Holy halloumi!

Jonesing for a warm, salty snack that takes almost no time to prepare? Then you might want to fry up a few slices of halloumi, a mild, mozzarella-like cheese common in Mediterranean cuisines. I myself have had a halloumi craving for a few weeks running, as my friends Anne and Dan think that the word "halloumi!" is very funny, and say it often. As Anne commented just now, "the feeling of the word rolling off the tongue is almost as enjoyable as the taste of the cheese itself." Want to see for yourself? You can purchase halloumi at a Middle Eastern specialty shop--my favorite is Sahadi's on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. Heat a cast-iron skillet or grill pan (or an outdoor grill) on high, add 1/2" thick slices of halloumi, and fry until golden brown and crispy on both sides, about 4 to 5 minutes total. The dense, spongy cheese does not melt but retains its firm texture.

How to eat it? Try heeding the advice of this video by putting it in a sandwich with tomato, or enjoy it simply, as I did: sprinkled with chile powder, spritzed with lemon, and on top of warm, toasted pita bread wedges.

Superior snacking

A good snack can be just as satisfying as a meal when you put in the effort and strive to create something more imaginative than the default cheese and crackers, apple with peanut butter, or whatever your personal go-to nosh might be. I've made myself some tasty snacks lately and thought I'd post them here.

I think my favorite snack in the whole wide world is guacamole. It was the dish that converted me to avocados after years of finding their texture unpleasant, and it hasn't lost its charm since. My "recipe" is simple: avocados, mashed but with some chunks left intact; tomatoes, finely diced; green onions, tops included, finely chopped; minced garlic, chopped cilantro and plenty (plenty) of fresh lime juice and salt. Vary the proportions to suit your own tastes; you can't go wrong:

















Onto another classic: the fried egg. What it lacks in invention it makes up for in sheer savory satisfaction. Salty, a little bit greasy, and from its shell to your mouth in about three minutes, the fried egg is the perfect snack, especially when eaten late at night, sprinkled with hot sauce and perched atop a slice of buttered toast:

















And I've saved my most off-the-cuff creation of late for last: the "Mexican" "pizza." I conceived of this most inauthentic bite when staring into my fridge, which on a recent afternoon was nearly as empty as my growling stomach, and spotting the following items: corn tortillas (featured in the taco post below), a block of Swiss cheese, some grilled hot Italian sausage links, a small container of leftover already-chopped scallions and tomatoes, a jar of salsa, and some beginning-to-wilt fresh cilantro. And then the idea for this "pizza" struck me. Here's how I made it. First, I sliced a sausage link into thirds lengthwise and seared them in a hot cast-iron pan, rendering some more of their fat and crisping them up a bit. I removed the sausage and warmed a tortilla in the pan; it soaked up the aforementioned pork fat and looked good enough to eat on its own. But I didn't stop there. I sliced up some Swiss and laid it on the tortilla, ran it under the broiler to melt then cheese, removed it, sprinkled on some scallions and tomatoes and finally placed the sausage slices on top of the whole thing. After one more run under the broiler, I crowned this increasingly vertical stack with a good spoonful of corn-and-black bean salsa and showered it with torn cilantro leaves. OK, yeah, so it was a good 10 minutes' work for a snack, but it was well worth it: hot, smoky, crisp and yielding all at once, this little number pleased my palate as well as my stomach:

Snackin' with Steinberg

Earlier in the week my dear friend Gideon Steinberg asked me to come join him at his country house in the Catskills for a few days. I was grateful for the invitation, since I hadn't really been out of the city since graduating from college in late May and the heat, grime and noise were really beginning to wear on me. It was a lovely sojourn and I only wish I could have stayed longer.

Gideon is a really good cook and over the course of our friendship we've made a lot of tasty things to eat together. The past few days were no exception, and I thought I'd share some of our creations. First up is a dead simple guacamole we had as an afternoon snack after swimming in the lake: just two ripe avocadoes mashed up with minced shallot and garlic, some chopped cherry tomatoes, lime juice, salt and fresh chives:

Gideon had this amazing, locally produced whole milk ricotta cheese that was rich, creamy and ever so slightly salty. He used it to top these delicious (and rather elegant) one-bite snacks of basil and a halved cherry tomato:

The main event on Monday night was this jerk chicken from the New York Times that I've been wanting to try since the recipe was published last month. Marinated overnight and grilled over charcoal, it was deeply flavorful, tender and juicy:

We served the chicken with some brown rice and black beans that we cooked together to a porridge-like consistency and flavored with a heaping spoonful of the jerk chicken marinade that we had boiled down into a sauce:

For dessert I served up slices of my grandmother's blueberry cake topped with vanilla ice cream and a quick sauce that I made of just-picked blueberries and a little maple syrup:

