Cackalackyfoodie

Shingles, coffee, etc.

2011-11-06T05:50:00.000-05:00

When I last wrote, I'd recently been diagnosed with shingles, and I opted to drown my sorrows in a warm chocolate cream (called lava cake at the Nasher Museum Cafe). It made for a nice-enough blog topic — a delicious, easy-to-make dessert that will impress friends and family.

But it wasn't a post that really reflected my life.

Just over three weeks have passed since The Scourge attacked (I spent two off of work, as I couldn't be trusted to do physical labor). And I've got to tell you, blog pickin's are slim these days. I just don't want to eat much. Klonopin, Oxycondone, Gabapentin and Lidoderm patches will do that to you.

Truth is, I wash down the Oxy with a glass of Metamucil, take a deep breath before working with clients, and give thanks that my painful episode will soon end. Shingles hurts like hell but it goes away.

Which is why today's blog post photo doesn't feature a fabulous gratin or cake. Without The World's Greatest Fiance, I wouldn't be eating much at all (O is the Grilled Veggie King). But I would enjoy my coffee, as illustrated above. Each morning I break out the French press, grind beans, bring water to a boil, and settle down for a nice cuppa before heading out, prescription drugs in hand.

As you can see, I don't rearrange furniture for photo shoots, I'm having fun with the Hipstamatic App for the iPhone, and I treasure my mug from the original Peets Coffee and Tea shop in Berkeley, California.

My internist wants to know what's bringing my immune system to its knees and allowing the shingles to flair up. Hate to say it, but I think my upcoming nuptials may be to blame. Major decisions have been made but details remain, including the guest list (a point of contention). So I'm blaming The Wedding. Now I have to get better and balance my life. I get to marry my best friend February 25, and that's something to celebrate!

Warm chocoate cream cakes

2011-10-27T08:04:00.001-04:00

Individual warm chocolate cakes, those delicate mounds of dark chocolate goodness that run onto your plate when pierced with a fork — they've virtually disappeared from restaurant menus. And I can't say I'm disappointed. They were everywhere in the nineties. I couldn't open a dessert menu without seeing a "signature" warm chocolate cream topping the list. How could it be a signature dish when it was featured on every menu in town?

Some chefs embellished the hot chocolate creams with more interesting elements than others (I was a sucker for the peppermint ice cream the accompanied Rialto's warm chocolate cream one winter). Even so, I got tired of funneling ramekin after ramekin of chocolate cream mix into the oven when I worked pastry service at the restaurant. Why wouldn't the guests branch out and try something new? A luscious fruit pie or elegant opera cake, a slice of pecan pie studded with dried cranberries, or a vibrant lemon tart?

Rant over. I must admit that I chose the warm lava cake at the Nasher Musem Cafe last week. Having just been diagnosed with shingles (don't look it up until you've finished reading), I swung by the cafe and decided to drown my sorrows in something sugary.

Dark Chocolate Lava Cake with Amarena Cherry Gelato sounded pretty good. Time to get over my dessert issues and enjoy. Sadly, this was not the best warm chocolate cake I've had. The chocolate wasn't particularly tasty or rich and the cake was slightly overcooked, so there wasn't much chocolaty goo to go around. But scooping the warm chocolate crumbs onto a spoon with a bit of cherry gelato, well, that was quite nice. Dessert and a handful of prescription drugs made me forget my sorrows for a while.

Making hot chocolate creams at home is a snap. If you're not afraid to offer them at a dinner party (maybe it's old enough to be retro rather than blase?), try my favorite version, taken from Jody Adams, chef of the restaurant where I once worked. This recipe appears in her cookbook, In the Hands of a Chef, a fabulous book that encourages people to spend more time in the kitchen.

Oh, and the next time you check a restaurant menu, know that warm or hot chocolate cake, hot lava cake, hot chocolate cream — these are usually the same thing. Just check with your server.

Hot Chocolate Creams from Provence
Adapted from In the Hands of a Chef
Serves 4

9 tablespoons of unsalted butter
2 teaspoons of unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 pound of semisweet chocolate, chopped into 1-inch pieces
4 extra-large eggs, at room temperature
6 tablespoons of sugar

Note: The chocolate mixture can be made a day ahead (we did this at the restaurant); prepare and refrigerate. Let it come up to room temperature before proceeding with the recipe.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease for 4-ounce ramekins with 1 tablespoons of butter and then dust each with 1/2 teaspoon of flour.

