FOOD ON THE FOOD

Cream of Broccoli Soup

I love soup in the springtime. I tend to be a little chilly in these transitional months, even as the temperature warms. Maybe it's the moist spring air, or because I'm exiting my layers a little too enthusiastically. Or, perhaps, it's true what Husband says: that I don't possess a functioning metabolism. Regardless of the reason, I'm in a perpetual state of goose bumps from October through May.

Lately, my cravings have been running increasingly green, just like the landscape. A few weeks ago, I had a pot of asparagus and fiddlehead soup to warm me. Now, it's cream of broccoli. The following recipe was inspired by Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. Even though it was published 15 years ago, the book keeps coming up in conversations with various unconnected people. By the third mention, I knew I had to get a copy of the book. I'm glad I did. French monks really know their soups!

But there's another reason why I love this book. It's because of the image I've cultivated in my mind about the author, which I should note is entirely fictional. I imagine Brother Victor-Antoine alone in the kitchen of his stone monastery in the picturesque Hudson Valley cooking up cauldrons of bubbling soup. Meanwhile, two monks, one quite young and another significantly grayer, are walking silently down the arched, stone colonnade, their dark robes cinched at the waist with rope belts. Suddenly, as they approach the kitchen, their ears are assaulted by a tirade of the filthiest, most abominable swear words ever conceived in French, English, and Latin, as well as some that haven't been invented, yet. The obscenities, amplified by the cold stone, echo across the courtyard.

The young, sheltered monk stops in his tracks with a look of horror. The older one doesn't even break stride. "The soup must be especially good today," he notes. Observing that the young monk is still having trouble recovering, he adds, "Have you met Brother Victor, yet? He has an unholy way in the kitchen, but the soup? The soup is an act of God."

(This is what happens when my new favorite cookbook is written by a monk named Tourrette!)

Cream of Broccoli Soup  (print-friendly version)

I love this &*$#@^ soup! May I suggest a light grating of the sharpest cheddar cheese you have on hand? I used Cabot Seriously Sharp.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 onions, chopped
1 lb. fresh broccoli, cut into florets
3 medium potatoes, peeled, cubed
8 cups veggie stock, chicken stock, or water
1 cup heavy cream
Pinch of cayenne
Salt and black pepper to taste

In a large pot, heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onions and sauté until translucent, 4-5 minutes. Add the broccoli and potatoes, and stir to coat. Add the stock or water, increase heat, and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat, maintaining a simmer, and cook for 1 hour, until vegetables are tender. (Note: The original recipe calls for you to add all of the veggies to the pot with the water/stock right away, forgoing the oil. You can do it that way, if you prefer.)

If you have a stick blender, you can puree the soup right in the pot. If you're using a regular blender, let it cool until no longer hot and steamy, and puree in several batches, never filling the blender more than half full. Add the cream, cayenne, and salt and pepper. Reheat. Serve with grated sharp cheddar cheese.

Source: Adapted from Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Brother Victor-Antoine d'Avila-Latourrette. He probably doesn't actually swear (too much!).

Asparagus and Fiddlehead Soup

We've finally gotten some rain around here, and you know what that means: fiddleheads, ramps, and perhaps morels! I've seen fiddleheads and ramps at the market already. As for the mushrooms, I'm still waiting...

Fiddleheads are the coiled-up fronds of certain edible ferns. They taste like a cross between asparagus and green beans. You can use just asparagus for the soup, however, if immature fern fronds aren't your thing. For the aromatics, you have your choice of onions, leeks, or ramps. Ramps are foraged wild onions with a certain level of pungency that I enjoy. However, they were $17.98 a pound last week at Russo's, and so I will be using the 98-cents-a-pound spring onions until the price comes way down.

This soup tastes just like spring. Like a damp meadow without the mud and mosquitoes. Served warm, it takes the edge off of cooler days, and provides a sample of the warmth and greenery still to come.

Asparagus and Fiddlehead Soup

Always parboil fiddleheads before adding them to your dish to get rid of any bitter toxins.

1/4 lb. fiddleheads, soaked in two changes of cold water, drained
2 Tbsp. butter
2 medium leeks or 1 small bunch ramps or spring onions (white and light green part only), chopped
1 1/2 lb. asparagus, tough ends snapped off, remaining stalks cut into thirds
1 medium potato, peeled, cubed
5 cups veggie stock or water
1 tsp. kosher salt
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh dill
Black pepper to taste

In a medium pot of boiling water, parboil the fiddleheads for 3 minutes. Drain and set aside.

In the same pot, melt the butter over medium low heat. Gently cook the leeks/ramps/onions, stirring frequently, until they soften but don't take on any color, about 4 minutes. Add the asparagus, fiddleheads, potatoes, stock/water, and salt. Bring to a boil over high heat, then lower heat and simmer until veggies are soft, 10-15 minutes. Set aside some fiddleheads and asparagus tips for garnish. Puree the rest right in pot with a stick blender, or let it cool and pour soup into a regular blender in two batches (never process steamy liquids in a blender unless you want soup all over your kitchen walls—make sure it cools first).

Reheat soup in pot with lemon juice, dill, and salt and pepper to taste. Serve hot with a dollop of sour cream or creme fraiche, a few fiddleheads or asparagus tips, and chopped dill.

Rhode Island-Style Calamari

It occurred to me that in just a handful of years, my oldest son will be a teenager. A teenager!! This doesn't seem possible, and yet I would be lying if I said it felt like only yesterday when there was a 10-pound butterball turkey in my belly (well, 9 lbs. 12 oz. once he peed all over the OR staff). It doesn't feel like yesterday at all. But certainly not double-digit years before yesterday. Already he eats more than me and has the same size feet. I'm a little bit scared about the amount of food he's going to require once he doubles his weight and towers over me like his dad—and his little brother isn't far behind. I'll be cooking morning, noon, and night!

Nevertheless, my oldest is a joy to cook for because he likes so many of the same things I like, doesn't mind a little spice, and will eat any kind of seafood you throw at him. He particularly loves the Rhode Island-style calamari at the Chateau in Waltham. "Rhode Island-style" means the crispy fried rings and tentacles are tossed with thin loops of pickled hot peppers. The combination is utterly addictive. I knew it couldn't be that hard to make at home, and I planned to wing it using a jar of pepperoncini and some cherry-red peppadew peppers I had in the fridge. Then I found a Jasper White recipe from The Summer Shack Cookbook that tossed the whole shebang with garlic butter, and I couldn't find a single thing wrong with that.

According to White, Rhode Island has the largest squid-fishing fleet on the East Coast. You'll start to see local squid from Rhode Island in the spring, throughout the summer, and into the fall. I request half bodies and half tentacles because I love the fried tentacles best (more surface area for the crispy batter!). Banana peppers are traditional, but use whatever pickled hot peppers you desire. This was a hit with the whole family. Sure, the little one picked out the hot peppers—more for us. At this rate, the kids won't be getting any smaller, but I guess that's the whole idea behind this parenting thing.

Rhode Island-Style Calamari

The real trick is not to cook them too long or they will turn out as rubbery as a bicycle tire. A minute or less is all I needed. Cook a few and test for tenderness before proceeding with the rest. The original recipe doubled the garlic butter (which you may feel free to revert to), but I think it's plenty flavorful with half.

1 lb. cleaned medium squid (bodies and tentacles)
3/4 cup cornstarch
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cornmeal
2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
1/8 tsp. ground cayenne pepper (or 1 tsp. paprika)
Canola or peanut oil for deep-frying (about 6 cups)
1 cup buttermilk
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 cup sliced pickled peppers (like banana peppers, pepperoncini, or peppadew), drained

Cut the squid bodies into rings. Leave the tentacles whole unless they look ridiculously large. In a medium shallow bowl, combine the cornstarch, flour, cornmeal, salt, pepper, and cayenne/paprika. Pour buttermilk into another bowl. Line a rimmed sheet pan with paper towels.

Heat a heavy, medium, high-sided saucepan with 3 inches of oil until it reaches 375°F on a candy thermometer. Meanwhile, soak a few rings and tentacles in the buttermilk. With a slotted spoon, transfer to flour mixture and toss to coat. Scoop back up with the slotted spoon, shake off excess batter, and drop gently into hot oil. Cook 30 seconds to 1 minute until batter is golden but calamari is still tender. Transfer to paper towels to drain and sprinkle with salt while still hot. Repeat with remaining calamari in 4-5 batches. If the oil drops below 350°F, let it heat up again between batches. Transfer fried squid to serving platter.

In a small frying pan, melt the butter. Add the chopped garlic and sauté just until golden, 1-2 minutes. Add the sliced hot peppers and toss to coat. Drizzle calamari with garlic butter and peppers. Serve immediately with marinara sauce on the side if you like.

Source: Adapted from The Summer Shack Cookbook by Jasper White.

Black Bean and Sweet Potato Chili

I need to sneak this recipe in before it gets too nice outside. Who wants chili in 70-degree weather? But I think we can expect a few more cold, rainy days in our future if I know Spring, and, when they come, keep this black bean and sweet potato chili in mind. Yes, it's vegetarian, but it's quick to make and boldly spiced as chili should be, making it very satisfying, especially when sprinkled with queso fresco or any other cheese you might have left over from the huevos rancheros. I'm always biased towards meat, so if I like a vegetarian recipe, that's a good sign!

