FOOD ON THE FOOD

Perfect Paella

I have a good friend who lives in the south of Spain, and when we get together, she’ll often come bearing saffron.

Saffron is a spice made from the dried stigmas of a type of crocus flower that blooms in the fall. It’s the most expensive spice in the world due to the labor-intensive process of hand-plucking enough of the delicate threads to reach a commercially marketable weight. My friend might bring me a tiny tube with a cork stopper or a one-inch transparent box containing a tangle of the red, brittle filaments. I hoard them like gold.

Of course, the problem with hoarding spices is that they never actually get used. Meanwhile, their potency weakens over time. In the case of my saffron stash, this translates to a major devaluation. So now I've vowed to use my saffron whenever possible. Perhaps the most famous use is in Spain’s national dish: paella. In this one-pan meal, rice is scented with saffron and studded with an assortment of meat, seafood, and vegetables.

Here’s our favorite recipe. The kids gobble it up every time. The only thing they pick out are the artichokes, which are deposited directly onto my plate.

Paella  

If you don’t have saffron and don’t want to spring for it, don’t worry, the dish will still be delicious without it. Just increase the amount of paprika. But if you already have a saffron stash somewhere, stop hoarding it and use it!

1 lb. uncooked medium shrimp, peeled, deveined, shells reserved
1 quart chicken stock (or water)
2 Tbsp. olive oil
8 oz. chorizo, cut into bite-sized pieces
6 chicken thighs or drumsticks
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Cayenne pepper
2 pinches saffron threads, crushed (about 1/4 tsp.)
1 large yellow onion, diced
1 green pepper, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 large tomatoes, seeded and chopped
2 bay leaves
1-1/2 cups uncooked rice (short-grain rice is best, but long-grain will also work)
1 tsp. sweet or smoked paprika
14-oz. can artichoke hearts, drained, quartered
1 cup frozen peas, defrosted, drained
1 pound mussels, scrubbed, debearded
1 lemon, cut into wedges

Combine the shrimp shells and chicken stock (or water) in a pan, and simmer for 30 minutes while preparing the other ingredients.

Heat a large paella pan or your largest skillet over medium-high heat. Add the oil and sauté the chorizo until brown, about 5 minutes for precooked sausage, longer for the fresh variety. Meanwhile, season the chicken with salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste. Remove the chorizo to a plate when done. Add the chicken to the hot pan and brown it well, turning occasionally, for about 15 minutes. Add the chicken to the plate of chorizo and set aside.

Strain the shrimp shells from the broth and discard.  Add the saffron to the hot broth and let steep until ready to use.

To the large skillet, add the onion and green pepper, and sauté for several minutes. Add the garlic and continue to stir occasionally until the vegetables are soft and starting to brown, several minutes more. Stir in the tomatoes and bay leaves and cook another 3 minutes. Add the rice and stir until gently toasted, 1-2 minutes. Stir the shrimp-and-saffron-scented broth into the rice. Add the paprika, a teaspoon of salt, and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Stir and bring the mixture to a simmer.

Add the chicken and chorizo to the pan. Cover with a lid or aluminum foil, decrease the heat to low or medium-low, and simmer for 20-25 minutes, until the rice is just tender and most of the liquid is absorbed. (Check to make sure the rice on the bottom isn’t burning.) Scatter the artichokes and peas on top. Then press the shrimp and mussels into the hot rice. Cover again and cook 8-10 minutes more until the shrimp are cooked and pink and the mussels have opened. Discard any unopened mussels as well as the bay leaves. Serve with lemon wedges.

Source: Adapted from Kitchen Counter Cooking School by Kathleen Flinn

Caldo Gallego

We’re finally starting to thaw out around here. The snow piles have shrunk noticeably, and I just saw my first patch of grass yesterday where the snow had receded from the salt line along the street. Here’s hoping March’s early leonine behavior turns lambish right on schedule [though it’ll be a shame not to break Boston’s all-time snowfall record (107.9 inches) after coming within a mere inch or two].