Melt the chocolate 8 tablespoons of butter in a small saucepan over low heat. When the chocolate begins to melt, remove from the heat and beat until smooth. (If making ahead, cover and refrigerate for up to one night. Bring to room temperature before continuing.)

Beat the eggs and sugar in a large bowl until the sugar dissolves and the eggs are foamy. Fold this mixture into the eggs.

Pour the chocolate mixture into the prepared ramekins. Bake for 12 minutes, or until just set — the centers will be slightly liquid. Let stand for 3 to 4 minutes, then turn out onto warm plates and serve.

Curried chickpeas with coconut

2011-10-19T07:54:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I toured my friends' new house. They recently built a stunning contemporary near Duke University — glass walls, high ceilings, gleaming surfaces — and filled it beautiful furniture and fantastic artwork. The house is thoughtfully situated on a wooded lot, taking into consideration the way the sun hits the building throughout the course of a day. The home has a geothermal heating and cooling system. And a lap pool.

I wanted to move in.

Instead, I got to eat dinner, a wonderful Indian-inspired meal that included chicken, rice, and all the condiments one would expect (mango chutney, spicy cilantro sauce, raisins). My hands-down favorite, however, was something Martha whipped up on her own, without a recipe: curried chickpeas with tomatoes and coconut. She was kind enough to share her recipe with me, though like many confident cooks, she doesn't follow written directions or measure. The dish changes a little bit each time she makes it, depending on her mood and the intensity of spices used.

I made a version of Martha's dish last week, and recently enjoyed leftovers for lunch. I think it's best served with a little plain yogurt — a nice cooling element against the Indian spices. I added a fresh ginger, diced jalapeno pepper and cayenne powder to her recipe, and as always, I eyeballed the amounts used. Please add them judiciously and taste as you go.

Curried Chickpeas with Tomatoes and Coconut
Serves 8

3 - 4 tablespoons vegetable oil
3 15 oz. cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 28 oz. can peeled, diced tomatoes or 6 medium fresh tomatoes, diced
1 very large white onion, diced
6 garlic cloves, minced
2 jalapeno peppers, seeded and diced
one 2-inch piece of fresh ginger, minced
2 teaspoons ground coriander
3 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons garam masala
2 tablespoons curry powder
large pinch of cayenne pepper
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 1/2 cups unsweetened grated coconut

Heat the oil in a very large skillet or saute pan over a medium-low flame. Add the onions, garlic, jalapenos and ginger, and cook for a few minutes, until translucent.

Add the dried spices and stir, cooking for a couple of minutes, until aromatic. Add the rinsed chickpeas and tomatoes. Cook for about 30 minutes, until thickened, tasting as you go. If the mixture becomes too thick, add a little water.

Add the unsweetened coconut, stir to combine, and cook for another 10-15 minutes.

Season to with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Serve the over rice with a dollop of plain yogurt; freshly chopped cilantro would be a nice garnish.

The homeliest dessert

2011-10-10T07:00:00.001-04:00

I was relieved that Sunday night's dinner party didn't take place.

I wasn't happy about the reason why — O was sick in bed — but I was more than a little horrified with the looks of dessert. Amanda Hesser warns of "a slight appearance problem" in the descriptive blurb that accompanies the Huguenot Torte recipe in The Essential New York Times Cookbook, but I wasn't prepared for the forlorn, homely mess that emerged from the oven. The edges were crusty, the top cracked and brown, the center gooey.

The upside: it's mighty tasty, filled with apples and pecans, best served with a large dollop of unsweetened whipped cream.

This is the type of recipe you'll want to have on hand for a quick-and-easy family meal. It's almost too sweet for my taste, but when O pulled himself from bed later that night and wandered into the kitchen, he found a serving spoon, dove in, and declared it outstanding. Then he ate three servings.

I used the ubiquitous Granny Smith apple in this torte, but another tart cooking apple (like the Rome Beauty) would work well. I also toasted pecan halves on a sheet tray in the oven for about 5 minutes at 350 degrees Fahrenheit before adding them to the batter to enhance their flavor. A side note: the recipe claims it serves 6-8, but I would say those are very small servings.