Black Bean and Sweet Potato Chili

I cut back a little on the chipotle powder to keep things accessible for the kids. The flavors were still quite prominent. If you don't have chipotle powder, you can chop up one or two canned chipotles in adobo, or use a pinch of cayenne instead, or substitute some smoked paprika for a milder but smokier flavor.

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 large sweet potato, peeled and diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons chili powder
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1/4 tsp. ground chipotle
2 1/2 cups water
2 15-oz. cans black beans, rinsed
1 14-oz. can diced tomatoes
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Queso fresco (optional)

Heat oil is a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onion and sweet potato, and cook stirring often, until the onion is soft, about 4 minutes. Add garlic, chili powder, cumin, chipotle, and salt to taste, stirring constantly until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add water, bring to a simmer, cover, reduce heat to medium-low to maintain a simmer, and cook until the sweet potato is tender, 10-12 minutes. Add beans, tomatoes, and lime juice. Return to a simmer and cook until slightly reduced, about 4 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in cilantro and more salt if needed. Crumble queso fresco on top. Serve with cornbread or cheddar quesadillas.

Source: Adapted from Eating Well magazine.

Sesame Soba Salad with Shiitakes

Husband was out of town last week, so I took that opportunity to make all the food he hates. (Or all the food he thinks he hates.) Enter this sesame soba salad with mushrooms and tofu. He's never had this particular dish before, but it just seems like exactly the kind of thing he wouldn't want to see on the dinner table after a long day at work. You get a sense for these things after spending 20 years with someone. But like I said, he was gone, and it was the perfect repository for my recent flush of homegrown shiitakes.

The recipe is from Melissa Clark's latest book, Cook This Now, which you should seriously consider buying, not because of the bullying title but because your favorite blogger bullied you into it. (That's me, by the way. Your favorite blogger. In case somebody else jumped to mind.) The chapters are arranged by month so it's perfect for cooking with the seasons, especially if you belong to a particularly fertile CSA. It's one of those cookbooks where every single recipe sounds good.

Soba are thin Japanese buckwheat noodles, and here they're tossed with roasted mushrooms, fresh cucumbers and scallions, and a sesame and soy sauce dressing brightened with ginger and a bit of orange juice. There's also a recipe for tofu "croutons," which I was skeptical about, not being much for tofu myself, but then I ate half of the fried cubes before dinner was even served. Frying makes everything better, even tofu. 

I think you can pretty well imagine the kids' reaction to this meal. My eldest looked stricken when confronted with his plate. He's a great eater these days, but even he has his limits. Brown pasta? Tofu? Mushrooms that look like sea monster tentacles? Not a recipe for success. (Well, maybe the sea monster tentacles.) Both kids ate their mandatory quota of bites and then slunk off. But, boy, I thought it was delicious. I will definitely be making this again, though maybe just for my solo weekday lunches.

Sesame Soba Salad with Roasted Shiitakes and Tofu Croutons

When outdoor potluck season begins, consider this instead of your usual pasta salad.

8 oz. shiitake mushrooms, stems removed, caps sliced into thin strips
2 1/2 Tbsp. toasted sesame oil, divided
5 1/2 Tbsp. soy sauce, divided
1/2 lb. extra-firm tofu, drained, cut into 3/4-inch cubes
1 Tbsp. peanut oil or olive oil
1 1/2 Tbsp. freshly squeezed orange juice
1 Tbsp. rice wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. grated gingerroot
1 medium cucumber, peeled
6 oz. soba noodles
2 scallions, thinly sliced
2 Tbsp. chopped fresh cilantro
1 Tbsp. sesame seeds
Salt to taste

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Set a pot of water to boil.

Toss the mushroom slices with 1 Tbsp. sesame oil, 1/2 Tbsp. soy sauce, and a pinch of salt. Spread them out on a baking sheet in a single layer. Roast, tossing occasionally, until mushrooms are tender and slightly golden, 8-10 minutes.

Pat tofu cubes dry with paper towels and heat oil in a large nonstick pan over medium heat. When it shimmers, add the tofu in a single layer and let it cook undisturbed for 3-4 minutes until golden brown on the bottom. Flip the pieces over and cook 2-3 minutes more until the other side is golden. In a small bowl, whisk together 2 Tbsp. soy sauce and 1/2 Tbsp. sesame oil. Pour it into the pan with the tofu and toss for 1 minute longer. Drain tofu on a paper towel-lined plate.

In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining 3 Tbsp. soy sauce, 1 Tbsp. sesame oil, orange juice, rice wine vinegar, and ginger. Let sit so flavors meld.

Cook the soba noodles according to the package instructions. My instructions were in Japanese, so I kept tasting them until they seemed done, about 6 minutes. Drain and run under cold water, draining again.

Cut the peeled cucumbers lengthwise into quarters and scoop out the seeds. Cut each quarter into slices. In a large bowl, toss the noodles with the cucumber, mushrooms, scallions, and cilantro. Lightly toast sesame seeds in a dry pan, tossing frequently, 1-2 minutes. Add sesame seeds to salad. Toss with dressing, top with tofu, and serve.

Huevos Rancheros

The first thing I did when I made my deadline was to drag my neighbor out for Mexican, and then proceed to devour an entire Fiesta Plate all by myself along with most of my friend's refried beans, half a pitcher of sangria, and a giant piece of tres leches cake. Don't look at me like that—you can't celebrate a partially-completed dessert cookbook without cake!

That was followed soon thereafter by the peanut marzipan you saw in my previous post, because I can't go a whole week without sugar, you know that. Then came the huevos rancheros: warm corn tortillas strewn with cumin-scented black beans, fried eggs nestled on top, scattered with crumbled cheese and cilantro leaves, and ribboned with salsa or hot sauce. What can I say, I've really been digging Mexican food lately. I know I need to get back to work eventually, but right now, the fiesta continues!!

Huevos Rancheros

This is one of my favorite lazy meals because we always have eggs, cheese, a can of black beans, and a partially eaten jar of salsa on hand. If I have corn tortillas in the back of the fridge, I'll use them. If not, I leave them out. We eat this as often for dinner as for brunch.

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. ground cumin (or more)
Pinch of cayenne
Salt and pepper
1 big can black beans, rinsed, drained
1 Tbsp. chopped cilantro
Fresh farm eggs
Cheese, crumbled or grated (e.g., queso fresco, cheddar, monterey jack, mozzarella)
Small corn tortillas
Salsa or hot sauce

Heat olive oil in a medium pot over medium heat until shimmery. Sauté onions until soft and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add garlic, cumin, and cayenne, and stir about 30 seconds. Stir in rinsed beans and a few tablespoons of water. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid evaporates and flavors meld, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and cover with lid to keep warm.

In a non-stick pan, cook the eggs how you like them. I like mine over-easy (i.e., runny). Husband likes his with the yolks broken and completely cooked. My kids only like them scrambled. You can make a whole bunch of sunny-side-up eggs at once by cracking them into different quadrants of the same pan so the whites run together but the yolks are spaced out. Let them fry for a minute or two, then add a bit of water on top, cover, and steam until the tops are set. Then just use a spatula to cut between the yolks into portions.

Heat up the tortillas. I do this in the microwave in a stack covered with a damp paper towel. You can also do it in a hot, dry skillet for about 30 seconds per side.

To serve, arrange tortillas on plates. Scatter some beans on top. Set an egg in the middle and sprinkle with cheese. Spoon on some salsa or a squirt of hot sauce, and sprinkle with cilantro, salt, and pepper. Customize as you see fit, with sour cream, avocado or guacamole, or your own homemade pico de gallo when tomatoes are at their best.

Local Ingredients
Eggs: Allandale Farm, Brookline, MA
Tortillas: Cinco de Mayo, Lynn, MA

Peanut Marzipan

I first tasted peanut marzipan in the Bronx one steamy summer circa 1987. Whitney Houston's I Wanna Dance with Somebody was playing on my Walkman. We were visiting a family friend, one of those transient people who passes in and out of your life almost unremembered. He produced a package that contained what in essence was a dense cake of powdered peanuts. He said it was Mexican marzipan. When you peeled off the cellophane, there was a thin film of grease clinging to it from the oil that had separated from the nuts in the summer heat. The marzipan was delicious! It reminded me of the inside of a peanut butter cup, but less sweet. Thirteen-year-old me wasn't a whole lot different than I am now. The package didn't last long in my hands.

Since then, I've never seen or even heard of peanut marzipan. It created a bit of confusion for me many years later when confronted with traditional marzipan, which has an entirely different flavor and texture, and isn't made from peanuts at all, but rather almonds. It's soft, sweet, and moist, almost perfumey with almond flavor. Peanut marzipan is sandier, crumblier, and, well, peanuttier. Whenever I mentioned marzipan made of peanuts, no one knew what the hell I was talking about.

Vindication came last week. Better 25 years late than never. I was at the library flipping through the cookbook My Sweet Mexico by Fany Gerson, which contains recipes for traditional and modern Mexican desserts. Right there on the page was a recipe for none other than peanut marzipan. Could it be, I thought? I swung by the store for some peanuts on the way home and whipped up a batch that afternoon. This never happens, but it was EVEN BETTER than what I remembered. Like peanut butter fudge but much easier to make. It had all of the peanut flavor and almost none of the guilt (there's always a smidgeon of guilt when you're enjoying yourself a little too much).

My youngest is a peanut butter fiend and he was enraptured at first bite. I promised he could have a bigger piece for dessert later on. In fact, all I saw of his dinner that night was an empty plate. He only had eyes for peanut marzipan. He's his mother's son, after all.