I’m making soup and will continue to do so for the next few months. I won’t stop until all the chill is gone from the air. This particular soup is perfect for these transition months from winter to spring. It hails from Galicia, the northwest region of Spain where the landscape at this time of year resembles lush, rainy Ireland in seeming tribute to the area's medieval Celtic roots. As such, the food is appropriate for those raw, drizzly days when the wet wind cuts right through to your bones. This version uses canned navy beans, potatoes, collard greens, and a winning trifecta of pork. That is to say: bacon, ham, and chorizo.

You'd be wise to save your ham bones this Easter to make this great soup.


Caldo Gallego (Galician Sausage and Bean Soup)  

If you can find Spanish smoked paprika, like pimentón de la Vera, use that as it imparts a distinctly Spanish flavor. Otherwise, use regular sweet paprika and you’ll get some of that smoky flavor from the chorizo.

1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 lb. bacon, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 large onion, diced
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon smoked paprika (or regular paprika)
2 15.5-oz. cans of navy beans, well rinsed and drained
1 lb. chorizo, sliced
1 ham bone or 1/2-lb. smoked pork hock, skin scored
6 cups chicken stock or water
2 Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cubed
5 cups shredded collard greens (or turnip greens, kale, or escarole)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Heat the oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the bacon and cook for 5 to 7 minutes until crisp. Remove the bacon from the pot with a slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels. Set aside.

Pour off all but 2 Tbsp. of the bacon fat from the pot. Add the onion and cook, stirring frequently, until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and paprika, and cook 1 minute more, stirring constantly. Add the beans, chorizo, ham bone or hock, and stock, and increase the heat to high. While heating, prepare the potatoes and greens, and add them to the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low, and simmer for 1 hour. Remove the ham bone or hock, reserving the meat to shred and return to the pot. Season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately garnished with bacon.

Source: Inspired by Soup of the Day by Ellen Brown, who adapted it from Jose Garces of Amada in Philadelphia.

Posole (Spicy Pork and Hominy Stew)

Our friend B is from Albuquerque, New Mexico. That means not only does he recognize all of the landmarks in Breaking Bad, but he also makes a mean posole. He makes this spicy pork and hominy stew every year for the holiday caroling party that he and his wife host, and every year they have to tear me away from the crock, even the times when it’s so spicy that my eyes burn and turn bloodshot and I break out into hives. I may look like a meth addict, but, fear not, it’s just a pepper problem. Half of my taste buds say yes, and the other half (along with my entire immune system) say nooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

This is my toned-down gringo version of posole. It has all the authenticity of the traditional dish with none of the pain. I add half of the pepper paste in the beginning of the cooking time. Later, I taste and tailor how much more I add at the end depending on how potent my particular peppers are. Then I serve more pepper paste at the table for people to customize their own bowls. Feel free to increase the peppers even more if you enjoy the sensation of a thousand Africanized bees attacking your face.

This recipe has become a huge hit with the whole family. Perfect for these frigid wintry nights.

Posole  

Hominy is a type of hard-kernel white or yellow corn that is precooked in an alkaline solution to remove the hull. The resulting kernels swell up to the size of garbanzo beans and they're equally tender. They add a mild, tortilla-like flavor to the stew. You can buy hominy in cans (Goya is one brand) in the ethnic section of the grocery store. You can also buy it frozen or dried. If dried, you will need to soak it overnight and expect a longer cooking time.

8-10 dried New Mexico chiles (look for big bags in the ethnic aisle of the store)
2-4 cups hot water
3 Tbsp. vegetable oil
2 lb. pork shoulder (with or without bone)
1 large onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 Tbsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. dried oregano
3 cups chicken stock (or two cups plus one cup of beer)
1 bay leaf
1 29-oz. can hominy, strained and rinsed
Salt and black pepper to taste
Diced avocado, fresh cilantro, and sour cream for topping
(Other options: shredded cabbage, sliced radishes)

Place the dried chiles in a large bowl and cover them with hot water. Set a small plate on top to weigh them down if necessary. Let them soak 15-20 minutes until softened.

Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large Dutch oven. Dry off the pork shoulder with paper towels and season it with plenty of salt and pepper. Brown the pork on all sides over medium-high heat, letting it sit on one side without moving until browned, then repeat on the next side, then the next, etc.

While the pork is browning, remove the peppers from the soaking water (reserve the water). Pull off the stems and remove most of the seeds from the hot peppers. Be careful not to touch your eyes or any other sensitive areas with your hands while working with hot peppers. You only have to learn that lesson once. Add the peppers to a blender and pour in enough of the soaking water to allow the mechanism to puree the mixture smoothly. You want a fluid reddish-brown slurry with no chunks. Pour the pepper mixture into a small bowl and set aside.

Remove the pork from the pot and place it on a large plate. Reduce the heat to medium and immediately add the chopped onion. Sauté until the onions are translucent, about 4 minutes. Stir in the garlic and sauté until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the cumin and oregano and stir briefly. Then add the chicken stock (and beer, if you like). Drop in the bay leaf. Stir in about half of the hot pepper paste. Add the pork and its juices back to the pot and increase the heat.  Add enough of the reserved pepper soaking water that the cooking liquid comes halfway up the side of the meat. Reserve the rest of the soaking water in case you need to add more later. Cover the pot and reduce the heat to medium-low to maintain a low simmer. Cook until tender, turning the meat occasionally, for about 3 hours.

Add the hominy and continue to simmer, uncovered, for another hour or until the pork is practically falling apart. Remove the bay leaf. Transfer the pork to a cutting board and pull it apart into bite-sized chunks. Return the meat to the pot. Taste to determine if it needs more pepper paste. Add as much as you want, reserving some for the table. If the broth is too thick, you can thin it with some of the pepper soaking water. Season with salt and pepper. Serve the stew with the toppings of your choice. I like cilantro, diced avocado, and maybe a bit of sour cream.

[To make this dish in a crockpot, you can brown the meat on the stovetop (or skip that part). When you get to the fourth paragraph, just add all of the ingredients to the slow cooker. Cook according to the manufacturer’s instructions, adding the hominy during the last hour or two of cooking. Pick up at the fifth paragraph where it says: Remove the bay leaf.]

Shrimp Tostadas with Lime Crema

Ladies and gentleman, I present the 11YO's dinner debut.

The other day, my eldest son asked me to teach him how to cook. Come again, I said? He repeated that he wanted to learn how to cook.

My first thought, of course, was drugs. My god, he's only been in middle school for two weeks and already they've recognized his knack for science and dragged him into some kind of peer pressure underground meth lab type of situation. My eyes must have gone all big and scary because he slowly backed over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and pointed to its stacked contents.

Oh, wait. He means food.

In order to understand my reaction, you need only take a quick glimpse into my childhood where you would find me pretty much anywhere else but in the kitchen. Did I want to help peel the carrots, shuck the corn, wash the potatoes? No, I did not. At the first sound of pans clanging, I was halfway across the neighborhood. It wasn't until late high school and into college that I realized, hey, wait a minute, who's going to feed me when I turn 18?

Now I have kids of my own. Ideally, I would have been teaching them how to cook all along so they don't end up in the same situation. Just make it part of the ole routine. And I did do that to some extent when they were younger, supervising the usual baking projects and such. But as the kids got older, homework and activities and, yes, their earned hour of screen time coincided with my dinner prep. They weren't clamoring to help and I wasn't going to force it. Let kids be kids while they still can, I thought. Plus, I enjoy cooking alone. It's my me time. What about all those hours that the kids are in school, you ask? Isn't that my me time, too? Well, aren't we cheeky today, Internet. Pipe down or I won't share this recipe.

I taught the 11YO how to make scrambled eggs over the summer. I'm not a morning person and this was a skill that was going to work out well for everyone. Now he makes scrambled eggs with cheese pretty much every weekend. Dinner is more of a commitment, though, and this was the first time he expressed interest in helping out. I was very excited. I was also afraid he'd change his mind.