Huguenot Torte
(Apple and Pecan Torte)
Serves 6
Adapted from The Essential New York Times Cookbook

2 large eggs
1/2 heaping teaspoon kosher salt
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup peeled, cored, and diced tart cooking apple (I used 1 large Granny Smith)
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans, toasted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup heavy cream, whipped to soft peak (for garnish)

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a 9 x 9 -inch or 8 x 12-inch baking pan that's at least 2 inches deep and set aside.

Beat the eggs and salt in a large bowl until light and fluffy. Add the sugar gradually, beating steadily.

Fold in the apples and pecans with a spatula. Add the vanilla, flour, and baking powder. Pour the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake for 45 minutes, until sunken and crusty. Serve warm or chilled, with whipped cream.

Things keeping me from the blog + a Greek-style salad

2011-10-06T10:51:00.000-04:00

A few things have kept me away from Cackalackyfoodie over the past 6 weeks. I spent some time traveling - sans computer - in the Amazon basin, for example. And I got engaged. To be married. This is no reason to completely neglect the blog, but I hit the ground running when my mother told me how disappointed she would be if I ran off and got hitched without inviting her. I had a wedding to plan.

The good news: most everything is done. As the event draws closer, details will need my attention, but the big stuff is out of the way. I can focus on other, more enjoyable aspects of life! And I can manage to cook now and then, which is good, because I'm tired of eating microwave popcorn for dinner.

I opted for a simple Greek-style salad for lunch yesterday, a beautiful pile of fresh veggies, feta cheese, olives, and pickled peppers dressed with oil and vinegar. It's a nice way to mark the end of summer produce (you can still find a decent tomato or two here in central North Carolina), and it travels well.

I'll try to manage a "real" recipe for my next post, but I've been streamlining my meals recently. Spending hours at party rental stores and florist shops will do that to you.

A Simple Greek Salad

2 large cucumbers, seeded and diced
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/3 red onion, finely diced
a chunk of feta cheese, cubed
a handful of Kalamata olives, rinsed and pitted
5 pickled peppers, cut into thin rings
2 tablespoons of parsley and mint, chopped
sherry vinegar
extra virgin olive oil

Combine the first six ingredients in a medium bowl. Sprinkle with sherry vinegar and olive oil. Add freshly chopped herbs and toss. Enjoy!

Tomatoes and paneer

2011-08-16T07:17:00.000-04:00

When I bought a wedge of paneer at the Durham Farmers' Market, visions of a traditional Indian meal danced in my head: cubes of cheese suspended in spinach or nestled between green peas and tomato. Instead, the paneer was used to garnish a fabulous summer tomato salad, courtesy of my boyfriend, O. After a morning of cleaning and reorganizing the house (not fun, but necessary) I was happy to turn the kitchen over to him — he's a good cook — but I wasn't prepared for just how tasty lunch would be.

I shouldn't have been so surprised, as simple dishes are often the most delicious. Quality ingredients don't require much embellishment, and Sunday's lunch was a perfect example: slices of heirloom tomatoes drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and topped with crispy pan-fried cubes of paneer, straight from the cheese-making geniuses at Chapel Hill Creamery.

Paneer can be made at home, but I've never managed to create anything near as good as Flo Hawley and Portia McKnight's version. Seared in a bit of butter and olive oil, the crunchy brown exterior adds verve to any dish, and the warm cheese takes on a rich, nutty flavor. A dish this simple doesn't require a recipe, but a list of ingredients and basic instructions follow.

O's Heirloom Tomatoes and Paneer

3 medium heirloom tomatoes, sliced
extra virgin olive oil
1/3 - 1/2 cup cubed paneer cheese
olive oil
unsalted butter
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
basil, cut into chiffonade

Layer sliced tomatoes on a platter, drizzle with extra virgin olive oil, and set side.

Heat a large skillet over medium flame. Coat the bottom of the pan with a film of olive oil and add a small pat of butter. When the butter foams, add the cubed paneer and allow to brown on one side. Toss and brown another side, about 5 minutes total.

Scatter the cooked paneer across the platter of tomatoes. Sprinkle with kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper, and freshly cut basil. Serve while the cheese is still warm.

Too hot + cole slaw

2011-07-12T07:21:00.001-04:00

Thus far, July 2011 has been outrageously hot. The weather in central North Carolina is miserably muggy, and though I hate to devote another summer blog post to temperature, it does affect my appetite and my menus. Who wants braised lamb shanks when the thermometer is pushing 100 degrees? Give me meats and veggies on the grill, a salad, and a large iced tea.

