David Lebovitz's wild rice salad

As a member of a winter CSA share, there are certain vegetables I've had to welcome, en masse, into my home (and refrigerator) this season: namely, potatoes (sweet and white), carrots, and beets. Though root vegetables store well, I find it's best to dispatch them quickly, if I want to have room in my tiny kitchen for anything else. So after last week's CSA pickup, when I was saddled blessed with several pounds of each, I decided to immediately peel and roast them, which would not only concentrate their flavor but also significantly reduce their bulk. But what to do with them afterwards? I've already eaten a bazillion sweet potato fries this season, already prepared roasted beets tossed with yogurt, lime and scallions, already made a huge batch of carrot soup that lingers on in my freezer. As my cubed and seasoned veggies roasted away in the oven, the debate continued: where would they end up? Luckily, divine providence stepped in when I felt compelled to read one of my favorite blogs, that of master pastry chef David Lebovitz, who usually shares sweet recipes, but occasionally throws in a savory one. Blessedly, that day was one of those days.

Early in his career, David worked in the kitchen at Chez Panisse, so he knows his way around vegetables. The recipes he shares on his site hew closely to my own cooking style: heavy on the produce and whole grains, light on the meat. So it came as no surprise when his Wild Rice Salad with Lemon-Tahini Dressing immediately appealed to me. Not only had I recently purchased a big bag of wild rice at the Co-op, but my roasted vegetables would go perfectly in the dish, plus I had just opened a jar of tahini for a hummus-making endeavor.

Actually, speaking of hummus, what attracted me most to this recipe was how it sort of riffs on that classic Middle Eastern spread. The salad's dressing is made of lemon juice, tahini, olive oil, water and raw garlic: if you were to add some chickpeas, you'd have hummus. I love cooking with raw garlic. Growing up, my dad was allergic, so we almost never utilized the stuff, save for rare occasions when my mother--the cook of the household--felt compelled to make a smaller, separate garlic-free dish for my father, and a larger, garlic-heavy one for her, my brother and me. Think about it: a world of tomato sauces, soups, stews, meatballs, all without the beneficent touch of garlic. Sad, right? These days, I think I still cook with less garlic than most people, and to add raw garlic to something feels downright illicit. So this recipe, with its whole one clove of garlic, minced, was damn near a walk on the wild side for me.

I made a few small changes to the dish, the major one being that to further embrace the hummus theme (and because I still had some left over from the Great Garbanzo Soak of 2012), I added a few handfuls of cooked chickpeas. What results is a lovely salad: the wild rice dense and chewy, the roasted vegetables sweet and earthy, with brightness from the lemon and garlic. Not a bad lunch to eat for six days in a row, as I did:
























Wild Rice and Roasted Vegetable Salad with Lemon-Tahini Dressing
Adapted from davidlebovitz.com
Serves 6 - 8 as a side dish

Ingredients:

- 1 c. wild rice, rinsed
- About 6 cups peeled and cubed root vegetables: I used a mix of sweet potatoes, beets, and carrots
- Olive oil
- Salt and pepper to taste

- About a cup cooked chickpeas
- 3 to 4 scallions (white and green parts), finely chopped
- 1/2 c. fresh parsley, chopped
- 1/4 c. tahini
- Juice of 2 lemons
- 3 tbsp. warm water
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 tsp. soy sauce
- 1/4 c. olive oil
- Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

1. Preheat the oven to 425°. Toss the vegetables with 2 or 3 tbsp. of oil and plenty of salt and pepper. Spread on a large baking sheet (or 2) and cook until tender, about 40 minutes.
2. In the meantime, add wild rice to a medium pot and cover with lots of water. Add about a teaspoon of salt. Cover and bring to the boil then drop to a simmer and cook until rice is tender, about 40 minutes. Drain.
3. As rice and vegetables cool, make the dressing: in a medium bowl, combine the tahini, lemon juice and water, stirring briskly to smooth out the tahini. Whisk in soy sauce and olive oil, season, and taste.
4. When rice and vegetables are cool, combine in a bowl then stir in the chickpeas, scallions and parsley. Add the dressing and mix well. Note: the tahini dressing dries out in the fridge. If you're not eating all the salad at once, store salad mix and dressing in separate containers in the fridge and combine them before serving.

More fun with chickpeas

My friend Mathilde's birthday was last Friday, and we had a small party to celebrate. As is usual, when we gather at Willy's house, food played a supporting starring role. As a sort of group effort, we all pitched in to make a big pot of tortilla soup with all the fixins, Willy made another ridiculously intricate and delicious layer cake, and I decided to contribute some hummus that I prepared at home earlier in the day. Inspired by my recent success cooking with dried, soaked chickpeas, I decided to go that route with my hummus, in lieu of canned garbanzos. I soaked and cooked some more chickpeas, then drained them, reserving the cooking liquid. I tipped most of the legumes into my food processor, keeping back about a cup of them, and made my standard hummus by adding garlic, tahini, lemon juice, olive oil and some of the cooking liquid. After tasting and adjusting the flavors to my liking, I let the food processor run for a long time, whipping the hummus into a dense, silky purée. The dried chickpeas contribute a better texture and a fuller flavor to the spread.

My favorite part about this dish, though, is what I decided to do with the remaining, whole chickpeas. Recalling a recent trip to Mimi's Hummus in Ditmas Park, where I ate a fava bean hummus garnished with some whole favas, I knew that I wanted some textural contrast in my hummus. So I marinated the remaining chickpeas in a mix of sambal oelek (my favorite all-purpose hot sauce--you can use sriracha, harissa, or whatever chile paste you prefer), olive oil, and chopped fresh cilantro and parsely. When I served the hummus, I made a well in the spread and lay the whole chickpeas in the middle. The super smooth hummus, broken up by the toothsome whole chickpeas, makes a winning legume-on-legume combination:


















Hummus with Whole Marinated Chickpeas
Serves 8 - 10 as an appetizer

Ingredients:

- 1 1/2 c. dried chickpeas, soaked overnight then cooked for about 1 hour, or until soft, drained, cooking liquid reserved--or use about 3 c. canned
- 2 cloves garlic, smashed and peeled
- About 2 tbsp. tahini
- The juice of about 2 lemons
- About 4 tbsp. cooking liquid
- About 4 tbsp. olive oil, plus more for marinated chickpeas
- Salt, to taste
- About 1 tbsp. hot chile paste such as sambal oelek, sriracha, or harissa
- 1 - 2 tbsp. chopped fresh parsley, cilantro or both

Preparation:

1. Add all but about 3/4 c. chickpeas to bowl of a food processor. Add garlic and pulse to combine.
2. Add tahini, lemon juice and salt and turn machine on. As it is running, pour the cooking liquid and olive oil in through the spout on top. Check for seasoning, adjusting as needed, then leave machine running for about 3 minutes so that hummus becomes very smooth.
3. In the meantime, prepare the marinated chickpeas: combine them with the chile paste, about 1 tbsp. of additional oil, fresh herbs, and salt. If possible, let marinate for 30 minutes to an hour.
4. When ready to serve, spread hummus into a shallow bowl and create a well in the middle. Add marinated chickpeas, drizzle with additional olive oil, and serve.