Peanut Marzipan

Two ingredients and five minutes in the food processor and you're done. You can make it with other nuts, too.

2 cups plain roasted unsalted peanuts, skins removed (not raw)
1 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar

Grind the peanuts in a food processor until finely ground. Add the sugar and continue to process, scraping down the sides of the bowl occasionally, until peanuts release their oil and mixture clumps together. For me it took somewhere in the 3-5 minute range. You can roll the mixture into balls or form small disks by pressing it into a circular cookie cutter until compacted. Carefully remove cookie cutter and wrap in wax paper. Can be stored at room temperature for a little while at least, though long-term storage should probably be in the fridge.

Chicken Piccata

Don't worry, I'm not blogging about anything disgusting today. Let's try to get back on track with a recipe for a change.

Recently, I've been craving standard Italian chicken dishes. You know the ones: chicken piccata, chicken marsala, chicken cacciatore. You can find them on the menus of throwback Italian restaurants from the ubiquitous Olive Garden to more localized institutions like the Chateau in Waltham.

My cousin dropped me off an amazing book last month called Italy: The Country and Its Cuisine. That's mainly what I was reading in bed when I was sick. It's a giant, heavy 500-page hardcover cookbook filled with photographs of the food and landscape of Italy. It's pretty spectacular. No wonder I was starving half to death.

As soon as I was up and about, I was determined to make chicken piccata, a personal favorite of mine. I sliced the chicken breasts in half the flat way, dredged them in flour, browned them, and then smothered them in a pan sauce of lemon juice, capers, parsley, and butter. YUM! Next up was chicken marsala. (Sorry, kids, we're having chicken all week!) Same deal with the chicken cutlets: slice, flour, brown, remove. Then I sautéed up some shallots and mushrooms, deglazed with marsala wine, and maybe sprinkled a little marjoram on top. Yes, I did lick the pan the sauce was in clean. What of it?

The chicken cacciatore was something new for me. I don't think I've ever made it before. That may change since I learned that cacciatore means "hunter-style," so basically this stew is what the Italian hunters made on their campgrounds with whatever they had on hand. Think browned pieces of rabbit or fowl plus vegetables, tomatoes, wild mushrooms, herbs, and wine. I imagine the Italians carry bottles of wine with them everywhere they go, especially on hunting trips. If they don't, please don't spoil this image for me. The image of a dark-skinned Italian with a bottle of wine under one arm, truffles in his pocket, and a partridge slung over his shoulder. Yeah. The next time I go mushroom-hunting, you can bet I'll be making this, though my recent version relied on regular white buttons. I didn't want to tempt the Vomit Gods so soon.

I'm moving these three chicken dishes into the dinnertime rotation. They're classic for a reason.

Chicken Piccata

There are lots of variations on this theme that use garlic, shallots, and white wine. Experiment and find your favorite. This is ours.

2-3 boneless chicken breasts, skin removed
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
4-5 Tbsps. olive oil
3/4 cup chicken stock
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice (from 1-2 lemons)
1/4 cup capers
2 Tbsp. Italian flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

Wash and dry the chicken breasts in cold water. Take each breast and butterfly it, meaning hold the knife parallel to the cutting board and slice along its width. I cut all the way through to make two thinner pieces of meat, but feel free to keep the breast intact if you like bigger portions, opening up the two sides which are now held together by a meaty hinge.

Season breasts with salt and pepper, and dredge with flour. Shake off excess.

Heat 3 Tbsp. olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. In two batches, cook the chicken breasts until brown, about 3 minutes. Flip and cook until the other side is brown, 2-3 minutes. Remove to a plate. Add more oil to the pan as needed for the second batch.

To the empty pan, add the stock, lemon juice, and capers. Bring to a boil, scraping up the browned bits stuck to the bottom of the pan. Add the chicken breasts and their juices to the pan and simmer uncovered on low until sauce has reduced and chicken is heated through, 4-5 minutes. Remove chicken and whisk butter and parsley into sauce. Serve chicken over pasta and spoon sauce over the top.

New England Lobster Roll

And while we're talking about summer food, how about a lobster roll?

February has arrived and, even though it's been a relatively tame winter, I'm still sick of squash. I don't care what any groundhogs have to say about six more weeks of winter: I want it to be summer in my mouth, and if I have to spend my entire book advance on lobsters to make that happen, then so be it. Incidentally, I think we need to find a more translucent animal than a groundhog to make these kinds of shadow-based weather predictions. Like a jellyfish. Or something nocturnal like a bat. It's hard to see your own shadow in complete darkness. Are there any cute but completely blind animals?

Awkward segue back to lobsters: This is a very basic but totally delicious lobster roll technique. The idea is to let the lobster shine. The scallions and celery are barely there for a little color and crunch, not to compete with the lobster. There's just one thing I insist upon. Toast the buns. Toast them, people. It makes all the difference in the world.

Classic New England Lobster Roll

Serve with a green salad or not.

2 1-1/2-lb. lobsters, steamed (instructions here), cooled
2-4 Tbsp. mayo
1-2 scallions, chopped
2-inch piece of celery, finely chopped
1/4 tsp. salt (or to taste)
Squeeze of lemon juice
Pinch ground cayenne pepper
New England-style hot dog rolls (the ones that top-load and have flat sides for toasting)
Butter

Remove tail and claw meat (including the delicious arms!). Chop lobster meat into bite-sized chunks. Mix with mayo, scallions, celery, salt, lemon juice, and cayenne. Refrigerate until cold.

When ready to serve, heat skillet over medium heat. Butter the pan and the sides of the rolls (I do this by rubbing the stick of butter over the hot skillet, then rubbing the melty stick all over the sides of the roll, repeating until roll is sufficiently buttery). Toast buns several minutes on each side until golden. Let cool a few minutes, then stuff with dressed lobster. Serves 3-4.

Local Sources:
Lobsters: Rockport lobsterman via Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA

Cracking the Recipe: Lobster Bisque

Our New Year's Eve dinner, hosted by friends E and J, was possibly one of the best meals of the year. Kir royales. Radishes with cultured butter and sea salt. Lobster bisque. Pan-roasted duck with thyme-infused honey sauce. Roasted root veggies and a green salad. Lemon cream tart for dessert. Truly delicious!

I brought the lobster bisque. Since a few of you requested the recipe during my guilt-ridden lobster confessional, I thought I'd share. It's good timing, too, because my CSF (community supported fishery) is once again offering lobsters for sale. Every once in a while, Cape Ann Fresh Catch offers a special item not usually found in our fish shares. They call it "Neptune's Share" as it is priced separately and based on availability and nature's whims. That meant mussels last summer and lobsters this winter. You know I can't pass up these opportunities. (To get your own self some lobsters, go here.)

The recipe below is based on the lobster bisque from the Brewster Fish House, one of our favorite restaurants on Cape Cod. Instead of pureeing the lobster into oblivion (which is also good!), they suspend chunks of lobster in the silky soup. It's sweet and spicy, and I've wanted to learn how to make it for years. However, I'm not going to ask them for their recipe. They're not going to give it to me, and why should they? Just because I like it? Everybody likes it! I figure, if I want it that badly, I should try to figure it out myself. And guess what? I'm really happy with the way it came out! I mean, we're not giving up our yearly summertime visits to the Brewster Fish House anytime soon. Don't be ridiculous.  But this is deliciously, tantalizingly close!

Lobster Bisque

This is not a quick recipe by any means, but if you're going to slap down the money for lobsters, you might as well put some effort into it! You will need lobster crackers, some patience, and several hours to spare. I sometimes boil the lobsters the night before, letting them cool in the refrigerator until morning.

2 live 1-1/2-lb. lobsters
1 Tbsp. kosher salt, plus 1 tsp.
1 Tbsp. white vinegar
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 onions, chopped
1 celery rib, chopped
1 Tbsp. flour
4 cups lobster stock
1 cup heavy cream
2 Tbsp. brandy
1/4 tsp. cayenne
White or black pepper to taste

Bring a large stockpot with a half-inch of water, 1 Tbsp. kosher salt, and the vinegar to a boil. Drop in the lobsters, close the lid, and steam 20 minutes until done. How do you know if they're done? Set a lobster on its back and stretch out the tail. It should snap back against its belly convincingly. Remove from pot and let cool until shells can be handled easily.

Over a large bowl, separate tails, claws, and arms from bodies of the lobsters. They should pull apart easily. To remove the meat from the tails, use kitchen shears or a sharp knife to cut straight down the middle of the underside of the tail. Pull back on sides of tail to separate the shell and remove meat. Dice tail meat finely as it can be chewy in larger pieces. Remove meat from arms and claws using a lobster cracker to crush the shells so you can extract the meat. Careful: shells can be jagged, pointy, and sharp. Cut claw meat into larger, bite-sized pieces. Place all the lobster meat in a small bowl, cover, and refrigerate.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 450°F, and set the bodies and empty shells on a rimmed sheet pan. Bake shells 20 minutes until toasty and fragrant. Transfer shells to a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, skim the foam from the top, and simmer 30 minutes. You can get fancy with the stock (bouquet garni and such), but I did not. Strain out and discard the shells, reserving the liquid. You will need about 4 cups of stock. Freeze the rest for future bisques or lobster risotto!