And, finally, breakfast on Tuesday morning: toasted whole wheat pita wedges topped with the aforementioned ricotta and, on one side, leftover blueberry sauce; on the other, halved cherry tomatoes, olive oil and salt. Sweet and savory on one plate? Now that's my kind of meal:

100% homemade

What could be better, on a hot summer morning, than a bowl of yogurt (that you made yourself) topped generously with tangy strawberry-rhubarb compote (that you made yourself)? Not much, I'm willing to say, not much. That's precisely what I enjoyed for breakfast a few days ago:

















It's a pretty great combination: the smooth, creamy texture of the yogurt is complemented by the rough, chunky quality of the compote, and the yogurt's sourness --which can be sort of one-note --is happily interrupted by bits of the sweet, soft fruit. The best part about the whole deal? The recipe for the compote, if you can even call it that, is laughably simple and takes about 15 minutes from start to finish. Now that's my kind of breakfast.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote
Makes 1 1/2 cups

1. Using a damp towel, wipe clean 3 stalks of rhubarb (look for ones that are very firm and have a deep pink color). If neccessary, peel the rhubarb with your fingers--just pull back the outer, stringy layers and discard them. Chop rhubarb into 1/2" pieces.
2. Rinse 1/2 pint of strawberries, preferably the small, intensely red kind. Halve them.
3. Place all the fruit into a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan and add 1 - 2 tbsp. of water. Using a microplane or zester, zest 1/2 a lemon into the pot. Finally, add 3 - 4 tbsp. of sugar, depending on the sweetness of the fruit. Stir to combine.
4. Place the pot over medium-low heat and cook for about 8-12 minutes, stirring occasionally, until fruit is soft but still has some texture. Cool and refrigerate.

Here comes success!

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I finally made yogurt! Back on my A game. With the aid of a thermometer, it was really easy. I realize now that the past two times I tried this, I didn't get the milk nearly hot enough--you're supposed to bring it up to 180°, which took about 20 minutes (granted, I was heating the milk over a cautiously low flame--next time I'll probably be a little more bold). In the past, I heated the milk only for about 10 minutes. So there was my mistake. Anyway after the milk gets up to temperature, you take it off the flame and let it cool to 110°. Then you mix it into a small amount of plain storebought yogurt that you've placed in a warmed glass jar, stir well and let it sit undisturbed in a warm place for 10-12 hours. This, too, was easier now that it's summer; I just left it at room temperature. When I woke up this morning, voila! Yogurt was waiting for me:

















I really enjoyed the flavor of the yogurt. It does taste different than the store-bought stuff: fresher and cleaner. The texture, too, is markedly different; the yogurt is runnier and less uniformly smooth than what you get at the store. For me, this is a good thing, as it's a reminder that there are no sweeteners, stabilizers, or other weird things (xantham gum, anyone?) in the yogurt. I'm sure it would taste even better if I had used organic or locally-bottled milk; I just got the cheap store brand. No matter; with a drizzle of maple syrup and some blueberries, the yogurt made a wholly satisfying summer breakfast:

















Homemade Yogurt
From Nourishing Traditions

1/4 cup plain yogurt
1 quart milk

Gently heat the milk to 180°, stirring often. (Use a thermometer!) Set aside and let cool to 110°. When 110°, warm up a glass jar by filling it with hot water and then dumping it out. Put the plain yogurt into the bottom of the jar, add several tablespoons of milk, and stir well. Then pour the rest of the milk into the jar, stirring well to incorporate the yogurt culture throughout. Cover loosely and keep in a warm place (wrapped in a towel, in a warm room, in an oven that has been heated and then turned off) and let rest undisturbed for 10-12 hours. Transfer to the refrigerator.

A wholesome snack

As I sat in my living room this morning, eating breakfast and pondering whether to do the responsible thing and go to class or give in to the more tempting option of sitting in the sun and enjoying the beautiful spring day, I tuned in to one of my favorite cooking shows, the Barefoot Contessa. The Contessa (also known as Ina Garten) was doing something she does often on her show: cooking for her beloved (and honestly adorable) husband, Jeffrey. This time, Ina was making Jeffrey breakfast. Though she joked around by saying that she would be serving dry toast and coffee, she in fact produced a lavish spread of mini brioche loaves, homemade strawberry jam, peach bellinis, and parfaits of yogurt, fresh fruit and granola. Enter my inspiration. The granola looked so tasty and easy, and I realized that I had never before made it--though I couldn't imagine why.