Lentils for my new year

Over the Christmas holiday, I was lucky enough to be able to travel to Austria, Czech Republic and Hungary, pretty much eating my way through my wanderings. As an Ashkenazi Jew, and therefore someone with roots in this region of the world, I immediately felt a connection to the cuisine I found in these countries: warming, long-cooking dishes like goulash, stuffed cabbage and a wide variety of soups, as well as a mind-boggling array of delicious pastries, many stuffed with sweetened poppyseeds, a popular (and my favorite) filling for hamentaschen cookies, traditionally made during the Jewish holiday of Purim.

It being the end of the year, though, the one dish that you could find anywhere and that was advertised everywhere (especially on New Year's Day) was lentil soup. All over the world, it's traditional to eat legumes on the first of January: they symbolize money, and so are eaten in the hopes of assuring a financially propitious year. We Americans might be most familiar with Hoppin' John, a dish of blackeyed peas stewed with pork that's commonly consumed in the south, but all over Europe, including Italy, Germany, and the central European countries I visited, lentils are the number one New Year's Day meal.

I didn't actually eat any lentil soup in Budapest, the city where I rang in 2011, but the little green legume lodged itself in my mind, because I found myself craving it ever since I returned to Toulouse. I found the perfect occasion to prepare a lentil dish when my birthday, the 9th of January, rolled around. As anyone who follows this blog knows, on my birthday my preferred means of celebration is to fix a big, inexpensive meal and invite all my friends over. Usually the celebration is a porkfest (and, incidentally, pork is another auspicious food oft prepared for the New Year's meal). But although pork butt is cheap, my funds this year were even more limited than usual, having just returned from a vacation and all, and I set my sights on a meal that though still tasty, would cost me almost nothing. And what fits the bill for that? Why, legumes, of course. So I whipped up some hummus, an old standard of mine, and I improvised a lentil salad made with roasted red peppers and shallots. I felt it was appropriately French--they eat a lot of lentils over here, especially the little green ones which I suppose best symbolize money--and what's more, my buddies seemed to enjoy it, too:























Lentil Salad with Potatoes, Red Peppers and Shallots
Serves 8 - 10 as a side dish

Ingredients:

- 2 cups green lentils, rinsed
- 4 medium new potatoes, scrubbed and cut into a medium dice
- 1 red bell pepper
- 3 shallots, peeled and sliced into paper-thin half-moons
- 1 lemon
- Red wine vinegar
- Olive oil
- Salt
- Pepper

Preparation:

1. Preheat the oven to 400°. Rub the red pepper with a small amount of oil, place it in a small baking dish, and roast in the oven, turning occasionally, until the skin is blackened and the flesh is soft, about 20 minutes. Remove dish from oven and tent with foil.
2. Meanwhile, cook the lentils. Bring a large pot of salted water to the boil, then add the lentils. Drop to a simmer and cook lentils, stirring occasionally, until they are tender but still al dente, about 20 minutes. Drain and rinse with cold water.
3. Place the diced potatoes in a medium pot and cover with cold water. Add 1/2 tsp. salt. Bring to a boil, drop to a simmer, and cook until potatoes are cooked through but still firm, about 12 - 15 minutes. Drain.
4. When pepper is cool enough to handle, peel off the skin, open it up and discard the seeds and ribs. Slice into thin strips.
5. Combine the lentils, potatoes, red pepper and sliced shallots in a large salad bowl. Add the juice of 1 lemon. Add about 2 tbsp. red wine vinegar and about 4 tbsp. olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Taste the salad and adjust flavorings as necessary: it might need more vinegar, oil, salt or pepper. The salad is best if it sits for a few hours and absorbs the dressing. Before serving, taste again and adjust seasonings as necessary.

Latkes for ten

Well, folks, it's that time of year again: the holiday season is upon us. It's been chilly here in Toulouse, not one but two holiday markets have sprung up, and many of the streets in the center of town have been illuminated with strands of twinkling lights. Oh, yeah: and it snowed the other day. Only for about fifteen minutes, but still, snow is snow.

Hannukah came early this year--it started on the first of December--and as a cultural (read: food-obsessed) Jew, I felt it my duty this season not only to make latkes for myself, but to share them with my friends and roommates, many of whom had never attended a Hannukah celebration before. I'm sure anyone reading this blog knows what latkes are, so I won't take the time to explain them; I will, however, state unequivocally that they are one of my favorite foods. I find latkes incredibly festive: being a somewhat health-conscious cook and eater, it's not often I indulge myself by making fried foods, so when Hannukah rolls around and I fry up some potato pancakes, it really feels to me like a unique occasion, and a special time of year. Even setting aside for a moment the comfort that adhering to tradition brings, these things are just delicious: who doesn't like fried potatoes?

















At home in New York, I usually celebrate Hannukah with my family, and that more or less means that on one of the nights my mom will fry up a large batch of latkes, usually several different varieties, in fact. Classic potato is always on the roster (and despite how good all types of latkes are, plain potato is by far my favorite), and she'll usually whip up some sweet potato latkes, too, as well as zucchini or mixed vegetables. Because I was inviting 10 people over for my Hannukah, as well as making a beef brisket, homemade applesauce and a side salad, I decided to only tackle 2 kinds of latkes this year: the classic potato, as well as a potato/beet mix, in order to pay homage to my current home country. The French love beets and you can find them everywhere (most supermarkets actually sell them precooked in vacuum-sealed packaging, which I don't really find appealing, since beets are so easy to cook anyway). And what's not to love? Beets are earthy and sweet, quite beautiful to look at, and, most importantly for me anyway, ridiculously cheap.

















For me, latkes fit neatly into one of the categories of things I most like to cook, that being things that are fairly simple but also somewhat time consuming. I like cooking projects: give me a free Sunday afternoon and some good music to listen to, and there's few things I'd rather be doing. There's nothing complicated about latke-making, but it does require some elbow grease, both to grate the potatoes as well as to wring them out, in batches, in a kitchen towel (if you're lucky enough to possess a food processor with a grating attachment, as I am, the process is made infinitely easier). The number one most important thing about making latkes, no matter what type of potato you use or which recipe you follow, is that you really squeeze the living daylights out of those potatoes. The more water you get rid of (and the more starch, which will get wrung out along with the water), the crispier the latkes will fry up. And if there's anything you want your latkes to be, it's crispy.

















I also tried a new technique this year that I think may have resulted in my crispiest latkes ever. Trying to get ahead a little on my prep workload yesterday, which was considerable, I grated all the potatoes early in the day and submerged them in ice cold water, then stored them in the fridge until I was ready to wring them out and add the rest of the ingredients. Soaking the potatoes gets rid of even more of the starch. It's a technique I use when making oven french fries, and it worked particularly well in this application, too.

And what did I serve the latkes with? Homemade applesauce, of course, as well as sour cream (or, in this instance, crème fraiche). As I mentioned, I also made a brisket, which I don't even want to get into here because I couldn't find the right cut of beef and the texture left something to be desired, and I also made a cooling salad of grated carrots and fennel. Alongside such a rich food like latkes, it's important to have something light to cut through the oiliness, and this salad did the trick nicely. There's three nights of Hannukah left; go ahead and try it!


