Quick, to the stove! Let's make some shrimp!

The 11YO can eat his weight in shrimp. As luck would have it, shrimp is also very easy to cook, mere minutes. If you can make scrambled eggs, you can make shrimp. I made the first batch and he watched and helped. He did the second batch by himself while I fried the tortillas on the burner next to him. The 8YO hovered nearby offering to add pepper to anything that needed it. We already had some corn and bean salad left over from the night before. That just left the lime crema, a quick combination of sour cream, lime zest, lime juice, salt, and a couple of drops of honey.

This meal is absolutely delicious. I eat the tostada with my hands, breaking off shards of crispy tortilla and devouring everything that comes with it. The kids like everything separately, shrimp in a pile on the plate, crispy tortilla in hand like the world's biggest chip. My camera didn't pick up on the golden tones of my fried tortillas (jerk), but you want them to be golden brown, puffed, and crispy. Even if you don't have the patience to fry tortillas, the shrimp and the lime crema together are not to be missed.


Shrimp Tostadas with Lime Crema  

We made 2 pounds of shrimp for this recipe because we love shrimp. The recipe below is for a more virtuous serving size. Adjust as you see fit.

3/4 cup sour cream
1 medium lime, zested and juiced
1/2 tsp. honey
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
2 Tbsp. olive oil, plus 1 Tbsp. for shrimp
4 to 8 corn tortillas (I prefer local Cinco de Mayo brand)
1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. cumin
Pinch cayenne
1 large avocado, cubed
Chopped fresh cilantro
Salt and black pepper to taste

In a small bowl, whisk together the sour cream, lime zest, lime juice, honey, and salt. Set aside.

Line a plate with paper towels. In a small frying pan, heat 2 Tbsp. of oil. When shimmering hot, fry the corn tortillas, one at a time, until crispy, golden, and puffed, about two minutes per side. Drain on paper towels.

Heat the remaining 1 Tbsp. of oil in a large non-stick frying pan over medium-high heat. Meanwhile, sprinkle the shrimp with paprika, cumin, cayenne, salt, and black pepper. Add the seasoned shrimp to the hot pan and sauté until the shrimp have coiled and turned from gray to pink, about 4 minutes. Remove from the heat.

To serve, place a tortilla on a plate, slather with lime crema, top with shrimp and avocado, and sprinkle with chopped cilantro. Serve with corn and bean salad and additional lime crema on the side. Dig in.

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.

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

Simple Salsa Verde

One thing I love about CSAs is the exposure you get to vegetables you maybe don’t think to buy.  Take tomatillos, for instance.  Do I love those fresh-tasting Mexican green sauces often found gracing enchilada plates?  Yes.  Do I suspect that tomatillos play a vital role in their deliciousness?  Yes.  Have I ever bought a tomatillo in my life?  No! 

Well, why the hell not?  That seems to be the question posed by my neighborhood farmers judging from the pint after pint after pint of tomatillos we’ve been offered this summer.  I can’t ever say no.  The result is I’ve gotten a little more comfortable with tomatillos.  Now I know to wait until the yellowish-green fruits fill up their husks and split the seams before picking them.  I know that you can make salsas out of either raw or cooked tomatillos, but that I prefer cooked.  That the resulting salsa is absolutely fantastic for both scooping up with tortilla chips and spooning over roasted fish (or, as we had last night, pan-fried dabs—a flatfish related to the flounder).  For a smoother sauce for those chicken enchiladas I mentioned, just run the salsa through the food processor or blender, thinning with some water if necessary.

Who knows, maybe one day I'll attain a similar comfort level with all of these millions of exotic hot peppers that keep ending up in my refrigerator!

 

Roasted Tomatillo Salsa

For the love of god, don’t touch your eyes (or any other sensitive part of yourself or anyone else) with your chile pepper fingers.  Scrub your hands WELL.  Trust me.