Make sure the stock is still steamy when you start the soup. If not, reheat in a small pot. Melt the butter in a medium heavy-bottomed pot over low heat. Add the onions and celery, and slowly sweat the vegetables until soft, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Do not let brown. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute.  Add heated lobster stock slowly while stirring. Bring to a boil and simmer 5 minutes. Let cool completely. In four batches, puree the soup in a blender or food processor. Yes, I know we haven't added the lobster, yet. Patience! Also, make sure the soup is cool and that you don't fill the blender more than halfway or you will spray hot soup all over your kitchen. You want cool soup, small amounts of liquid in the blender, and a dishtowel placed over the top of the blender lid just in case. Pour batches of pureed soup into a bowl as you go.

When ready to serve, add the pureed soup back into the pot. Add in the lobster meat, cream, brandy, 1 tsp. salt (or to taste), pepper, and cayenne. Gently heat the soup until hot and steamy. Do not boil. After all this, you don't want to risk curdling the cream. Keep an eye on it. Serve hot in small shallow bowls.

Local Sources:
Lobsters: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Onions: Waltham Fields Community Farms, Waltham, MA
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Creamy Braised Brussels Sprouts

Want to blow somebody's mind this Thanksgiving? Serve these Brussels sprouts. Yes, Brussels sprouts. No, this isn't some kind of sick joke. They're browned, smothered in cream, then braised until silken deliciousness is achieved. Cruciferous candy. Sure, there are plenty of lower calorie ways of making Brussels sprouts, but it IS Thanksgiving after all. And today, I'm thankful for cream!

Creamy Braised Brussels Sprouts

One bite and the ThirdGrader said, Brussels sprouts aren't as evil as I thought!

3 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 lb. Brussels sprouts (2-3 stalks worth), trimmed, cut in half or quartered
1 cup cream
Salt and pepper
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Cook sprouts until lightly browned in spots, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in cream and bring to a simmer. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until sprouts are tender and cream is reduced and lightly brown. Sprinkle with lemon juice to taste, perhaps more salt and pepper, and serve.

Source: Adapted from All About Braising by Molly Stevens

Local Ingredients:
Brussels sprouts: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Braised Brisket

Don't mind me, I'm just playing around with my new macro lens. You can pretty much count on me getting way, way too close to my food from now on. Just a heads-up.

This here is some luscious beef brisket and root vegetables braised until melty and scrumptious. Serve with mashed potatoes or over brown rice or barley and you've got yourself a rib-sticking meal that will fuel you through any unwelcome pre-Halloween shoveling. Hope those of you who lost power have gotten it back by now!

Braised Brisket

You can also do this in a slow cooker. Follow the recipe through the garlic part, then throw it all into the crockpot for 4-6 hours on high, 8-10 hours on low.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2-3 lb. beef brisket
1 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. ground pepper
2 onions, chopped
4 carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces
4 parsnips, cored if woody, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 small celery roots (celeriac), trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup roasted tomatoes (or chopped tomatoes, tomato sauce, or ketchup)
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar
3 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 1/2 cups stock or water

Preheat oven to 325°F. In a large Dutch oven, heat 1 Tbsp. oil over medium-high heat. Season brisket with salt and pepper and brown on all sides. Transfer to plate.

Heat remaining tablespoon of oil in pot. Add onions, carrots, parsnips, and celery root, and sauté until browned, about 5 minutes. Dump in the garlic and cook another minute. Add the tomatoes, cider vinegar, brown sugar, and stock/water, and give a good stir. Return the brisket to the pot along with any juices collecting on the plate. Liquid should come about halfway up the sides of the meat. If not, add a bit more stock or water.

Bring to a boil. Cover with foil so that it’s flat against the meat and comes all the way up the sides of the pan (you might need two sheets), and cover with lid.  Place in the oven for about 3 1/2 hours, turning meat every hour and reconfiguring foil, until meat is super-tender and vegetables are soft and melty. Serve with mashed potatoes or grain of your choice.

Local Sources:
Brisket: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Carrots, parsnips, celery root, tomatoes: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Apple cider vinegar: Carlson Orchards, Harvard, MA

Roasted Delicata Squash with Quinoa Salad

Now comes the time of year when the squash situation starts to get out of hand. Maybe you get one or two squashes from your CSA pickup, but then maybe you don't cook them right away, and soon you're getting two or three more the following week, and before you know it your Husband is threatening to drop-kick them all out the back door. And he'll do it, too.

Here's a surprisingly good way to segue from summer into fall and make a dent in your squash pile: baked delicata squash stuffed with a cool, vinaigrette-spiked salad of quinoa, apples, arugula, and herbs. Delicata may be my favorite type of squash for its sweet, delicate flavor and pretty, edible skin. The hollowed-out halves make a great serving vessel, and its sweetness pairs well with the nuttiness of the quinoa as well as the peppery arugula and tart apples. Refreshing yet comforting as summer turns to fall.

Delicata Squash with Quinoa Salad

Don't cut off the ends of the squash like I did in my picture. It's much prettier to keep them intact, plus the salad will be better contained.

2 delicata squash, halved lengthwise, seeded
2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 cup quinoa
2 Tbsp. golden raisins
1 Tbsp. sherry vinegar
1 tsp. honey
1 tart green apple (like Granny Smith, Rhode Island Greening, Roxbury Russet, or Northern Spy), finely diced
1 large shallot, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
2 Tbsp. chopped mint
2 Tbsp. chopped parsley
1 cup arugula (about 1 oz.)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Brush cut sides of squash with a little olive oil (reserve the rest), and season with salt and pepper. Place squash cut side down on a baking sheet and roast until tender, about 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a smallish saucepan, bring 2 cups of lightly salted water to a boil. Add quinoa, cover, and simmer 10 minutes (or use a rice cooker). Stir in the raisins and simmer, covered, until the water is absorbed, about 5 minutes. Transfer quinoa to bowl and let cool.

In a small bowl, whisk the vinegar and honey with the remaining olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Add the dressing to the quinoa along with the apple, shallot, garlic, mint, and parsley. Toss well. Add the arugula right before serving and toss gently. Generously fill squash halves with quinoa salad and serve.

Source: Chef Michael Symon of Lola Bistro in Cleveland, via the cookbook Reinventing the Classics by the editors of Food & Wine

Local Ingredients:
Squash, arugula, shallots: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Apple: Autumn Hills Orchard, Groton, MA
Quinoa: Baer's Best, Hamilton, MA (via Russo's)
Honey: Reseska Apiaries, Holliston, MA
Mint: My backyard

Folded Tortilla Salad

Speaking of cheap meals, here's a nice lunch for $1 a serving. Basically, you make a big batch of the roasted tomatillo salsa you see right over there in the sidebar and purée it in a blender with a little water. Do that ahead of time. Then fry 3 corn tortillas (not flour) one by one in some oil about 20 seconds per side until crisping but not crispy. Dip both sides of the fried tortillas in the tomatillo purée and fold on plate. Top with more purée, shredded cabbage, sliced radishes, and crumbled queso fresco. Season with salt and pepper. It sounds a little weird, I'll admit, but talk about great Mexican flavor with lots of fresh veggies. Don't knock it 'til you try it.

Ingredient Sources:
Tomatillos, onion, serrano chile, cabbage, radishes: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Corn tortillas: Cinco de Mayo, Lynn, MA

A Very Important Vegetable Meeting

I've called you all here today because I had a couple of revelations about vegetables over the past week that you might be interested in. Or not, but since when does that ever stop me. I'm not really sure how to import PowerPoint presentations into my blog, so I'm just going to read them off:

Bullet Point Number One: Spaghetti squash is delicious layered like lasagna with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and Parmesan. Especially if you use a nice thick homemade tomato sauce so it doesn't get too watered down. Simply cut squash in half, scoop out guts, roast cut-side-down on oiled sheet pan 45 min. at 350 F until tender. Scoop out the stringy contents of one squash shell into square baking dish, layer with sauce and cheese, repeat with second half. Bake until bubbly, 20-30 minutes. The kids didn't notice that it wasn't spaghetti and I didn't tell them. The result was that both of them gobbled up the whole thing even though neither one of them likes tomato sauce. I know! I've given up trying to figure kids out, but sometimes it works to your advantage.

Bullet Point Number Two: YOU MUST MAKE THIS EGGPLANT RELISH!!!

Put aside that maybe you don't like eggplant, not to mention that what the hell is it doing in relish form? Put those things aside and keep them there. My neighbor brought me a taste of this one afternoon and it changed my world. I then made two batches in a week, using up four of those long, skinny CSA eggplants and a bunch of little ones from the school garden, as well as two red Italian frying peppers we got in our farmshare. I am crazy for this relish. It's delicious scooped up with pita chips, makes a nice side dish next to lamb, and could totally work as a sandwich topping. Husband wants it as lasagna filling. It's awesome! AND it's totally healthy—there's nothing bad in here at all. To put this in proper perspective, I've just spent the past month making almost nothing but cakes, pies, and strudels, and the only thing I want to eat right now is this eggplant. Either my cookbook blows or this eggplant is really something.

And that concludes my presentation. This meeting is adjourned. You are hereby dismissed from work early to go make this eggplant relish.

Spicy Eggplant Relish

If you peel the eggplant, no one will know it's eggplant and everyone will eat it. Swear to god.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 cup minced onion
1 medium globe eggplant or 2-3 long, skinny ones, diced small (peeling optional)
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. salt
1 medium red bell pepper, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
Cayenne to taste

Heat oil in a large skillet. Add onion, eggplant, cumin, and salt, and sauté over medium heat until eggplant is tender, 10-15 minutes. Add pepper and sauté another 5 minutes. Stir in garlic and lemon juice and cook several minutes more. Add cayenne a few shakes at a time until you get the desired heat. Add more salt if necessary. Serve warm, room temperature, or cold with pita chips, lamb chops, roast chicken, or all by itself with a spoon.