Classic Potato Latkes
Serves 6

Ingredients:

- 6 medium russet (baking) potatoes, peeled
- 1 medium white or yellow onion
- 2 tbsp. all-purpose flour
- 1/2 tsp. baking powder
- 2 eggs, lightly beaten
- Salt
- Pepper
- Vegetable or canola oil, for frying

Preparation:

1. Using the medium holes of a box grater, or the grater attachment of a food processor, grate the potatoes. If making ahead, place grated potatoes in a large bowl or pot and cover with cold water; store in the fridge until ready to proceed.
2. Grate the onion on the smaller holes of a box grater, or on the grater attachment of a food processor. Using your hands, squeeze out some but not all of the excess onion juice.
3. Drain the potatoes and squeeze out some of the water using your hands. Then transfer half the potatoes to a clean kitchen towel, roll it up tightly, and squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Repeat with other half of potatoes. Transfer potatoes to a large mixing bowl and add the grated onion.
4. Add the eggs, the flour, the baking powder and a lot of salt and pepper. Mix well (hands work best for this).
5. Heat a large, heavy-bottomed skillet (ideally cast iron) over a medium flame. Add 1/2 inch of oil.
6. When oil is hot, drop about 2 tablespoons of mixture for each latke to the pan and fry, turning once. Keep oil hot but not hot enough to burn, and add more oil as needed with each subsequent batch.
7. When latkes are well-browned on both sides (about 6 minutes total), drain on layers of paper towel. If not eating immediately, transfer to a cookie sheet and keep in a warm oven. Serve latkes with sour cream and applesauce.


Potato-Beet Latkes
Serves 6

Ingredients:

- 4 medium russet (baking) potatoes, peeled
- 1 small beet, peeled
- 1 small white or yellow onion
- 2 tbsp. all-purpose flour
- 1/2 tsp. baking powder
- 2 eggs, lightly beaten
- Salt
- Pepper
- Vegetable or canola oil, for frying

Preparation:

1. Using the medium holes of a box grater, or the grater attachment of a food processor, grate the potatoes. If making ahead, place grated potatoes in a large bowl or pot and cover with cold water; store in the fridge until ready to proceed.
2. Using the medium holes of a box grater, or the grater attachment of a food processor, grate the beet. Transfer to a clean kitchen towel, roll up tightly and squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Set aside.
3. Grate the onion on the smaller holes of a box grater, or on the grater attachment of a food processor. Using your hands, squeeze out some but not all of the excess onion juice.
4. Drain the potatoes and squeeze out some of the water using your hands. Then transfer the potatoes to a clean kitchen towel, roll it up tightly, and squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Transfer potatoes to a large mixing bowl and add the grated beets and onion.
4. Add the eggs, the flour, the baking powder and a lot of salt and pepper. Mix well (hands work best for this).
5. Heat a large, heavy-bottomed skillet (ideally cast iron) over a medium flame. Add 1/2 inch of oil.
6. When oil is hot, drop about 2 tablespoons of mixture for each latke to the pan and fry, turning once. Keep oil hot but not hot enough to burn, and add more oil as needed with each subsequent batch.
7. When latkes are well-browned on both sides (about 6 minutes total), drain on layers of paper towel. If not eating immediately, transfer to a cookie sheet and keep in a warm oven. Serve latkes with sour cream and applesauce.


Carrot and Fennel Slaw with Cumin-Honey Dressing
Serves 6


















Ingredients:

- 4 large carrots, peeled
- 1 large bulb of fennel, trimmed and core removed
- 3 tbsp. olive oil
- Juice of 1 lemon
- 2 tbsp. honey
- 1 tsp. ground cumin
- Salt
- Pepper
- 3 tbsp. chopped fresh parsley or chopped fresh cilantro

Preparation:

1. Using the medium holes of a box grater, or the grater attachment of a food processor, grate the carrots and the fennel. Transfer to a clean kitchen towel, roll it up tightly, and squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Transfer to a large serving bowl.
2. Place dressing ingredients in a jar, screw on the top and shake vigorously. Check for seasoning. Dress slaw, tossing lightly. If possible make 1 hour in advance and keep in fridge until ready to serve.
3. Garnish slaw with chopped parsley or cilantro and serve.


Homemade Applesauce
Makes about 2 cups

Ingredients:

- 6 medium apples of any variety, peeled and cut into a small dice
- 2 tbsp. sugar
- 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
- 1 small segment of fresh lemon peel
- Water

Preparation:

1. Place the apples, sugar, cinnamon, and lemon peel in a small heavy-bottomed saucepan. Add about 3 tbsp. of water and stir.
2. Cook slowly over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally and adding more water as needed. Cook until apples are soft and broken down, about 20 minutes. If you want a smoother texture, you can break up the apples with the back of a spoon or purée briefly in a food processor.

A meal fit for the Joads

I've been thinking, lately, about bacon. Thinking about it a lot. Or, I should say, somewhat more than is usual, since it's not exactly rare that I have bacon on the brain. Why the pork dreams, you ask? Well, I've been re-reading John Steinbeck's masterpiece The Grapes of Wrath, a book that sits high atop the American literary canon, peering down and perhaps sneering just a little bit at all the books stacked up below--and deservedly so. I think I first read the book in seventh grade, and it certainly made an impression on me at the time. I don't think, however, that as a child I could truly understand and empathize with the crushing plight of its central family, the Joads, nor could I really appreciate the flawlessness and innovation of Steinbeck's prose. In short, I'm glad I made the decision to pick up the book again (and you should, too!)

But I'm getting off track--let's get back to the bacon. You see, in The Grapes of Wrath, the rise and fall of the Joads' fortunes can be reliably tracked by one thing: whether or not they have "side meat" sputtering away on the stove. In one of the early scenes of the book, when prodigal son Tom returns home from prison, he finds Ma in the kitchen in a classic scene of domestic tranquility, removing "high brown biscuits" from the oven and "curling slices of pork" from the pan. The book, here, carefully constructs for us a whole, complete picture of family life that is about to be torn down, shattered, trampled and spat upon by the powers that be, or Big Business. The bacon is just one of the things that assure the Joads they are safe, at home, together. But it's a persistent image. All throughout the rest of the book, Ma, Pa, Tom and Al all bring up side meat--repeatedly. As soon as they've got some coins in their pockets or even some credit at the rapacious company stores--they're spending it on side meat. When they're all out, things are bad. But when there's some bacon frying in the pan, it's a small victory; the sound and smell of the crackling pork, and the nourishment it brings, reminding them that they are still human, that they're still a family unit.

Now, bacon doesn't hold the same resonance for me, but it sure is darn delicious. And the Joads' constant yearning for it definitely got me hungry. That's when I put down my book, put on my coat, and strolled down the street to Jubilat Provisions, a Polish-owned meat shop that bursts at the seams with a seemingly endless variety of house-made kielbasa and other sausages, as well as various types of patés, smoked and cured meats, fresh Polish baked goods and jars and cans of imported delicacies of every stripe (it's one of my favorite food stores ever. Do yourself a favor and check it out the next time you're having a BBQ). And one of the best items in the house is the thick-cut, double-smoked bacon. I picked up a little less than a pound, using it first in an Austrian potato strudel that my friend Patricia and I brought to a potluck over the weekend, then, of course, crisped up in a pan for breakfast, and when I still had some left over, I thought of the Joads. Although they're not southerners, they eat (when they can manage to) what I think of as soul food: biscuits. Pie. Warming stews. Lots of things fried up in grease in a cast-iron pan. As it happened, my mom had made Southern-Style Barbecued Pulled Pork, and had given me some of the leftovers. So I had that component down. There's not much that goes better with pulled pork than good old fashioned collards do, and that's when I figured out how to use up my bacon. Finally, I wanted something sweet and starchy, but less heavy than cornbread, something that would fry up nice in my iron pan: I found a recipe for a type of corn griddle cake and worked from there. The resulting meal that I sat down to was warm and comforting, with sweet, soft meat; melting, smokey greens; and crisp, nutty, savory corn cakes. This plate's for you, Joads.



















