-conscious, heart-conscious, Atkins-conscious population should avoid. Don't we know better than to eat parsnips that have been slowly melted to a creamy consistency with butter, garlic and Gruyère cheese?

It is for this reason that I rarely make gratins, except on major holidays when many people will be coming to my home. Otherwise, I might wake up to find myself in the kitchen with a fork in one hand and a gratin in the other, sleepeating.

A potato gratin takes a good half-hour to an hour to make, what with the peeling and slicing of the potatoes, the shredding of the cheese, the re-shredding of the cheese after all your relatives have come in and eaten the cheese you already shredded, etc. It then takes an hour or two to bake. But it isn't difficult at all, and no one should ever consider a gratin out of their scope.

Following is a list of some the ingredients one typically finds in a French or Alsatian potato gratin:

Butter: Butter is to cooking what diamonds are to starlets. That is, it makes all the difference between a so-so dish and a scrape-the-bottom delicious one, and you pay through the nose for it. Butter in large amounts is extremely bad for you, although Tibetans drink butter tea, and Tibetans can do no wrong.

Cream: There is a reason they call it "cream" and not "soy milk." There is nothing in the world quite as decadent as cream (except butter of course) and it is the glue that holds a gratin together. Medieval peasants held nothing in such high esteem as cream except, maybe, seventh sons of seventh sons or maybe a really nice goat placenta.

Cheese: Cheese is the character in a gratin. The type of cheese you use determines whether your gratin will be mild, sharp, zingy, tart, or slightly jaded but still vaguely idealistic. Choose cheeses that melt well — Gruyère is my favorite, but Gouda is nice too, as is Monterey jack. Mix and match if you like — there are no laws about mixing cheeses. One day there might be, so live it up while you can.

Potatoes: When the low-carb craze hit, we all but said au revoir to the homely pomme de terre (that's French for potato). Potatoes are not particularly high in vitamin C, they contain no protein, and I gather they will not help you cleanse your colon. They did, however, largely support the populations of Victorian Ireland and Tsarist Russia — until, of course, that stopped working out.

Bacon or ham: These ingredients are entirely unnecessary, and their inclusion will therefore prove that you are trying just a little bit harder than other people. Such salt-cured pork products will enhance and deepen the flavor of your gratin, even in small amounts.

Garlic: Effective against vampires or unpleasant dates, "the stinky rose" alone can provide an entire dish's worth of umami — the Japanese word for a fifth taste (after salty, sweet, sour and bitter) that corresponds more or less to "savoriness." Some people like it in small amounts; others, like me, can't get enough. I'm sure this is not doing wonders for my love life, but if I had to choose between love and garlic ...

Herbs: Possibly the only part of the gratin that is good for you. If you add enough of them, I think you can count the dish as a salad (at least, on a major holiday). Judiciously selected herbs can make or break a gratin — they bring out, or kill, the flavor of the cheesy gooey goodness. In a classic bacon-cheese-potato gratin, I like to use that most underrated of herbs, parsley.

And so, in the spirit of pagan hedonism that dominates my holidays, I shall share with you my infamous recipe for potato gratin. I do not use butter in my gratin — I have replaced it with bacon grease because I have no sense of shame. I make this every year, and every year I worry that the diet police will show up at my door, dump my stash of crème fraîche all over the kitchen, grind the potatoes into the floor, confiscate my bay leaves, and take me away in handcuffs.

What decadence! What moral decay! What fat content!

What justification can I possibly have for making a dish that has no shame whatsoever?

Because it's winter, ladies and gentlemen. For our cave ancestors, winter was the most frightening season — food stores could disappear and we could starve, we could freeze outside during a mammoth hunt, we could become horribly depressed at the thought of having to visit our relatives. In such primitive situations, it was important to have festivals that involved the consumption of mass quantities to store up the vital, life-giving fats that would keep early humans alive during the long, dark months.

Granted, these days we have heaters and television and frozen macaroni and cheese to warm us and keep us alive, but nothing is certain and we are, really, just one wacko away from a man-made apocalypse. So eat up, kids — we may not make it through the winter.


This recipe is loosely adapted from the Gratin Dauphinois Madame Laracine recipe in the book Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells — a woman who clearly does not know the meaning of the word "moderation." Bless her.

MADAME WIJA'S UTTERLY UNJUSTIFIABLE POTATO GRATIN

3 pounds potatoes (I always use Yukon Gold) peeled and thinly sliced
2 cups whole milk
Several cloves garlic, minced (I might even use a whole head of garlic if I were feeling frisky)
Salt, to taste
Several bay leaves
Freshly ground nutmeg, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 cup heavy cream or crème fraîche
2 cups freshly grated Gruyère cheese
4-5 slices bacon
1-2 shallots, finely minced
1 bunch parsley, finely minced (about 1/4 to 1/2 cup)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

In a large skillet or saucepan, fry the bacon until it begins to render (which means until all the fat starts to turn to oil and the bacon starts to curl and sizzle). Cook until the bacon is mostly done, then add the garlic and shallots and sauté another two minutes.

Add the milk, heavy cream, bay leaves, parsley, nutmeg, salt (if you think you need it, with the bacon) and black pepper to the pot. Cook on medium heat until the milk mixture begins to boil ever so gently. Do not cook it too hard — just turn it down and simmer it.

Layer the potatoes in a large baking pan — the largest you have — alternately with the Gruyère cheese, reserving about 1/2 cup cheese for the top layer.

Pour the milk mixture over the potatoes and top with the remaining cheese. Cover the dish with foil and bake for about 2 hours, until everything is soft and the top is golden.

Serve, with the shades down and guards posted at the entrances.