Cole slaw is a traditional summer dish, an item that regularly appears on picnic tables and pot luck suppers when temperatures soar. I made a vat of slaw on July 4, served alongside grilled hamburgers and corn on the cob, and though it was good, it wasn't great. And I know why. I used commercial mayonnaise.

Homemade mayonnaise is a revelation. Light and fresh and not too sweet, homemade mayo doesn't contain the preservatives that make most commercial varieties taste so, well, processed. Last night I made my favorite cole slaw again, but this time I used mayo made by hand. Tremendous difference.

The slaw recipe couldn't be simpler — it takes just a couple of minutes to put together after you've made the mayonnaise and cut the veggies. If you aren't confident about homemade mayo, read the label of the commercial varieties before you by, opting for the one with the fewest ingredients, all of which should be easy to identify and pronounce. I'm a fan of Duke's mayo in a pinch.

Oh, and please don't leave the celery seed out of the cole slaw, as it changes the flavor quite a bit.

Traditional Cole Slaw
Makes about 6 servings

1 1/4 cups homemade mayonnaise (recipe follows)
1/3 cup distilled white vinegar
4 tablespoons sugar
1 heaping tablespoon celery seed
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
1/2 head green cabbage, finely shredded
1/2 head red cabbage, finely shredded
3-4 carrots, grated

Combine the vinegar and sugar in a small bowl, stirring to dissolve. Add the mayonnaise and celery seed. Season with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Combine the shredded cabbage and carrots in a large bowl. Pour the dressing over the vegetables and blend well. Refrigerate for at least one hour before serving, allowing the flavors to meld.

Homemade Mayonnaise
Makes about 1 1/4 cup

2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon cider vinegar or distilled white vinegar
pinch kosher salt
1 teaspoon Coleman's dry mustard or prepared Dijon mustard
1-2 large pinches sugar
2 egg yolks*
about 1 1/2 cups vegetable oil

Combine the vinegar, lemon juice, salt, dry mustard, and sugar in a bowl and whisk to dissolve the dry ingredients. Add the egg yolks and whisk to combine. Begin whisking these ingredients at a fast pace,
then slowly — drop by drop — add the oil. The mixture will thicken and lighten in color, at which point you can pour the oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking constantly.

Homemade mayonnaise will keep in the refrigerator for about one week.

* Consuming raw egg yolks increases your risk of Salmonella or other food borne illnesses.

Simple Rice Salad

2011-06-20T22:13:00.000-04:00

Let's call it The Headache That Negatively Impacted My Appetite. A dull, throbbing pain emanated from behind my left eye and spread across the top and sides of my skull. Never sharp or searing, it didn't interfere with more test driving this weekend (the Volkswagen Golf TDI is the current leader) but the pain was just unpleasant enough to make me feel sick.

Sunday night I scraped myself off the couch — cranky noggin be damned — and scrounged through kitchen, searching for something edible that was light, easy, and wouldn't require a run to the grocery. The result: rice salad with fresh herbs, a simple dish that I often serve as a side in the summer.

Rice salad variations are endless, but I rely on a squeeze of lemon, minced shallots, a few ounces of good extra virgin olive oil, and freshly chopped herbs to produce a lovely summer side dish (or a light meal for those who aren't feeling well). To feed healthier appetites add a few cooked peas, chopped steamed asparagus spears, chicken, or shrimp. Use any long-grain rice you'd like — I often have basmati or jasmine in the cupboard.

My friend Jeanne taught me to cook rice like pasta, in a large pot of boiling water. This method ensures fluffy, individual grains that don't stick together. Give it a try.

Rice Salad with Parsley, Chives and Mint

Makes 3-4 side servings

1 cup long-grain white rice

juice of 1/2 lemon

1 shallot, minced

kosher salt

freshly ground black pepper

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

3 tablespoons of freshly chopped parsley, chives and mint

Fill a large stockpot with water, add a pinch of salt, and bring it to a rolling boil. Add the rice and cook until just cooked through, about 15 minutes. Drain in a sieve, then spread the rice on a baking sheet to cool.

Put the lemon juice and shallot in a bowl; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Whisk in the olive oil, creating a vinaigrette.