Source: An old Moosewood cookbook.

Local Ingredients:
Eggplant, peppers, onions, garlic: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Fried Okra

So how about some okra?!!

Hello?

Maybe the Internet is off today.

I get the sense that there's no love for okra. Yup, there's definitely some anti-okra energy in the room. And I'm thinking it might have something to do with the texture, amiright?

Slimy mouthfeel? Check.

Gooey centers oozing onto my knife? Check!

Mucousy strings as I pull the knife away? Double check!!

So fine, yes, okra is gross. Let's just put that out there. It's disgusting. I mean, if I wanted my food to look like it was covered in snot, I would have had kids.

Wait a minute.

But the thing is that okra is delicious. It tastes great! So I try to counteract the sliminess with a counterpoint of crunchiness. In other words, I dredge the chunks in cornmeal, then fry them in oil and salt them generously. That's it! Husband calls it popcorn okra. The kids are unfooled, but will choke it down since dessert is on the line. Still, Husband and I would happily watch a movie with a bucket full of this stuff passed between us, and the only problem would be agreeing on the movie.

Speaking of movies, any recommendations? Because Husband hasn't been a fan of what I've been bringing home from the library lately, and I'd rather blame you guys.

My Favorite Cut of Pork

If you know me well, and by now I think you do, then you know I like pork. Within the broad category of pork, it's nearly impossible for me to pick a favorite cut what with bacon/pork belly vying for the top position along with pork shoulder, either barbecued or roasted in the Italian style. But my blog editor is demanding and unreasonable and she insists for the purposes of this post that I pick just one. So here it is: country-style ribs.

Surprised? It's true! Country-style ribs are well priced, quick and easy to grill, and absolutely scrumptious. My simple treatment of them has been known to elicit marriage proposals. Be careful when serving them in mixed company or things can get awkward real quick. That said, it's important to note that country-style ribs are different from spareribs. My understanding is that country-style ribs aren't actually ribs at all but are cut more from the shoulder area. That would explain the different texture and why they don't require a lot of time on the grill to cook up tender and juicy and amazing. Ten minutes often does the trick. Cooking is best done on a hot charcoal grill, searing them over direct heat for several minutes on each side, then moving them to the cooler perimeter to complete the transition from rare to medium-rare. But they can also be done on the stovetop in an ovenproof pan with a thin film of olive oil and finished quickly in a medium oven.

These ribs are completely awesome. I'm not exaggerating. They're perfect in the fall with apple and cabbagey dishes. If the recipe looks simple, that's because it is and you should make it and see for yourself.  If I can't convince you that anything could possibly be better than bacon, well then you'll probably want to head over to Amuse Bouche to find out how to make your own. Either way, you're in for some serious swinish satisfaction.

Tammy's Yankee Non-BBQ Country-Style Ribs

Nothing against southern barbecue spareribs. I would gladly eat those anytime, anyplace, but these have a charm all their own.

1-2 lbs. country-style pork ribs
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 Tbsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. dried rosemary (or 1 Tbsp. fresh)
1 tsp. ground black pepper
1 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. fennel seeds
1/2 tsp. dried sage
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
Pinch or two of cayenne pepper

Build your fire and get things hot. I do this by removing the top grate from the grill, filling one of those metal chimney starter things almost to the top with charcoal, stuffing newspaper in the bottom, resting it on the bottom grate, and setting fire to the newspaper so the whole thing starts smoking. Then I let the coals ash up for about 20 minutes while I get the meat ready.

Make your rub by mixing the olive oil and all the other herbs and spices together in a small bowl. If it doesn't look like enough rub for the amount of meat you have, add more oil. Pat the ribs dry with paper towels and then rub them all over with the herb mixture. You can let the meat sit overnight in the fridge or for a few hours at room temperature before cooking, but I'm usually cobbling this together at the last minute. Also, I've already started the grill, so let's get cooking!

With oven mitts, dump the blazing hot coals into the grill (NOT onto your feet), add a whole bunch of new coals on top, and replace the top grate. I let things heat up for 5-10 minutes, then scrape down the grate. Place the meat over the hottest part of the grill for a minute or two (depends on how hot your fire is). You want substantial grill marks before flipping. Repeat on the other side. When appropriately grill-marked, turn back over and move to the sides of the grill where the heat is less intense. They can sit there for anywhere from 2-7 minutes to get to medium rare. Poke at them until they feel right or just cut into one to test. You can cook the meat in batches so if you have four on the direct heat, once you move them to the indirect heat, add the new meat to the middle. Remove to serving dish as they finish cooking and let rest five minutes. There's probably still plenty of heat on that grill, so throw some zucchini on there. While you're at it, maybe some onions. Or fennel. Then, after dinner, wrap up some beets and just leave them on the covered dying grill overnight. Pick them up in the morning and plop them in the fridge before you leave for work so you have the makings of a beet salad that night.

If you'd rather stay inside the house for these ribs, preheat the oven to 350°F. Heat a large ovenproof skillet on medium-high and add a tablespoon of oil. When the oil is shimmering, sear the ribs in batches so they get a nice terracotta-colored crust, 2-3 minutes per side. Flip and repeat, removing to a plate, until all the ribs are done. Then nestle them all back in the pan and place in the oven until they reach the desired doneness. This could range from 3 to 10 minutes depending on thickness, so check often. Remove from oven and let rest.

Dig in.

Local Sources:
Country-style ribs: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA

Summer Squash Soup

Do you have a lot of summer squash? What kind of a question is that? Of course you do! Thanks to all the rain we got from Irene, it's like Field of Dreams out there with the bat-sized zucchinis.

So what do I do when I have too much of any vegetable? I purée it into oblivion and call it soup! The results can be kind of sketchy, I'll admit, but this one—based on the Spanish puré de calabacín—is actually pretty good. I kept the skins on so this otherwise bland-looking soup would have little yellow and green flecks throughout. It's thickened with nothing more than the starch of the potatoes, and finished with the herbs of your choice. I was happy with my lemon thyme, but regular thyme, basil, or marjoram would also work. Serve a bowl of this alongside some toasted scali bread slathered with mayonnaise and topped with thick slices of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, salt and pepper generously applied.

Now that's summer!


Summer Squash Soup

A little grated cheese melted in there wouldn't be out of place, either.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped (or leeks)
2 lbs. summer squash like zucchini or pattypan, unpeeled, cut into 1-inch chunks
1-2 small potatoes, peeled, cubed small
2-3 cups water
1 tsp. salt
Sprigs of fresh thyme
1 tsp. chopped fresh herbs like lemon thyme, basil, or marjoram
Lemon juice to taste
Black pepper

In a medium pot, heat olive oil and sauté onion until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add squash and potatoes, and stir to coat in oil. Add just enough water to cover and stir in salt, pepper, and thyme sprigs. Close lid and and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 15-20 minutes, until squash and potatoes are tender. Let cool a bit and then pull out thyme sprigs. Using a stick blender or a regular blender, puree soup until smooth (if using a regular blender, do this in two batches). Thin with water, if necessary, and add herbs, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

Local Sources:
Onion, squash: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Potatoes: Picadilly Farm, Winchester, NH
Herbs: My yard

Kind of Blue

On vacation last week, we got a hot tip that there were pick-your-own blueberries nearby. I was expecting a few neglected bushes in someone's yard well picked over by birds or maybe a row of anemic branches covered in netting. But, I tell you, these were the most beautiful blueberry bushes I have ever seen. More than 30 years old and two dozen strong, the bushy branches were dripping with fruit and raindrops, full of the wild flavor I remember from canoeing in New Hampshire as a kid, picking berries along the pond's edge. 

We picked five pounds of blueberries, and then we came back a few days later and picked five more! At $1.50/lb., you'd be a fool not to. Back at the lake house, I made blueberry pie, blueberry cobbler, and, now that I'm back home, blueberry cake. It seemed excessive at the time, but I could use another 10 lbs. right about now. Call me greedy.

If you're inclined to make impromptu pie in an unfamiliar kitchen with whatever ingredients are on hand, here's what I did: Mixed 2 cups flour with a tablespoon of sugar and a teaspoon of salt. Cut in 12 Tbsp. unsalted butter. Diluted buttermilk with ice cubes and a little cold water, and added a little over 1/2 cup, until the dough was just moist enough to hold together but not wet. I divided the mixture into two slightly uneven parts, kneaded them a few times, and formed them into two disks. Then I wrapped them in plastic wrap and refrigerated them for a couple of hours while I went for a swim.

Later, I preheated the oven to 425°F. I scooped out a heaping-pie-dish-worth of blueberries and dumped them into a large bowl with 1/2 cup sugar, a tablespoon of cornstarch, a few shakes of cinnamon, and a few squeezes of lemon juice strained through my fingers to catch the seeds. I stirred that gently, and then rolled out the larger disk of dough to fit the pie plate. I dumped in the blueberry mixture, rolled out the smaller dough disk, and draped it over the blueberries. After tucking the edges underneath, crimping them, and cutting steam vents, I brushed the top with buttermilk. Into the top third of the oven it went for 20 minutes, then I reduced the heat to 375°F for about 20 minutes more. Maybe less. I always forget that pies with top crusts cook quicker than those with drafty lattice crusts.