Traditional Southern Collard Greens
Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 large bunches collard greens, washed, with tough stems removed
4 slices of bacon, cut into a small dice
Half an onion, sliced very thinly
2 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
Salt
Pepper

Preparation:

1. In a deep, heavy-bottomed, medium-sized pot, heat the bacon over a medium flame until it starts to sizzle and render its fat, about 3 - 4 minutes. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is tender and translucent.
2. Take several leaves of greens, roll them into a tight bundle, and slice them into long ribbons of medium thickness, adding them to the pot and stirring as you go. Repeat, in batches, with remaining greens. Season greens with salt and pepper, add about 1/2 cup water, and cover the pot. Drop the heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally and adding more water if necessary, until greens are very soft but not mushy, about 35 - 40 minutes.
3. When greens are done, shut off the heat and add the apple cider vinegar. Taste for seasoning and serve.


Corn Griddle Cakes
Adapted from epicurious.com
Makes 12 - 15 cakes

Ingredients:

1 cup yellow cornmeal
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. pepper
2 tsp. sugar
2 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus more for brushing the griddle
1 large egg
1 cup buttermilk (or sour 1 cup milk with 1 tsp. white vinegar or lemon juice)
1 cup thawed frozen corn kernels

Preparation:

1. In a medium-sized bowl whisk together the dry ingredients (cornmeal, flour, salt, baking soda, baking powder, pepper, and sugar).
2. In a small bowl whisk together the buttermilk, egg, and melted butter.
3. Add the wet ingredients to the dry, stirring to combine (don't worry about a few lumps). Stir in the corn kernels.
4. Drop the batter into a buttered cast-iron skillet set over medium heat, dropping about 1/4 cup batter at a time. Cakes will be about 3 - 4 inches across. Cook until browned and crisp, about 3 minutes per side. Repeat with remaining batter.

*Note: these cakes can be eaten savory or sweet. They were delicious with my Southern dinner and equally so the next morning reheated with additional butter and drizzled with maple syrup.

What I made with what I grew

Summer may be winding down, but my container garden is in full swing. This year I planted all hot-weather plants--tomatoes, bell pepper, zucchini and eggplant--and each one is loving this August heat. The tomatoes I've harvested have been the best-tasting I've eaten in a long time; the eggplant is tender and delicate in flavor and, best of all, extremely prolific; but the zucchini hold a special place in my esteem because they found their way into one of the freshest, easiest and most delicious summer side dishes I've made.

But first things first. To set the scene, let me show you a photo of what the zucchini looks like growing on the plant:


















When I harvested the first fruit, I didn't quite know what to do with it. The zucchini was small, so I didn't really want to cook it down; that would cause it to lose all its bulk. I decided, first of all, to leave it raw; I assumed that, owing to its diminutive size, it would be sweeter, in this state, than most market zucchini. When I spied a container of Greek-style yogurt in my refrigerator, I had it: a zucchini-yogurt salad. I make this dish all the time with cucumbers, adding lemon juice and salt and not much else, and I wagered that it would be even more delicious with my fresh, home-grown zucchini. But just to make sure, I took one extra step: I salted the zucchini judiciously ahead of time, then drained off the water that accumulated in the bowl. This process, traditionally used on eggplant to remove its bitter juices, accomplished the same feat with the zucchini and, moreover, rendered it a bit more pliable and "cooked"-seeming than it would have had I skipped that step. Slicked with cold, creamy yogurt and pepped up with a few slices of raw onion, plus a scant handful of chopped fresh oregano, this zucchini salad was the perfect antidote to the type of hot, sweaty summer day that (ordinarily) causes me to lose my appetite.



















Zucchini Yogurt Salad
Serves 2

Ingredients:

2 small green zucchini
Half a small white or yellow onion
1/2 cup plain Greek-style yogurt
Juice of 1 lemon
1 tbsp. chopped fresh oregano
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method:

1. Slice the zucchini into ribbons that are about 1/8" thick. Use whatever method is easiest for you: I sliced the zucchini lengthwise, creating a flat surface, then lay the halves down and sliced each portion crosswise into thin strips.
2. Place the ribbons in a bowl and then salt them generously, with about 1 tsp. kosher salt. Chill the bowl in the refrigerator until the zucchini has given off a fair amount of liquid, about 15 - 20 minutes. Remove the bowl from the fridge and drain the zucchini well. (Drain--not rinse. You'll want the remaining salt as seasoning.)
3. Slice the onion into thin half moons. Break up the strips of onion and add them to the bowl.
4. Add the yogurt to the bowl, then squeeze the lemon over. Season with pepper and, if needed, salt, add the chopped oregano, and mix well. Taste for seasoning. The salad is best served very cold; if necessary, place the bowl in the fridge for a few minutes to chill everything down.

Edible Brooklyn

It's been too long since I've written on here, and you know what's to blame? Spring. It arrived in full force about 2 weeks ago--around the same time I made my last blog post--and I've tried to be outside as much as possible since. I'm blessed to have a deck that's about the size of my tiny apartment, effectively doubling my living space once warm weather comes to town. I'm taking full advantage of my own private urban oasis by growing a variety of flowers, herbs and vegetables in containers.

I've always enjoyed gardening. As dorky as that sounds to say, the hobby fits right in with my other domestic inclinations like cooking, baking and thrift/dollar store shopping; I guess I'm just an old Jewish grandmother at heart, huh? Anyway, when I was growing up in Brooklyn Heights my parents had a similarly beautiful and peaceful deck, and from the time I was small I loved the springtime ritual of shopping for flower seedlings and transplanting them into their summer homes with my father. My dad was the master gardener of the house and took on this task every year; he still does, and the result is without fail a lush, green, cool and colorful little corner hidden away above the hot Brooklyn pavement. And so although I would occasionally lay claim to a pot or two in which to plant my own tomatoes or herbs, I pretty much left the green thumb-ing to my dad (as did my mom, who sometimes seems to possess whatever would the opposite of a green thumb--a brown thumb?) (Hi, Mom!)

Well this spring, things have changed. Now that I have an outdoor space all my own, I've gone crazy for gardening. I've lined the deck with planters full of petunias and pansies. I've sown nasturtium, zinnia and poppy seeds, and I'm patiently waiting for the flowers to mature. But what I'm most into are the edibles that I've planted. An herb box contains fresh parsley, lavender, thyme and cilantro; next to that is a pot of basil; and finally another mini-planter that holds chives and Greek oregano. They're thriving; take a look:
















Left to right: cilantro; lemon thyme; lavender; parsley

















Basil
















Chives, Greek oregano

I don't think I need to tell you how drastically the constant availability of fresh herbs improves my cooking, but I will. Having these plants around makes me want to make fresh, flavorful, summer-appropriate food that will showcase their bright tastes. It's easier to cook off-the-cuff, because so many of the ingredients that I previously would have had to shop for are right there for the taking. And my food tastes better because I'm layering in many more flavors than I sometimes manage to during the cold, flat winter months. It's a sweet deal all around, really. Here are just of the few of the things I've made with my bounty:
















Guacamole

















Caprese salad

















Cheese ravioli dressed with a puree of olive oil, garlic, thyme, parsley and chives

















(The makings of) pico de gallo


Stay tuned for updates on my garden (which also includes tomato, bell pepper, Japanese eggplant and zucchini plants not yet ready for their close-ups)--and for more of the dishes it's inspired.