1-1½ lbs. tomatillos (about two pints)
1-2 chiles, like serranos or jalapeños
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1-2 Tbsp. cilantro, chopped
Lime juice, to taste
Salt, to taste

Preheat oven to 375°F.  Remove husks from tomatillos and rinse off the sticky resin in warm water.  Cut them in half and place cut-side down in baking dish along with whole chiles.  Roast until soft, 20-30 minutes.  Let cool slightly so you can handle them comfortably.

Coarsely chop the tomatillos and put into a small bowl.  Finely chop the roasted chiles and add as much as you think you can handle.  Chiles vary in how much heat they deliver, both between all the different varieties and within their own ranks.  For a very mild salsa, add only the flesh of the chile (slice the four sides from the pepper, scrape off and discard the seeds and inner ribs, and mince).  For more heat, add some seeds.  Not all the seeds!  The number of seeds you should add is directly proportional to how convincingly you can roll your r’s.  Here’s a good test—say this:

Un burro comía berros y el perro se los robó, el burro lanzó un rebuzno, y el perro al barro cayó.

If that doesn’t roll off the tongue, I’d lay off the seeds.

Add the onion, cilantro, lime juice, and salt (be generous with the salt, though).  Serve with tortilla chips or mounded over roasted fish.  For a less chunky, more uniform sauce for, say, those chicken enchiladas I mentioned, purée in food processor and thin with water to desired consistency.

 

Local Ingredients:

Tomatillos, onion, chiles: Waltham Fields Community Farms, Waltham, MA

Fish Tacos

Why has it taken me so long to embrace the fish taco?  It is nothing short of genius, especially when you’re a member of a local fishermen’s coop.  Basically how it works is this: whatever leftover fish you have, throw it into a taco with whatever vegetables you have.  Seriously.  Not only that, but it tastes fresh and healthy and not even a little bit lazy.  Here’s how we’ve been doing fish tacos lately, though I'd imagine there are about as many variations as there are fish in the sea.

 

Fish Tacos

1 package corn tortillas
½ lb. leftover fish or pieces for frying
¼ head of cabbage, finely shredded
¼ red onion, thinly sliced
Whole cilantro leaves
½ cup mayo
Juice of ½ lime
½ shallot, chopped
½ jalapeño, minced, seeds removed
1 Tbsp. fresh herbs like dill, oregano, parsley
¼ tsp. dried cumin
Dash cayenne
Salt and pepper to taste

First, I get my vegetables ready—in this case, shredded cabbage, thinly sliced red onion, and cilantro leaves.  I keep the cilantro leaves separate from the herbs in the dressing because people either love cilantro or hate it.  This way, you can either pile it on (yes, yes, yes!) or leave it out at your own discretion.  Then I make the sauce, which is similar to that creamy salad dressing recipe I gave you earlier this summer.  In fact, I’ll often just doctor that if I have some around.  If not, just whisk the mayo with lime juice and add the chopped shallot, jalapeño, herbs, spices, salt, and pepper.  I like it heavy on the dill.  Taste it and once you get the flavor you like, you can thin it with milk or buttermilk, thicken it with more mayo, or just leave it alone.  If you should find yourself with too much sauce, it also makes a great dressing for coleslaw.

Next, the fish.  We really like pollock in our tacos, though we’ve also enjoyed haddock and hake (aka merluza).  Sometimes we use leftover fish and other times I’ll deep fry some for the occasion and let the children have homemade fish sticks while the adults flake theirs into tacos.  (The children have yet to take to the taco, but I’ll break them down eventually.)  For batter, I either coat the fish pieces in buttermilk or plain yogurt thinned with milk and dredge them in cornmeal, or make a beer batter with ¾ cup flour, ¼ cup cornstarch, and enough beer to make a batter of a reasonable consistency.  Then I drink the remaining ¾ bottle of beer to make the frying go faster.  You want the oil hot (375°F) so the fish comes out light and crispy, not sodden.  Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt. 

When you’re on your last batch of fish, wrap a stack of corn tortillas in a damp paper towel and heat the whole thing in the microwave on medium-low for a minute.  Flake the fish into bite-sized pieces.  Assembly, to be done individually at the table, is just a matter of taking two tortillas, making a small pile of cabbage, onion, cilantro, and fish down the center, and applying sauce.  Don’t be too stingy with the sauce—you’ll want at least a tablespoon on there.  It’s a pretty healthy meal overall.