We ate our slices warm with vanilla ice cream and at least one child licked his bowl clean, the ultimate compliment. Not my kids, though. My kids won't eat pie! Can you believe that??

Anyway, there aren't any pictures of the pie. I was on vacation, goddamnit!

Ratatouille: Summer Vegetable Stew

To continue my series on vegetable dishes that I make all the time but never document, here is my recipe for ratatouille.  There aren't many completely meatless meals that show up on my table—let's be honest—but this is one of them. Basically a rainbow of stewed summer vegetables, this rustic French dish is perfectly homey if a bit homely. Lately, I've been serving it over brown rice, letting the garlicky tomato sauce soak in to temper the whole-graininess, but it can be a side dish, too. Fresh thyme and basil keep the flavors bright. This is "food on the food" at its best/worst. Your CSA zucchini and eggplants will thank you for it, but your kids most certainly will not!

Ratatouille

This takes about an hour and a half from start to finish (if you prep your other veggies while the eggplant and zucchini are draining). A fair amount of that time is at the stove so I wouldn't attempt this during a heat wave, but the nights have been cooling off recently...

1 medium eggplant (or two of those skinny ones you get in your farmshare), cut into 3/4-inch cubes
6 Tbsp. olive oil
2 onions, halved and sliced
2 smallish zucchini, cut into 3/4-inch cubes
2 lbs. tomatoes, halved, seeded, and chopped into cubes (or two medium cans diced tomatoes in juice)
6-8 cloves garlic, peeled and mashed into smallish pieces by pounding on the side of a knife
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp. chopped fresh thyme
Fresh basil leaves, sliced into ribbons
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Place eggplant cubes in a colander and sprinkle with a few pinches of kosher salt. Set a smaller bowl on top to weigh them down and place zucchini into that bowl, also sprinkling with salt. Let sit half an hour. In small handfuls with a clean kitchen towel, give them a gentle squeeze to dry them (I don't rinse the salt--I just add less at the end).

Heat 2 Tbsp. of olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat and lightly brown onions, about 6-8 minutes. With a slotted spoon, transfer onions to a bowl, reserving oil. Heat another 2 Tbsp. olive oil and lightly brown the zucchini, stirring occasionally. Transfer zucchini to the bowl of onions. Add another 2 Tbsp. oil and cook the eggplant until lightly brown, tossing every few minutes.

Return the zucchini and onions to the pan with the eggplant, and add the tomatoes, garlic, bay leaf, thyme, a few pinches of salt, and black pepper. Simmer 20-30 minutes over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are tender but not mushy. Discard bay leaf. Season to taste with pepper and perhaps a bit more salt. Serve over brown rice and sprinkle with ribbons of basil. Serves 4-6.

Local Sources:

Eggplant, zucchini, onions, garlic, tomatoes, basil: Waltham Fields, Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Ribfest Hush Puppies

Ribfest is a tradition of ours that started about 10 years ago with our next-door neighbors, and is somewhat legendary among our friends. 

It began as a potluck barbecue free-for-all with 40 people and three grills full of spicy, sticky ribs.  Because there was always a major extended downpour regardless of the date we chose, tarps were hoisted up between the two houses to keep the grills dry and the people around them slightly less dry.  Dining tables and card tables were pushed together like mismatched train cars winding their way around the first floor of our neighbor's house.  In later years, we all crammed ourselves onto our newly rebuilt front porch, piles of orange-streaked, wadded-up napkins littering the tables, rain pouring all around us.  It was fun, but a little crazy.  Turns out manning three grills at a slow, smoldering pace for 6 hours in the rain while keeping small children at bay is harder than it looks.

Over the years, the festivities have become scaled back to include mostly just ourselves and a few others.  The basic menu has remained more or less the same: our neighbors' spectacularly tender and flavorful ribs and their similarly amazing grilled beans.  My contribution has always involved hushpuppies, the deep-fried cornmeal fritters I fancied as a kid when we lived in the Chesapeake Bay area.  Depending on the year, I might also make collard greens, coleslaw, or fried okra.  Often, one or the other of us provides potato salad or cornbread or a green salad.  I always make a dessert. 

The main attraction, however, are the ribs.  Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to share the rib recipe.  I'm sorry to be a gigantic tease.  There's something magical about those ribs and I'm afraid if I learn the secret, the magic will be lost.  I can, on the other hand, share my recipe for hushpuppies—and I think you will find them to be completely irresistible.

 

Hushpuppies

For best results, use the finest ground cornmeal you can find.  Fry these right before you're going to serve them, as they don't improve upon sitting.  Give yourself a good 15-20 minutes to fry them all.  The recipe makes about 2 dozen, but you can double (or triple) the recipe as needed--just allow more time for frying and bring them out in installments.  Serve with corn and cayenne mayonnaise for a spicy kick.

2 cups yellow cornmeal, finely ground
1 Tbsp. flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 Tbsp. kosher salt
1 Tbsp. granulated sugar
2 tsp. onion powder
1 tsp. garlic powder
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped scallion
1/2 cup frozen corn kernels, defrosted (optional)
1 egg, slightly beaten
1 cup buttermilk, plus an extra Tbsp. or two if necessary
Canola or peanut oil for frying

In a large mixing bowl, stir together the cornmeal, flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, sugar, onion powder, and garlic powder.  Add the onion, scallion, corn kernels, egg, and buttermilk and mix well.  I often add another 1-2 Tbsp. of buttermilk if it seems too thick, but much more liquid than that may cause painful oil splatters to occur while frying, so use caution.  Let batter rest 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat two inches of oil in a large heavy pot.  Use a candy thermometer to monitor the heat.  The ideal temperature for deep-frying is 375°F, but it will fluctuate as you take things in and out of the pot.  Adjust the heat as necessary.  Usher small children out of the room due to aforementioned splatters.  Fry hushpuppies 4 or 5 at a time until they turn a rich terracotta brown, then flip and fry on the other side (about 3 minutes total, but this will vary with temperature).  Remove from oil with tongs or slotted spoon.  Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with kosher salt.  Eat immediately.  (The small crispy bits rescued from the hot oil are the cook's reward!)


Corn and Cayenne Mayonnaise

This recipe makes about twice as much as you need for a single recipe of hushpuppies, but it's also delicious with cornmeal-crusted catfish.  Can be made a day ahead of time if kept refrigerated.

1 cup canola or vegetable oil, plus 1 Tbsp. to fry corn
1 cup corn kernels
1 clove garlic, peeled
2 egg yolks
2 Tbsp. vinegar
1 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/4-1/2 tsp. cayenne
Lemon juice to taste

In a medium frying pan, heat 1 Tbsp. oil until hot and fry corn until nicely browned, about 2 minutes.  Let cool.

In a food processor, puree the cooled corn and garlic.  Add the egg yolks, vinegar, mustard, salt, sugar, paprika, and cayenne (start with 1/4 tsp.), and blend well. Through the feed tube, slowly add the oil with the machine running until fully emulsified. Taste to adjust seasoning, adding a little lemon juice or more salt and cayenne if necessary. 

Note: If your mayo should break, meaning separate into a curdled, disgusting mess, have no fear.  Separate another egg and add the yolk to a medium bowl (reserve the white in the fridge for another use).  Very slowly add the broken mayo to the egg yolk while whisking to incorporate until they are fully combined.  The new mayo should be smooth and more stable this time.  Dilute with water if too thick, whisking well.

Source: Adapted from The Cambridge School of Culinary Arts.

Local Ingredients:
Eggs: Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Scallions: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Buttermilk: Kate's, Old Orchard Beach, ME
Mustard: Raye's Mustard, Eastport, ME

Spinach, Chickpeas, and a Possible Anchovy Component

Are you getting bags and bags of greens in your CSA?  Here's a simple lunch you might enjoy: wilted spinach stewed briefly with chickpeas, garlic, and cumin.   It's a Spanish dish I gleaned from Ximena Maier's lobstersquad many years ago, around the time she drew my banner illustration.  This dish was something I often packed for lunch while substitute teaching because it's healthy and delicious lukewarm right out of my lunch bag.  And guess what?  It's even more delicious now that the school year is OVER!!!  WOOOOO!  YEAAAHHHH!!!!  TAKE THAT!!!!!!!

Anyway, I made this for lunch last week alongside marinated anchovies on slices of baguette.  These are not the incredibly salty anchovies that are listed on pizza menus or mashed into puttanesca sauce (which I also like), but rather fresh anchovies marinated in wine vinegar and then bathed in oil.   They're mild and almost refreshing.  You can find them in tapas bars all over Spain (called boquerones en vinagre), but also at Russo's in the refrigerated case near the smoked salmon.  They're great with beer.  And summer vacation!  Mark this combo down as one of my favorite lunches ever.


Spinach and Chickpeas with Garlic and Cumin

If I happen to have some olives kicking around, I might add those, too.

1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
½ tsp. cumin (or more)
1 14-oz. can chickpeas, drained, rinsed
½ cup tomato sauce
1 lb. spinach or Swiss chard, washed
2-3 drops Tabasco
A squeeze of fresh lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat oil in a medium pan over medium heat and sauté onion until transparent, about 4 minutes.  Add garlic and cumin and cook another minute until fragrant.  Add chickpeas, tomato sauce, and spinach.  Cover pan and cook about 4-5 minutes.  Season with Tabasco, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and cook uncovered another minute until most of the excess liquid evaporates. 