Five ingredients or less

It's amazing how much you can coax out of only a few ingredients. There are certain staples in cooking that bring so much to recipes with only the barest minimum of effort--especially when used in conjunction with each other. For me, some of the first few that come to mind are as follows: olive oil, canned tomatoes, chicken stock, and wine. Looking back over the recipes that I've posted on this site, it's remarkable just how many of them call for those very ingredients. It makes sense. For one, they're super convenient: canned tomatoes are cheap and available everywhere; the same goes for canned chicken stock (yes, I do like to make my own, but because I freeze it in large quantities I like to use canned stock when I don't want to have to plan ahead by thawing my homemade broth). Olive oil and wine, while not always cheap, are constants in my kitchen regardless: for both, a little goes a long way. And, after all, what is life without olive oil and wine? Those two ingredients all but gave rise to empires in certain parts of the world. Additionally, these four staples pack so much in the way of good flavor that it's nearly impossible not to be a good cook when utilizing them.

I was recently struck by the perfect alchemy that olive oil, canned tomatoes, chicken stock and wine create in the pot when I prepared a dead-simple lamb dish that didn't call for much else. Those five ingredients--plus, OK, some chopped garlic, a scant bit of flour, a pinch of dried herbs and salt and pepper--simmered together to produce a rich, smooth, nuanced final dish that wouldn't find itself out of place on a restaurant table. I'm not trying to toot my own horn here--it's just that I am definitively a home cook, someone who employs relatively simple ingredients and cooking techniques and favors intuitive, low-stress recipes. I'm not often one to slave over a hot stove, chopping this and blanching that and transferring things to ice baths. What I'm trying to express is that somehow, almost magically, even a no-fuss, get-to-the-point cook like me can create luscious, distinctive, noteworthy dishes just by choosing the right ingredient combinations.

The ingredients that I listed above do particularly well by long, slow cooking preparations. Olive oil provides the opportunity to infuse your whole dish with the taste of whatever you choose to cook in that first slick of fat on the pan; wine gives up its alcoholic and acidic bite in a puff of steam; tomatoes soften, sweeten and start to break down; stock concentrates and becomes richer and fuller-tasting. When all of these processes occur in one pan, the result is hard to argue with: big, powerful, noticeable. And what did you have to do, really, besides open a few cans?

The dish I created recently was designed to showcase a somewhat unusual and not highly desired cut of lamb, the shoulder. What makes it undesirable? It's somewhat inconvenient. It has a bone. It has gristle. It has fat. You can't just cube it up, shove it on a skewer and onto a hot grill, like you can with a leg of lamb, and expect it to taste good. No. Instead, you have to gently encourage it to give up it succulence. You have to coddle it, in a warm bath of flavored liquid, until it relaxes. You have to braise it. This way, the connective tissue in this part of the lamb will break down, becoming meltingly soft and also releasing gelatin, which will the thicken the sauce that surrounds it with that sticky, cling-to-your-lips goodness that meat has (sorry, vegetarians: a bell pepper just doesn't have the same effect). What's the virtue of the lamb shoulder? It's cheap. Really cheap. The particular lamb shoulder chops I cooked were given to me for free at work, so I don't know the exact price, but I've often purchased them at my local grocery store for a pittance. Also, lamb shoulder has a lot of flavor. Like other tough cuts of meat, it's packed full of it. Think of a filet mignon: soft as butter, yet with almost less flavor. Then think of, say, a shank bone, like the kind you use in osso bucco: it's tough and you have to braise it for hours, but when you do, you'll enjoy a robust, full-pitch piece of meat as your reward.

This recipe started with two bone-in lamb shoulder chops. Taking a cue from osso bucco, I seasoned them and then dredged them in flour before I browned them in olive oil. This step ensures uniform browning on the meat, and the starch from the flour will help thicken the sauce that is later created in the pan. After I removed the lamb from the pan, I sauteed a generous amount of chopped garlic in its residual fat, then deglazed the pan with red wine. After the alcohol cooked off I added some hand-crushed canned plum tomatoes and some of their juices, transferred the lamb chops back to the pan, and then added enough chicken stock to almost cover the lamb. Simmered together for about an hour (the chops are thin and don't need much more time than that), the five ingredients in the pan united in a common cause of savory richness that found its home atop a mound of sweet, fluffy potatoes mashed with celery root.


















Lamb Shoulder Chops Braised in Tomatoes and Red Wine
Serves 2

1. Set a large, wide, heavy-bottomed pan over medium heat and add 2 tbsp. of olive oil.
2. While waiting for the oil to heat, season both sides of two bone-in lamb shoulder chops with salt and freshly ground black pepper. On a large plate, dredge the chops in all-purpose flour, shaking off the excess.
3. Add the lamb chops to the pan and cook for about 4 minutes per side, until the lamb is nicely browned. Remove to a plate and set aside.
4. Add 3 - 4 cloves of chopped garlic to the pan, along with about 1 tsp. dried herbs de provence or similar dried herbs (such as rosemary or thyme). Cook, stirring, until garlic just starts to brown, then deglaze pan with about 1/2 cup of dry red wine.
5. After alcohol has evaporated, add about 5 - 6 canned peeled plum tomatoes, crushing them by hand as you add them to the pan. Add about 1/2 cup of the tomato juices to the pan, stirring to incorporate. Place the chops back in the pan, then add enough canned low-sodium chicken broth (or homemade) to almost cover the chops.
6. Reduce heat to medium-low and allow chops to simmer, covered, for 1 to 1-1/2 hours. When the meat is done, it will be tender enough to pull from the bone with a fork, and the liquid in the pan will have reduced to a thick sauce. Check sauce for seasoning and adjust to taste.
7. Serve warm, one lamb chop per person, over mashed potatoes, orzo, or a grain such as couscous, farro or bulgur. Garnish with chopped fresh parsley and some grated lemon zest, if desired.

Celery Root Mashed Potatoes
Serves 4

1. Peel 1.5 lbs of baking potatoes, such as Idaho or Russets, and cut into a large dice. Place in a medium saucepan filled with cold water.
2. Peel a .5 lb celery root (also known as celeriac) and cut it into a small dice. Add to the pan.
3. Cover the pan and set it over high heat. When the water comes to a boil, uncover the pan, drop the heat to medium-low, and cook at a low boil until potatoes and celery root are tender, about 12 - 15 minutes. Drain potatoes and celery root and then return to the pot.
4. Add a few tablespoons of milk (preferably not nonfat) to the pot, along with 2 tbsp. of butter. Cover pot briefly to heat milk and melt butter. Uncover and mash the mixture until it is mostly smooth with some chunks remaining. Add a generous amount of salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.