By the way, Cape Ann Fresh Catch is accepting new members, so if you’ve been eager to try out local delivery of fresh Gloucester-caught fish, now’s your chance.  They have a fillet option now so you don’t have to lug home a whole fish and fillet it yourself if you don’t want to.  I’ve opted for the pre-filleted share myself since I already have enough fish bones in my freezer to keep us in chowder for five years straight. 

Local Sources:
Cabbage, red onion, cilantro: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Dill, parsley, oregano: Neighbor’s garden, Waltham, MA
Fish: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Buttermilk: Kate’s Homemade Butter, Old Orchard Beach, ME
Corn tortillas: Cinco de Mayo, Lynn, MA (via Russo’s)

Tortilla Soup for Optimum Marital Health

This recipe for tortilla soup is courtesy of my BFF who really ought to start her own competing food blog since I’m always stealing her recipes.  It’s a good use for any post-Thanksgiving turkey stock you might have on hand.  You did make turkey stock, right?  Right?  If not, please deposit your unwanted turkey carcasses in my mailbox.

It was too dark to take a photo when I first made the soup (I rely heavily on natural light to compensate for my failings as a photographer).  Instead, I fried some extra tortilla strips and set them aside in a little plastic baggie for the next day when I would be recreating the whole experience.  Don’t eat them, I told Husband.  I won’t have time to fry more.  I have a very narrow 8-hour window of daylight in which to work.  Please, for the love of God, don’t mess with them.  Then we went through the usual spousal push and pull involved with trying to verify whether or not the request was heard and would be honored.  In the end, though, he agreed.

Cut to the next day.  I heat up my soup and get ready to apply the appropriate garnishes.  Sour cream?  Check.  Shredded cheese?  Check.  Avocado?  Check.  Tortilla strips?  Che…wait a minute.  Where the hell are they?  They’re not on the counter.  I yell up to Husband.  He insists they’re on the counter, but they’re not.  They’re just not.  I check all the cabinets.  Nothing.

After several maneuvers not unlike trying to dislodge a mule from his favorite resting spot, I manage to get Husband downstairs to confirm that, indeed, there were no tortilla strips on the counter.  Or anywhere.  And now I’m starting to get mad because the sun is poised to do a swan dive into the deep, dark night, and did we not have a whole conversation about this?  I have pretty low standards for photographic composition, but I think tortilla soup should at the very least include some visible tortillas.  And he’s mad because I’m making such a big deal about chips.  Which is clearly not the point at all.

Me: FIND ME THE STRIPS.

Him: They’re not here.  I put them here and they’re not here.  I’m sorry.

Me: THE STRIPS!!!

Him: I put them right here.  It’s not my fault.

Me: STRRRRRRIIIIIIIPS. 

It went back and forth like this for a while.  Voices were raised, several levels of maturity were disproven, in what was shaping up to be one of our worst fights ever.  So this is it, I thought.  The straw that breaks the camel’s back.  Tortilla chips. 

Until…

Him: Oh…oh, wait.  (fixes gaze up over my head)  Now I remember where I put them…

He reaches up on top of one of the blades of the motionless ceiling fan and produces my bag of chips.

Him: I forgot.  I was going to play a trick on you, but I forgot…

Then he ran up the stairs as fast as I’ve ever seen him move. 

The sad thing is, after all that, I couldn’t even get mad about it.  Well, I was a little mad.  The kind of mad where you alternate between sighing and laughing and shaking your head.  His punishment?  You’re looking at it.

 

Tortilla Soup for Optimum Marital Health

Cheaper than counseling and just as ineffective.