Local Ingredients:
Spinach: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Cracking the Recipe: The Local's Peanut Butter Pie

Recently, the whole family went to The Local in Newton where the fried pickles are good and the macaroni and cheese is even better.  (Holy crap, their mac 'n' cheese is good, and I don't even like mac 'n' cheese.  It's on par with Silvertone's, in my opinion, so if you don't feel like driving into Boston to luxuriate in a bowl of cheesy mac, now you know: West Newton, baby.)

Anyway, TeenNiece ordered the peanut butter pie for dessert.  She really liked it.  Later on, I noticed, peanut butter pie kept coming up in conversation.  I suggested that maybe we should try to make one ourselves.  Peanut butter is something we always have on hand, after all.  And chocolate.  At least for a little while. 

TeenNiece and I worked on this together, and what we came up with is a little bit dangerous: peanut butter mousse in a salted peanut-graham cracker crust with thick ribbons of bittersweet chocolate sauce poured on top. Consider what your waistline is worth to you before you commit to making this pie.   It's somewhat airier than the version we had at The Local (maybe ease up on the whipped cream if you want to get picky about the details), but TeenNiece likes it this way so that's how it's going to stay.


Peanut Butter Pie with Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce

Inspired by The Local, 1391 Washington St., West Newton, MA

Crust
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
1 cup graham cracker crumbs (or 10 whole graham crackers crushed)
1/3 cup dry-roasted, salted peanuts, ground in the food processor

Filling
1 8-oz. package cream cheese
3/4 cup confectioner's sugar
3/4 cup smooth peanut butter
1 tsp. vanilla
3/4 cup heavy cream

Sauce
1/3 cup heavy cream
4 oz. bittersweet chocolate chips (like Ghirardelli) or shaved chocolate
Pinch of sea salt
1/2 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 F.  For the crust, combine the melted butter, graham cracker crumbs, and ground peanuts.  Press into a 9-inch pie dish and bake 7-9 minutes until edges start to color and you can smell the peanutty aroma.  Set aside and let cool.

For the filling, beat the cream cheese and sugar with the paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.  Mix in peanut butter and vanilla.  In a separate medium bowl, beat the cream with a whisk or electric mixer until stiff peaks form.  Stir about a half cup of the whipped cream into the peanut butter mixture, then gently fold in the rest of the whipped cream just until no longer streaky.  Carefully pour the mousse into the crust and chill at least 3 hours or overnight.

For the sauce, combine cream, chocolate, and salt in a small saucepan and simmer for 2 minutes.  Remove from heat and stir in vanilla.  Transfer to small bowl and let cool.  If the sauce starts to separate or you want it a little thinner, whisk in a bit of extra cream until smooth.  When ready to serve, reheat just enough to get a pourable consistency (don't pour hot molten fudge on your nicely chilled pie).  To serve, ribbon chocolate sauce over each slice of pie, letting it puddle on the sides.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT

Hawaiian Sunshine

For the next two months, we will be a family of five.  My teenaged niece who lives on Maui is staying with us for the summer. 

In the two weeks since she arrived, TeenNiece has brightened our home with her sunshiny personality and charming expressions like "awesome possum!"  She won over the 5YO immediately with descriptions of exotic Hawaiian birds.  She and Husband exchanged important, possibly life-saving tips regarding the zombie apocalypse.  An excellent swimmer (a more graceful butterfly stroke I've never seen), TeenNiece has proven to be a motivating personal trainer—one who can also be counted on to quickly and reliably rescue her sputtering, partially drowning Auntie T.  Aaaaaand, she can cook!  While we were on tornado alert last week, she prepared creamy fettuccine with breaded chicken strips (which Husband dubbed "chicken and tornoodles") all by herself.  It was delicious!  Perhaps she will be guest-posting this summer!  Did I mention she's a prolific writer?

In the spirit of our visitor from more tropical shores, here's a recipe I developed for passion fruit bars with macadamia nut shortbread shown above.  Think lemon bars with a Hawaiian twist.  It's currently being featured on Babble.com.   Enjoy!

Local Sources:
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Eggs: Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Plate: The Concord Shop, Concord, MA

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

Last year, I saw a sudden spike in my blog traffic and, come to find out, Tori Spelling had tweeted about my rhubarb pie post.  Yes, that Tori Spelling. 

It really threw me for a loop.  You mean to tell me the busty Beverly Hills 90210 teen star cooks?  With rhubarb?  And is able to spell it correctly?  These were the thoughts that instantly ran through my head, proving that not only am I a judgmental a-hole, but I also confuse actors with their television roles, despite knowing better, and simultaneously freeze them in time—say, 1992 in this case.  For all I know, the actual Tori Spelling of 2011 in whatever zip code she currently resides is super-smart and a fantastic cook and a warm and wonderful person unspoiled by wealth and fame.  And if that's true then fuck you, Tori Spelling.  You can't have rhubarb, too!  Save something for the rest of us!!!

Over here in Waltham 02453, my modest success this week was helping somebody who didn't like rhubarb to like rhubarb.  (My victories are small but sweet!)  The idea behind these rhubarb-blood orange parfaits is to layer lightly sweetened rhubarb compote with fresh whipped cream.  It's a lovely balance of sweet/tart, and a nice prelude to strawberry shortcake.   Keeping the layers separate provides more flavor contrast while folding them together mellows the rhubarb tang.  If you've ever heard of a dessert called a "fool," that's what it is: cooked, sweetened fruit lightened with whipped cream.  As in, I pity the fool that doesn't like rhubarb fool!  Anyway, I've been dying to try this with wild Japanese knotweed, but I keep missing the window of time when the shoots are young and tender.  Too busy chasing down mushrooms, I guess. 

What I'm trying to say is, Rhubarb Haters and/or Shannen Doherty, this one's for you! 

 

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

You can use a regular orange, of course, but I found that the blood orange deepened the color of the fruit compote, making for prettier contrasting layers.

1-1/2 lb. rhubarb, washed, trimmed, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 cup sugar
1 medium blood orange, zested (about 1 tsp.) and juiced (2-3 Tbsp.)
1 tsp. vanilla
Pinch salt
2 cups heavy cream, cold

Place rhubarb in a medium saucepan with all but 1-2 Tbsp. of the sugar (reserve remaining sugar for whipped cream).  Add orange zest, juice, vanilla, and salt, and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat.  Reduce heat slightly and gently simmer 7-10 minutes until rhubarb is soft but still chunky.  Let cool.  Transfer to medium bowl and refrigerate several hours until chilled.

Just before serving, whisk the heavy cream in a medium bowl until the wires leave trails.  Add the remaining sugar and continue whisking until thick and an upswing of the whisk leaves medium peaks.  To assemble, layer rhubarb mixture and whipped cream in each of four bowls, beginning with rhubarb and ending with cream.  Serve immediately.

Source: Adapted from Raquel Pelzel.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Bowl: The Concord Shop, Concord, MA

Curried Chicken Salad

One of my lasting memories of Nonni is of her standing at the kitchen counter after a roast chicken dinner and pulling every last shred of meat off the bones.  The chicken would then find its way into soup or whatever else she pleased.

Her depression-era tactics have served me well.  On these warmer days, I like to use the scavenged meat in a quick curried chicken salad.  If I'm diligent, I can get enough meat for 2 to 4 sandwiches before I freeze the stripped carcass for soup stock.  That's three separate and substantial meals from a single chicken, if anyone is keeping count.  Nonni would approve.

Curried Chicken Salad

If you don't like raisins, you can substitute chopped grapes, but I'm partial to the raisin version. 

2 cups cooked chicken, chopped
1/2 onion, finely chopped
Handful or two of raisins
1/2 cup mayo
1 Tbsp. dijon mustard
1 Tbsp. curry powder (or more)
Salt and pepper

In a medium bowl, combine chicken, onion, and raisins.  Make a well in the ingredients and stir together mayo, mustard, curry powder, and plenty of salt and pepper.  Mix everything together well.  Heap into your favorite sandwich configuration.

Chorizo and White Bean Stew

Sometimes the filthiest things come out of my mouth and I don't even realize it.  I've been known to shout, "I LOVE CAULK!" without any regard for other possible interpretations.  I will go on and on about how wet I am after a recent downpour in front of a male audience and realize only later what I've done.  Naturally, people might assume I do this for effect—a shameless plea for attention—when, in fact, I have no idea what's coming out of my mouth at the time.

Once, Husband overheard my side of a phone conversation with my 90-year-old great uncle that sounded something like this: "You should be able to get it up....... Try Nonni's place if it doesn't work at yours.......If it's working it should come right up.  You'll know.......If you can't get it up in the living room or the bedroom, try the kitchen.  Try the bathroom if you have to."  We were talking about wifi and how to access the family recipes on my blog, but that wasn't what it sounded like.  When I finally hung up, I saw Husband standing in the doorway, arms folded, shaking his head, "Well, that one was for the books.  Did Uncle Joe get it up?"  Verrrrrry sloooowly my awareness dawned.

So I think it wise when venturing to talk about sausages here that I keep things short and sweet.  I enjoy going on at length, don't get me wrong, but it's probably better to proceed with caution just in case important people are monitoring this blog.  The thrust of it is this: it won't end well.  Instead, here's a recipe for a white bean stew I made during this cold, rainy week using sausages from Pete and Jen's Backyard Birds and their collaborators over at Green Mountain Smokehouse in Vermont.  Tasty, tasty stuff!


Chorizo and White Bean Stew

Feel free to add some greens.  Mine were on the side, but they don't have to be!