More Chinese food

A few months ago, I read the excellent food memoir by British author Fuchsia Dunlop entitled Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper. In the book, Dunlop, who by now has made a career of eating her way through China and writing about what she finds, goes back to the beginning of her story, relating how she first landed in the country and how--by ducking into noodle shops, flagging down street food vendors and inviting herself into the kitchens of local restaurants--she discovered her true calling. Dunlop has traveled all over China and has written magazine articles and cookbooks describing the cuisines of many of the country's diverse regions, yet the one location that she considers her true home abroad is the Sichuan (or Szechuan) province. It is while living in its capital, Chengdu, that she truly falls for Chinese food, characterized, in that region, by prodigious use of spicy, warming ingredients such as Szechuan peppercorns and chiles of all varieties. Though I had some prior knowledge and appreciation of Sichuan cuisine (a restaurant called Szechuan Gourmet is one of my favorites in New York), reading Dunlop's impassioned and evocative descriptions of the local fare left me completely tantalized--and wanting more. I didn't just want to eat Sichuan food; I wanted to cook it myself. Luckily, Dunlop is also the author of an incredibly comprehensive, highly regarded and easy-to-follow compendium of Sichuan cuisine entitled Land of Plenty. Minutes after finishing Dunlop's memoir, I was online ordering her cookbook.

While I waited for it to arrive, I set out to obtain all the sauces, seasonings and ingredients I would need to prepare the recipes. Though Sichuan cuisine is best known for its numbing peppercorns, fiery chiles and hot, deep red oils, the style of cooking relies on several more key ingredients in order to achieve the incredible fullness and depth of flavor that characterizes true Sichuan food. In order to stock my pantry, I ventured into Brooklyn Chinatown (one of my favorite places in the city to explore) and picked up Szechuan peppercorns, dried red "Heaven-facing" chiles, fermented black beans, light and dark soy sauces, toasted sesame oil, Chinese sesame paste, Chinkiang vinegar, Shaoxing rice wine, Sichuan chili bean paste, pickled chili paste, Tianjin preserved vegetables, potato starch and dried star anise. All cited by Dunlop as key ingredients in Sichuan cuisine, the items in this haul cost me about $17 total. Now I was ready to cook.

So far I've tried two recipes from Land of Plenty, and both have been extremely quick and easy, with delicious results. The first was Dry-Fried Green Beans. In this dish, trimmed green beans are fried in hot oil until slightly browned and softened, then removed from the pan and set aside. In the same pan, you then stir-fry ground pork with a small amount of garlicky, gingery preserved vegetables and a bit of soy sauce. Once the pork is cooked through, the beans are added back to the pan, and the whole dish is finished with a drizzle of sesame oil. That's it. The whole thing takes about 10 minutes to prepare, and is lip-smackingly good. I first prepared this for dinner with Gideon while he was in town, and a few days later made the same dish for lunch for myself, using broccolini in place of the green beans and eating it over white rice--authentic, no, but delicious, yes. Here are the green beans from that first go-around:

















The second dish I made from the cookbook was Gong Bao, aka Kung Pao, Chicken. An iconic Sichuan dish that combines a thick, sweet and sour sauce with spicy Szechuan peppercorns and dried chiles and adds the salty crunch of peanuts for good measure, Gong Bao chicken is a Chinese takeout staple but is very simple (and cheap!) to prepare at home. You start by marinating cubed chicken breasts in soy sauce, rice wine and potato starch, thereby "velveting" the chicken, a technique that ensures tender, juicy meat and also aids in thickening the final dish due to the inclusion of starch. As the chicken marinates, you stir together a sauce of sugar, more potato starch, soy sauce, vinegar, and sesame oil and set it aside. When you're ready to cook, you heat the peppercorns and chiles in oil, toss in the chicken and its marinade, add chopped garlic, ginger and scallions and stir-fry until the chicken is cooked through. Finally, you pour in the sauce, which, as it hits the heat, turns beautifully glossy and thick. Toss in a handful of peanuts, serve over hot, sticky white rice, and you've got a meal that's bound to impress your friends as much as it did mine--in this case my roommate and her boyfriend:

















Because I think it's only fair to adhere to copyright law, and because I really think Land of Plenty is a book worth purchasing, I can't include Dunlop's exact recipes here on the blog. However, I urge you to buy the cookbook--or at least check it out from your local library. If you like Chinese food even a little bit, you won't be disappointed--and, moreover, you'll probably learn a lot.

Irish eyes are smiling

Being that there is nary a drop of Irish blood in my Eastern European Jewish body, I don't make a habit of celebrating St. Patrick's Day (well, save for the fact that March 17th also happens to be the birth date of my longtime friend and fellow snacker--and, I might add, Jew--Gideon). But because traditional holidays are a great excuse to indulge in national cuisines, I decided some time ago that I couldn't let another St. Patty's Day pass without making colcannon. As Wikipedia dutifully informs us, colcannon is a mix of mashed potatoes and shredded, cooked cabbage or kale. In its most basic permutation, the potatoes are mashed with just salt and pepper, and combined with simply steamed greens. More elaborate preparations call for a touch of milk or butter (or both) in the potatoes, and for the greens to be sauteed--possibly with a small amount of bacon or ham--before joining the potatoes in the pot. Whichever way you choose to make it, colcannon is a hearty, filling side dish that's perfect for the winter months--or for providing a solid base for pints of green beer, if that's your style.

I had never made colcannon before tonight, but, as you can see from the above description of the dish, it's dead simple. After browsing through a few "recipes" online--it's more of a method, really--I settled on a slightly more detailed version. I enriched my mashed potatoes with a small amount of scalded milk, and I also sauteed the strips of kale with some butter and a few slices of green onion (you can use any type of onion you want; I happened to have the green ones lying around, and I needed to use them up. Alternatively, some chives snipped into the finished dish would provide a nice allium flavor). From start to finish, the colcannon took about 20 minutes and required almost no effort. Piled high next to two burnished sausages (what's more Irish than potatoes and sausage?), I'd say it made a meal fit for Patrick himself.

















Colcannon with Kale
Serves 4

1. Peel and quarter 2 lbs. of starchy potatoes, such as Idaho or Russets, and place in a medium pot. Fill pot with cold water, covering pototoes by about an inch. Set the pot on the stove over a high flame, cover it, and allow it to come to a boil. Drop the heat down to medium, uncover pot, and allow potatoes to cook at a low boil until they are just tender when pierced with a knife, about 10-12 minutes.
2. While potatoes are cooking, strip the leaves of one medium-sized bunch of kale, discarding the tough stems. You should have about 2 cups of kale leaves. Place the kale in a steamer set over simmering water, cover, and cook until kale is tender but still bright green, about 6 minutes. Remove steamer to the sink and rinse the kale in cold water. Drain well.
3. Squeeze all excess liquid from kale and transfer it to a cutting board. Cut it into wide strips.
4. In a medium, heavy-bottomed skillet, heat 3 tbsp. of butter over a medium flame. Add 6 green onions, white parts only, sliced, or 1/4 cup diced white or yellow onion. Cook until slightly wilted, about 4 minutes, then add sliced kale. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about 4 more minutes.
5. Drain potatoes and return to hot pot. Add 1/2 cup of milk, preferably not nonfat, and cover pot to allow milk to heat up. Uncover pot, season heavily with salt and pepper, and mash potatoes coarsely, leaving some chunks. Add sauteed kale and mix well. Add two small pats of butter, mix, and taste for seasoning, adding more salt or pepper if neccessary. Serve hot.

O give me a home...