¼ cup vegetable oil
4 6-inch corn tortillas, halved and cut into strips

8 6-inch corn tortillas, cut into bite-sized pieces
1 medium onion, chopped
6 garlic cloves, minced
½ cup cilantro, chopped
1 15-oz. can diced tomatoes in juice
6 cups chicken or turkey broth
1 Tbsp. ground cumin
2 tsp. chili powder
2 bay leaves
4 skinless chicken breast halves
¼ tsp. cayenne pepper
2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
2 avocados, pitted & diced
Sour cream

Heat oil in small skillet. Add tortilla strips in batches, frying until golden.  Drain on paper towels.  Salt well and set aside.

Pour frying oil into large, heavy pot over high heat.  Add tortilla pieces (not the ones you just fried, the other ones), onion, garlic, and cilantro, and sauté about 3 minutes.  Stir in tomatoes with juices, and bring to a boil.  Add broth, cumin, chili powder, and bay leaves.  Return to boil.  Add chicken and cayenne pepper, and reduce heat.  Simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 15 minutes. (I didn’t actually add any chicken here; my homemade broth already contained some shredded chicken.  Not a lot, but enough.)  Remove soup from heat.  Using slotted spoon, remove bay leaves.  Transfer chicken to a plate, and let cool.  Shred chicken and return to soup.  Ladle into bowls.  Top with cheese, avocado, dollop of sour cream, and FRIED TORTILLA STRIPS.

Gazpacho

Did I mention that a certain someone starts school this week?  Free school.  FREE.  All day, five days a week. 

Yes, this is the time when the Preschooler becomes a kindergartener, the Toddler becomes a preschooler, and I curse myself for thinking up names for the kids that would change every goddamned year.  (To be fair, I thought I’d quit blogging after two weeks, but haven’t I caught on by now that nothing happens like you plan?)

I was thinking of just calling the Preschooler the Kindergartener, and the Toddler the Preschooler.  Creativity isn’t my strong suit, as you well know.  But that nomenclature is likely to be confusing.  Like, how did the Preschooler go from being a sweet and gentle boy to a noisy brute practically overnight?  (Public school, that’s how.  We must all lose our innocence someday.)  So, if anyone has a better idea, let’s hear it.

Anyway, given the new, freeing kindergarten schedule, you may be wondering how I plan to spend my time?  Rather than doing the work needed to sustain a freelance career, I think I’ll start by acting out scenes from Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown instead. 

Yes, that is a fantastic idea.  I’ll start with gazpacho.  Lots of gazpacho.  Then I’ll mope around as if I’m despondent about the recent turn of events.  Why does he have to go to kindergarten?  Why, why, WHY?  There will be much pacing and hand-wringing, not to mention checking voicemail every two minutes.  Oh, and throwing things just to be dramatic.  I really don’t do enough of that.  I don’t want to die having never thrown anything through a plate glass window in a fit of rage.  That would be a waste.

I just hope that after all of the lighting things on fire, high-speed scooter chases, gazpacho at gunpoint, and dancing half-naked in windows play out, Husband doesn’t make me go out and get a real job.

Gazpacho

This recipe is straight from Spain and is my absolute favorite.  You can thicken it up with bread soaked in water if you like.  Adding garlic is also fair game.  Sleeping pills are optional.

4 large tomatoes
1 cucumber
1 bell pepper (green is traditional, but I prefer red)
¼ medium onion
6 Tbsp. olive oil
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 tsp. salt
Black pepper
Cayenne pepper to taste

In a large pot of boiling water, dunk tomatoes for 20 seconds or so, then submerge in ice water until cool.  The skins should slip right off.  Core tomatoes, then cut in half across the equator and squeeze out the seeds.  Cut into quarters and place tomatoes in blender.

Peel cucumber and cut in half lengthwise.  Holding a spoon upside-down by the handle, dig a trough along the length of the cut side of the cucumber to remove the seeds.  Cut into pieces and put into blender, reserving one piece to chop for garnish.  Core and remove seeds from pepper.  Reserve one piece to chop for garnish and add the rest to the blender.  Add onion (chop some extra for garnish), olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper, and cayenne.  Purée until smooth.  Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.  Refrigerate.  Serve chilled topped with chopped red pepper, cucumber, and onion.