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. bacon fat (optional)
1 onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 Tbsp. fresh rosemary, chopped (or 1 tsp. dried)
1 Tbsp. fresh thyme, chopped (or 1 tsp. dried)
2 tomatoes, chopped (or an equivalent amount of leftover tomato sauce)
1 tsp. smoked paprika
3 chorizo sausages (about 3/4 lb.)
2 15-oz. cans cannellini beans, drained, rinsed

Heat the oil in a large, heavy-based pot over medium heat.  Sauté the onion 4-5 minutes until they just start to brown.  Add the garlic, rosemary, and thyme, and stir about 30 seconds.  Add the tomatoes and paprika, and simmer 4-5 minutes until tomatoes are soft.  Meanwhile, slice chorizo into 1/2-inch thick rounds.  Add the chorizo and beans to the pot with enough water to cover.  Bring to a boil, then lower heat.  Simmer 5-8 minutes until sausages are cooked through.  Serve over rice or next to a big pile of greens with a hunk of crusty bread.

Goat Gyros

Okay, enough with my crazy mushroom obsession.  Time to get back to something a little more mainstream.  Like goat gyros!

Wait, don't leave!  Goat is good, I promise.  Remember that time I made Vikram Vij's goat curry and then never wrote out the recipe for you guys, apparently?  Well, it was really delicious, trust me.  So good that when goat came up in our Chestnut Farms meat CSA again, I dove for it.  This time it was ground goat, and I knew right away what I wanted to do with it.  Gyros! 

First things first: pronunciation.  You may, if you choose, mentally read the word gyro as "YEE-ro" with a Greek accent.  Or, you can do what I do and pronounce it "JAI-ro" because I'm never going to change.  Or, if you're too embarrassed to pronounce it in public at all, just make it yourself.  I mean, when it comes right down to it, a gyro is just a souped-up meatloaf sandwich.  One with slightly different flavorings and served in pita with lettuce, tomato, red onion, and a generous slathering of cool, creamy, garlicky tzatziki sauce.  But, still, a meatloaf sandwich nonetheless. 

My trusted Internet sources suggested that ground goat can be very lean, so I mixed it half and half with some ground pork.  It wasn't dry at all.  Feel free to substitute the goat/pork mixture with ground lamb (or ground beef, for that matter).  It was super tasty, but this sandwich will be to-die-for during the height of tomato season.  Mark it down!


Goat Gyros with Tzatziki

The meatloaf technique is borrowed from Alton Brown.  The water bath seems a little fussy for meatloaf, and I may throw caution to the wind next time and go without it, but I'm including it here anyway.  I mean really, Tammy, how hard is it to put water in a pan?   Get your yogurt draining several hours before you start unless you're using Greek-style yogurt.

1 lb. ground goat
1 lb. ground pork
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp. dried marjoram
1 Tbsp. dried rosemary
2 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper

8 large whole pitas
Head of lettuce
4 tomatoes, diced 
Red onion, thinly sliced

Preheat oven to 325°F.

Process onion in the food processor until minced, 10-15 seconds.  Dump onion into center of a non-linty dishtowel.  Gather up the sides of the towel, twist, and squeeze hard over the sink until most of the juice is extracted.  Shake onion back into food processor and add ground meat, garlic, marjoram, rosemary, salt, and pepper, and process until pasty and gross, about 1 minute, scraping down the bowl halfway through.  Don't worry, it gets better.

Scrape meat mixture into a loaf pan, pressing it into the sides.  Place loaf pan in a larger roasting pan and fill that pan with water halfway up the sides.  Bake about an hour and change until it's cooked through and smells great.  Remove from oven and drain fat.  I took another loaf pan, set it on top of the meatloaf and put some heavy tomato cans inside to weigh it down (I did this instead of weighing it down with a foil-wrapped brick per the original recipe).  You could probably skip this step, too, if you wanted.  Let rest 15 minutes.  Slice for sandwiches.

To serve, nuke a stack of whole pita rounds for about 20 seconds until warm and bendable.  Line each with lettuce leaves.  Arrange your meat down the center (I find one or two slices broken up to be sufficient). Scatter diced tomatoes and sliced red onion, and spoon tzatziki sauce generously over it all.  Fold up an inch or two of the bottom of the pita and, while holding it in place, fold one side over, then the other.  Insert a toothpick or two in the bottom or wrap with foil.  Dollop a little extra tzatziki sauce on top and you're good to go.  When I reheat the leftover meat in the days that follow, I do so not in the microwave but in a pan with a little olive oil so I can brown each side while it heats.


Tzatziki Sauce

If using Greek-style yogurt, use maybe 1/4 less than the recipe calls for since you don't need to drain it. 

16 oz. plain yogurt
1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 tsp. red wine vinegar or lemon juice
1 Tbsp. fresh mint leaves, finely chopped
1/4 tsp. kosher salt

Place the yogurt in a cheesecloth- or tea towel-lined strainer over a bowl, and drain for two hours in the fridge.  Gather the chopped cucumber in another tea towel and squeeze over the sink to remove liquid.  In a medium bowl, combine drained yogurt, cucumber, garlic, olive oil, vinegar, mint, and salt.  Refrigerate until ready to use.

Garlicky Collard Greens

As you can see from the photo, I have taken one meal and turned it into three separate posts: one for asparagus, one for porchetta, and now one for collards.  It's only taken me five years to get efficient about this whole blogging thing.        Do you want the mashed potato recipe, too?  Let's make it four!

Today, we're talking about simple collard greens.  I think everybody must have a rendition of garlicky greens in their repertoire, whether it's spinach, swiss chard, or kale you prefer.  But people tend to steer clear of collard greens and I ask you why?  They are most delicious and toothsome.  Like kale, they require a little extra time stewing in the pot, but I don't usually let them go more than 15 minutes.  With a pork chop bone in there or some bacon fat, things just get more delicious with every passing minute.  I have been known to have collards for breakfast with a fried egg on top.  Of course, having a tendency toward mild anemia, I get a little crazed around iron-rich foods.  Just put me in a room filled with meat and leafy greens and don't talk to me for three days.

The following technique is good for tough greens like collards, kale, and broccoli rabe, though I'd reduce the cooking time to about 10 minutes for the latter two.  For more delicate greens like spinach, swiss chard, and young beet greens, you don't need any additional liquid beyond the water clinging to the leaves after you wash them.  They'll also cook much more quickly, just a few short minutes for spinach.

Garlicky Collard Greens

The farm bacon around here is so rich and tasty, I find I only need a small amount of bacon fat to get the flavor I want.  You can leave out the bacon entirely, or, if you crave more, by all means dice up a slice or two and fry it in the pot just short of crispy, then proceed from there.

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. bacon fat
2 cloves garlic, minced
Shake of red pepper flakes
1 bunch collard greens, washed, destemmed all the way up the center, leaves cut crosswise into wide strips
1/4 cup water (or stock)
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper

Heat oil and bacon fat in large pot over medium heat.  Sauté garlic and red pepper flakes about 15 seconds.  Add collards, water, salt, and pepper.  Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, about 15-20 minutes.  Some people cook them longer, say 45 minutes, but I like my greens to be tender while still retaining an ever-so-slight resistance.  You're the boss—do what you like.

Porchetta

Just in time for Easter, I've come up with a recipe for porchetta that reminds me of Nonni's.  If you don't know what a porchetta is (pronounced por-ketta), it's a pork roast rubbed with garlic, fennel seeds, black pepper, salt, and whatever else you fancy (I like rosemary).  It's popular in the Marches region of Italy, except I hear they do a whole pig roast over there.  I'd probably burn the whole neighborhood down if I tried that, so we just do a boneless shoulder.

Nonni bought her porchettas pre-rubbed from the local butcher in her later years, so a recipe never got passed down.  A few years back, I tried the recipe in the Zuni Café Cookbook, which was delicious but wasn't quite the same.  This is my attempt to recreate the flavor of those New Haven-style porchettas using the amazing pork from our Chestnut Farms meat CSA.  And, for the record, I LOVE our meat CSA.  Husband took one bite of this and said it was the best pork he ever had in his life!



Porchetta

Here's the secret: let the meat sit with the rub for 2-3 days in the refrigerator before roasting.  (If you start now, it'll be done by Sunday!)  The other not-so-secret secret: don't overcook the pork.

3-4 lb. boneless pork roast (or you can debone it yourself)
5 garlic cloves, peeled, minced fine
1-1/2 Tbsp. dried rosemary
1 Tbsp. fennel seeds, crushed
1 Tbsp. ground black peppercorns
2 tsp. kosher salt

In a small bowl, mix together the garlic cloves, rosemary, fennel seeds, pepper, and salt.  If your roast is tied, untie it or remove the netting.  Open up the meat to expose all of its inner surfaces and rub the inside with half of the garlic-herb rub.  Close it up and retie it with kitchen string (2 or 3 pieces should do it).  Rub remaining garlic-herb mixture on the outside of the roast, coating all sides.  Cover roast tightly with plastic wrap and set in a pie plate or other dish to catch any juices that might seep out.  Let sit in refrigerator 2-3 days. 

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Remove plastic.  In a large pan, roast until internal temperature reaches 170°F and juices run clear (2- to 2-1/2 hours).  Let rest 10-15 minutes.  Slice and serve with roasted potatoes, roasted asparagus, and stuffed artichokes.  Leftovers, by the way, make great sandwiches, quesadillas, and burritos.