Working--even just interning--at a food magazine has its perks. So far, at Food & Wine, I've gotten to sample (and take home for dinner later) countless numbers of delicacies that the test kitchen turns out daily; I've picked up a bunch of loot (a set of drinking glasses; some delicately painted Japanese plates) that the magazine had to give away when its offices changed floors; upwards of 15 bottles of wine. Not too shabby, right? Yet another perk concerns the large quantity of product samples that various food producers send to the editors to test out. Often there is far too much food for just one person, so an editor will share the wealth among the staff, asking only for our opinions in return. Last week, one of the editors received a large shipment of buffalo (or bison) meat products, and passed along both a package of sausage and a tenderloin to me. I was more than happy to put them to use in my kitchen.

I've eaten buffalo a number of times; my dad really likes it, and often uses the ground meat to make burgers. It's leaner than most cuts of beef, and, to my taste, has a more intense flavor--possibly because it's not churned out in the massive quantities that beef is today. I'd only ever eaten it in the aforementioned burgers, though, so I was eager to see how it held up in other applications. With the sausage meat, I mixed up a meatball-type stuffing with egg and breadcrumbs and packed it into halved tomatoes and zucchini for stuffed vegetables (tasted delicious but photographed poorly; otherwise I'd share). For the tenderloin, I threw together a marinade of soy sauce, sesame oil, Chinese cooking wine and red pepper flakes, then tossed the meat into a smoking hot cast-iron skillet, cooking it until it was just medium rare, about 3 minutes per side. I let it rest for a few minutes, and then sliced it into thin strips. The meat was incredibly tender--buttery would be a good descriptor--and had taken on the marinade really well; it was salty, smoky and spicy. I served it up with a quick Asian slaw of carrot, daikon radish, red pepper green onions and cilantro; cool and crisp, it was the perfect counterpoint the the warm, savory buffalo slices.



















Asian Vegetable Slaw
Serves 2 - 3

1. Peel and trim 1 large carrot and 1 large daikon radish. Cut the vegetables lengthwise into thin planks and then cut them again, into thin matchsticks. Place in a bowl. Remove the seeds from 1 large red bell pepper and cut it to match the carrot and daikon strips. Add to bowl.
2. Slice 4 - 5 green onions (white and green parts) thinly. Add to bowl.
2. Dress the slaw with 2 tsp. sesame oil, 2 tsp. light soy sauce, and 2 tsp. rice wine vinegar. Taste and adjust seasonings.
3. Chop about 1/2 cup washed cilantro and mix it into the slaw. Place in refrigerator and allow to chill for about 15 minutes, then serve.

Caponatatouille

As is customary, in the late afternoon hours, my thoughts today drifted toward what I might put on my dinner plate later in the evening. Thanks to my cushy new job at Food & Wine magazine--my office is located around the corner from the test kitchen--I've been eating abundantly, and well. As a result, I've been craving loads of vegetables for dinner, lately--you know, to sort of cancel out all the fried chicken, coconut cream pie and various bacon-wrapped items that I consume during the day. Last night, for example, I ate a plate of lentils (like the one in the post below) followed by a light and refreshing endive, apple and walnut salad. Anyway, back to this afternoon. Thinking about my dinner, a vision of an eggplant--smooth, dark purple and shiny--popped suddenly into my head. I wanted to cook it, but how? Roast it whole until the flesh turned creamy, then mash it up with some tahini to make baba ghanoush? Grill some slices and then top them with herbs and goat cheese, as a sort of light version of eggplant parmesan? Either of those options would have been satisfying, but no--I realized that what I wanted was caponata, that Italian specialty of sweet, salty, tangy eggplant that gets its bite from olives and capers. But no, wait--maybe I wanted ratatouille, that rustic French combination of soft eggplant, zucchini, bell pepper and tomato: spicier and lustier than its cousin across the Alps.

I couldn't choose--and then I realized that I didn't have to. Instead, I made a relatively straightforward ratatouille which I finished with the traditional caponata flavorings of olives, capers and vinegar. I got the best of both worlds in this dish: the sweet/sour tang that the combination of slow-cooked onions and vinegar lends to a caponata, as well as the warm, earthy mellowness with which bell peppers and tomatoes infuse a ratatouille. Call me a flip-flopper; I don't mind. Isn't the adapting and blending of traditions what cooking is all about?

Oh, and I almost forgot: I happened to enjoy a nice, rare, sliced sirloin steak alongside my dish. It was delicious, especially when eaten with a little forkful of the vegetables on top. But, as you can clearly see, it took a backseat to the eggplant.


















Warm Mediterranean Vegetables (Ratatouille/Caponata)
Serves 4

1. Preheat the oven to 375°.
2. Cut 1 small eggplant, 1 large zucchini, and 1 large red bell pepper into medium-sized chunks. Place them on a rimmed baking sheet and toss them with olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast in the oven, stirring occasionally, until they are browned and quite soft, about 20 minutes. Shut off the oven.
3. Over a medium flame, heat about 2 tbsp. of olive oil in a large, deep, heavy-bottomed pan. Add 1 large red onion, cut into a medium dice, and some salt. About 2 minutes later, add 3 cloves of garlic, chopped. Cook, stirring, until onions are soft and sweet, about 10 minutes.
4. Add 3 - 4 ripe plum tomatoes, cut into medium-sized chunks, to the pan. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes have released some of their liquid and begun to break down. Add the roasted vegetables, cover the pan partially, and reduce the heat to low. Cook until the vegetables are completely soft, about 5 - 10 more minutes.
5. Shut off the heat and add a small handful of olives, pitted and chopped, as well as a small handful of capers, rinsed and drained. Add about a tbsp. of red wine vinegar, stir to combine, and check for seasoning, adding more salt, pepper and vinegar as needed. Garnish with chopped fresh parsley.

Sometimes simple is best

I've been doing a lot of cooking lately, but not a lot of blog posting, and it's because my style of cooking is often not very photogenic. I'm a big fan of straightforward, uncomplicated recipes that heighten the flavors of their ingredients, allowing them to shine through and not obfuscating them under layers of butter, oil or heavy seasoning. So many times when I throw together these modest, unembellished but nevertheless delicious meals, I look at them and decide not to take a photo or write about them--rather, I just enjoy them. But I thought I'd make an exception tonight and share what I ate for dinner: a plateful of lentils. Pure and simple lentils, sauteed with aromatics and cooked in chicken broth, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, sprinkled with salt and much freshly ground black pepper. Okay, okay, so I did have a green salad on the side, but that was just the icing on the cake--so to speak.

















Simple Stewed Lentils
Serves 4

1. Place 2 tbsp. of olive oil in a deep, heavy-bottomed pan set over medium heat. Add one small carrot, peeled and finely diced; one rib of celery, finely diced; and 1/2 a large onion, finely chopped. Season with salt and pepper and sweat the vegetables for about 5 minutes.
2. Add some dried thyme and red pepper flakes, to taste, to the vegetables in the pan. Add 1 cup of small brown, yellow or green lentils, rinsed, and cook them briefly before adding 2 cups of chicken broth. Cover the pan and raise the heat. When the broth begins to boil, drop the heat down to low and simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes, until lentils have absorbed almost all of the liquid and are cooked through but still firm. Serve, as is or over rice, garnished with olive oil, a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, salt, freshly ground black papper and chopped fresh parsley.