Fast forward to the evening. Walking back from dinner, I stopped at the on-campus grocery and made my way home armed with rolled oats, shredded coconut, slivered almonds and honey, the ingredients which I would utilize (along with dried fruit and some cinnamon) in my take on Ina's granola. Here's the mixture pre-baking, already looking mighty appetizing:

















20 minutes later, a toasty, golden brown and heavenly-smelling medley emerged from the oven. I added some chopped dried cherries and golden raisins to the granola, let it cool, and stored it away in a glass jar:

















Given how fast and easy it was to make this granola (and how wonderfully its honeyed aroma perfumed the house as it baked), I felt sorry that I had never done it before. And I urge you to make your own granola, too. Even though you can buy a million varieties of it at the store that feature exciting ingredients like chocolate and dried mango and the like, this homemade version tastes more honest, simple, down-home. That's probably because the list of ingredients comes to a grand total of eight items, whereas commercial granola is chock-full of additives and sweeteners. I prefer this version, and I think my friends agree with me: when they came over to watch Top Chef earlier tonight, they greedily spooned up the dessert of granola-topped vanilla ice cream that I presented:

















How indulgent! And speaking of indulgence, you might be wondering whether I gave into it this morning, as well. I can't really answer that--but let's just say my skin's a bit more tan than it was yesterday.

Cinnamon-Almond Granola
Adapted from the Barefoot Contessa

4 cups rolled oats
2 cups slivered almonds
1 cup sweetened shredded coconut
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/3 cup honey
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3/4 cup dried cherries, chopped
3/4 cup golden raisins

1. Preheat the oven to 325°.
2. In a large bowl, stir together the oats, almonds, coconut, and cinnamon. Add the oil and honey and mix well, making sure the mixture is well-coated.
3. Spread the mixture evenly on a baking sheet (you'll probably need to use more than one) and bake for 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally. The granola is done when it is dark golden brown and fragrant. After removing it from the oven, allow the granola to cool completely, stirring it occasionally.
4. When granola is cool, added the dried fruit and store in an airtight container (it will keep for about a month--if it lasts that long).

An elegy for the tomato

Although pretty, the plum tomatoes I received from the co-op last week were somewhat anemic in taste. Doesn't that seem to be the case with all tomatoes these days? When I was a kid, my family would buy these huge beefsteak tomatoes in the summer with which we would make tomato, mozzarella and basil salads all season long. The tomatoes were deep red and juicy and absolutely delicious--they were, of course, great with the cheese and herbs, but all they really needed was a bit of salt and they were good to go. I haven't had a good commercial tomato like that in years. The ones that are available at the supermarket nowadays are a sickly pale shade of orange--not even red--and they're weak in flavor and usually mealy in texture, too. Luckily in the past year or so heirloom tomatoes have become all the rage, and they're reliably tasty. They're not commonly available in supermarkets, though, and they're more expensive. Since when is the tomato a luxury product?

I've come to depend on a few reliable methods for getting good tomato taste into my cooking even when what's available in stores leaves much to be desired. In soups, sauces and stews I almost always use canned tomatoes, preferably from San Marzano or elsewhere in Italy. They're full of flavor and cook down nicely in long-simmering dishes. I like to get the whole, peeled ones so that I can break them up with my hands--I prefer the texture to the large chunks you get from a can of already-diced tomatoes. For salads and salsas, I use grape tomatoes almost exclusively. They're tiny and sweet and, I've found, are the only product that comes close to approximating the flavor that ordinary tomatoes used to have. And when I end up with supermarket (or, in this case, co-op) tomatoes that just don't taste too good, I slow-roast them.

Roasting is pretty much my favorite method for cooking vegetables (I know that tomatoes are biologically a fruit, but you catch my drift). It draws out their sweetness and concentrates their flavor, and is super easy, too--once the vegetables are in the oven, all you have to do is stir them around every once in a while. So when I found those plum tomatoes to be sub-par, I used a favorite recipe (more of a method, really) and slow-roasted them.

All you do is halve the tomatoes, toss them with olive oil, salt, pepper, and any dried herb (I used oregano), and bake them in a 200° oven for 4-6 hours. Yes, it's a very long time, and what this does is produce an incredibly soft, intensely flavorful tomato that can be used in a myriad of ways. One application that comes to mind immediately? Pile them on a rare burger covered in melted blue cheese. The combination of the sweet tomatoes with the pungent cheese is pretty incredible (can you say umami?) Or you could make yourself a BET (ha): bacon, a fried egg, and the roasted tomatoes on toast. You could gild the lily by adding mayonnaise, if that's your thing (personally, I don't care for the stuff), but you won't even really need it--the creamy softness of the runny egg yolk will bind things together quite nicely. Finally, you can do what I did, and enjoy the tomatoes on some crusty baguette topped with manchego cheese. Yum.