Happy birthday to me

It was my birthday on Friday and to celebrate I did what most any foodie would do: cooked a meal for about 15 people. Sounds stressful, right? Well, it wasn't. When planning my party I tried to come up with some food options that would be cheap, easy and plentiful enough to feed a crowd. Suddenly I hit upon a winning idea: slow-roasted pork shoulder, also known as pork butt (how appealing). Since I've moved to my neighborhood of south Park Slope, I've been intending to take better advantage of the many Latin American ingredients available in the supermarkets around here: things like fresh cactus, a variety of fresh and dried chiles, and, most prominently, pork--in all its shapes, sizes and cuts. I'm talking trotters, pork kidneys, pork ribs, and, yes, pork shoulder. Because I don't tend to follow recipes, though, I also tend not to purchase ingredients that are unfamiliar to me, because I don't have an instinct for how to cook them. But I decided that my birthday would be the perfect occasion to break this bad habit, so I went whole-hog (ha, ha), buying a 10-pound pork shoulder and preparing it in the Puerto Rican style called pernil.

Pork shoulder is a tough cut of meat that becomes tender and succulent after many hours of low-temperature cooking, like braising on the stovetop or roasting in the oven. Because it's not a very "desirable" piece of meat, it's also very inexpensive--I got it at my local Met supermarket for $1/lb. A dollar a pound! Do the math and you'll see that that means that I fed more than 15 people for about $10. Not bad.

To learn how to prepare the pernil I looked at a number of recipes online and eventually settled on Mark Bittman's version. A New York Jew is perhaps not the most authentic source for a Puerto Rican recipe, but his method was the most simple and, after all, I didn't want to be stressed on my own birthday. The basic preparation is as follows. A day before you intend to cook the pernil, score its layer of fat and rub the whole thing with a strongly-flavored marinade made of chopped onions, garlic, cumin and chile powder. Wrap the meat in plastic wrap and set it in the fridge. When you wake up the next morning, turn your oven to 300° and put the pork in. Then you can basically forget all about it. Other than turning the pan every hour or so and making sure that the fat isn't burning--and covering the roast with tin foil if it is--you don't have to do anything but sit back and enjoy the intoxicatingly porky aromas that will fill your apartment, and, odds are, your entire apartment building. Around dinner time, remove the pork from the oven and let it rest for about 15 minutes. Then you can simply shred the meat into long, tender strands with a fork--it falls apart completely.

Pernil would be excellent served alongside rice and beans and a salad (to cut the richness of the fatty meat), but to keep things simple I chose to serve mine with two easy salsas: a basic tomato pico de gallo and a corn and black bean salsa (special thanks to Willy for his cilantro-chopping skills). With some warm corn tortillas on the side, it was a filling, satisfying meal that was perfect for the occasion.















































































Pernil
Adapted from nytimes.com
Makes at least 6 servings

Ingredients:

1 pork shoulder, 4 to 7 pounds (or use fresh ham)
4 or more cloves garlic, peeled
1 large onion, quartered 2 tablespoons fresh oregano leaves or 1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ancho or other mild chili powder
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil as needed
1 tablespoon wine or cider vinegar Lime wedges for serving

Preparation:

1. Score meat’s skin with a sharp knife, making a cross-hatch pattern. Pulse garlic, onion, oregano, cumin, chili, salt and pepper together in a food processor, adding oil in a drizzle and scraping down sides as necessary, until mixture is pasty. (Alternatively, mash ingredients in a mortar and pestle.) Blend in the vinegar.

2. Rub this mixture well into pork, getting it into every nook and cranny. Cover with plastic wrap and place in fridge. Let marinate for 12-24 hours.

3. Heat oven to 300 degrees. Remove plastic wrap from pork and place in a roasting pan, filling the bottom with about a half inch of water. Roast pork for several hours (a 4-pound shoulder may be done in 3 hours), turning every hour or so and adding more water as necessary, until meat is very tender. Finish roasting with the skin side up until crisp, raising heat at end of cooking if necessary.

4. Let meat rest for 10 to 15 minutes before cutting it up; meat should be so tender that cutting it into uniform slices is almost impossible; rather, whack it up into chunks. Serve with lime.

Pico de Gallo
Makes about 3 cups

Finely dice 6 ripe plum tomatoes and place in a large bowl. Add one large white onion, finely diced, 3 cloves of garlic, minced, one bunch of finely chopped cilantro, 1-2 jalapeños, minced, the juice of 2-3 limes, and plenty of salt. Mix well and taste to adjust seasoning.

Corn and Black Bean Salsa
Makes about 4 cups

Open a 15.5 oz. can of black beans; rinse them of their liquid and drain well. Place in a large bowl. Add half a 10 oz. bag of thawed frozen corn, half a large white onion, finely diced, one bunch of finely chopped cilantro, the juice of 2-3 limes, and plenty of salt. Mix well and taste to adjust seasoning.

Chicken dinner

Going along with the theme of good cold weather food, I thought I'd share a recent roast chicken dinner I made that came out particularly well. I don't roast a whole chicken very often, but it's really one of the best things to cook--it's super easy, makes the whole house smell amazing, and inevitably leaves behind some versatile leftovers--I always freeze the carcass for making stock, and I made some killer black bean and avocado quesadillas with the extra meat from this chicken.

The method for roasting a chicken couldn't be simpler--I wrote about it in a previous post here but basically all you need to remember is to rinse the chicken inside and out, dry it thoroughly so that the skin will crisp up in the oven, roast it in a preheated 425° oven for about 10 minutes per pound, season it heavily with salt and pepper inside and out and let it rest, covered, for about 10 minutes after you remove it from the oven. You can apply a light coating of olive oil or butter to the chicken before seasoning it if you want to, but in this case I didn't and the skin still crisped up nicely.

I wanted some nice, hearty sides to go along with the chicken and decided on roasted potatoes (a natural pairing) and slow-cooked green beans with garlic and tomatoes. I halved or quartered some red new potatoes, depending on their size, tossed them with olive oil, salt, pepper and dried oregano, and arranged them, cut side down, on the bottom tray of a broiler pan. This is a great method for roasting potatoes because the pan gets super hot in the oven and the cut sides of the potatoes get incredibly dark and crispy. I also tossed a couple of unpeeled garlic cloves in with the potatoes. Here they are pre-roasting:

















After laying out the potatoes on the broiler tray I positioned the broiler rack directly over them and placed the trussed, seasoned chicken on it. This adds even more flavor to the potatoes, as the rendered fat and juices from the chicken drip onto the potatoes throughout the cooking process. The potatoes will take the same amount of time as the chicken; toss them halfway through cooking and use that opportunity to rotate the chicken, too. Here are the roasted potatoes, served with chopped fresh parsley:

















For the green beans, as I mentioned above, I decided to go the slow-cooking route. It seems to me that green beans are almost always served al dente--either steamed or briefly sauteed. I like those OK, but they often taste grassy and somewhat raw--good tossed in a salad, but somewhat underwhelming on their own. I prefer to cook the beans a little longer, until they soften and develop a little more flavor. For this rendition, I started by cooking a lot of chopped garlic in some olive oil in a large, wide pan set over medium heat. Then I added the rinsed, trimmed and halved green beans, some salt and some red pepper flakes. I followed up with a small can of peeled plum tomatoes, crushing the tomatoes by hand as I added them to the pan along with all of their liquid. Once that came to a simmer, I lowered the heat and allowed the mixture to cook for about 15-18 minutes, or until the beans were tender and the tomato liquid had reduced. I served these with parsley as well:

















And here's the chicken, out of the oven, post-resting and pre-carving:

















And a piece of white meat plated up with the sides:

















Comforting, homey and perfectly complemented by a nice glass of red wine. What more can you ask from a simple weeknight dinner?