Place the cool rice in a medium bowl and fluff with a fork or your fingers. Judiciously dress with the vinaigrette — you don't want to drown the rice. Sprinkle with freshly chopped herbs just before serving, tossing well to be sure the herbs are evenly distributed. Taste and correct seasoning if necessary.

Honey-Nut Brownies

2011-06-09T16:22:00.000-04:00

I've spent the better part of June obsessing about cars instead of food. New vs. used, diesel vs. gasoline, economy hatchback vs. substantial sedan, fun and sporty vs. somewhat boring but reliable. My 10 1/2 year old Subaru still runs, but it's silly to pour anymore money into it. Time to buy a new vehicle. I've gone on test drives, spent hours doing research, and quizzed friends about their cars every night this month. Very little cooking has taken place in my kitchen as a result; I've grown fond of munching on pistachios while reading online car reviews and calling it dinner.

I don't find car shopping fun — pressure from salesmen makes me want to bludgeon them about the head and shoulders with something very, very heavy. I took a break from the craziness last night and baked brownies. Cake-like brownies filled with nuts, brownies that deliver a light dose of chocolate and an interesting twist of honey that catches you by surprise.

I will enjoy one tonight, thinking about cars I can't afford, and tuck a few in my carry-on bag — tomorrow I fly to northern California. Cooler temps, no work, and a celebratory birthday dinner at Chez Panisse await!

Honey- Nut Brownies
Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours
Makes 16 brownies

1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, roughly chopped
4 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup honey
2/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup roughly chopped nuts

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Line a 9-inch square pan with foil, butter the foil, and place the pan on a baking sheet.

Melt the butter and chocolate in a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water (the bowl should not touch the water). Remove from the heat when the ingredients are just melted - be careful not to overheat.

Beat the eggs and salt together with a hand mixer or stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. When they are light and foamy, add the honey, sugar and vanilla and beat until smooth, about 2 minutes. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the chocolate-butter mixture. Add the flour and mix just until incorporated. Fold in the nuts with a spatula, then pour into the prepared pan.

Bake for 45-50 minutes. A knife or toothpick inserted into the center should come out clean. Place the pan on a wire rack and allow to cool for 5 minutes.

Turn the brownies out onto the rack, peel away the foil and invert onto another rack. Cool to room temperature right side up. Dust with confectioners' sugar or cocoa powder just before serving if you'd like.

Buttermilk panna cotta

2011-05-31T11:15:00.000-04:00

Friday was Knit Night. Tote bags overflowed with yarn and needles, food was served, general merriment was had. It's really just an excuse to get together with friends, but I find Knit Night inspirational — my knitting always gets a boost.

As hostess for this most recent event, I was in charge of the menu, and I knew exactly what to serve for dessert: buttermilk panna cotta. I recently celebrated a friend's birthday at Ben and Karen Barker's much acclaimed Magnolia Grill in Durham, and though everything was tasty, this dessert was my hands-down favorite. Soft and creamy, the smooth taste of vanilla was followed by the slightest tang of buttermilk, accentuated by a buttery cornmeal shortbread cookie and the oomph of cherry compote. It satisfied my desire for something sinful-tasting without weighing me down.

I raced to my bookshelf after dinner that night and was thrilled to find the recipe in Sweet Stuff: Karen Barker's American Desserts, a book I've owned for years but never baked from. What was I waiting for? If the rest of the recipes are anything like this one, it's a book I'll be using for years to come.

In lieu of cherries, I tossed fresh strawberries and blueberries with a few tablespoons of sugar and a squeeze of lemon. Left to macerate for 20 minutes, the berries' juices formed a perfect sauce.

And just in case you're interested, I completed a waffle knit dishcloth Friday night. It looks like this:

Buttermilk Panna Cotta
Adapted from Sweet Stuff: Karen Barker's American Desserts
Makes 6 8-ounce servings

2 cups heavy cream, divided
1 tablespoon gelatin
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 vanilla bean
2 cups buttermilk

Pour 1/2 cup of heavy cream into a bowl and sprinkle with gelatin. Set aside for 5 minutes allowing the gelatin to soften.

Place the sugar in a medium saucepan. Split the vanilla bean and scrape the seeds into the sugar. Whisk in the remaining 1 1/2 cups of cream. Add the vanilla pod and cook over medium heat, whisking occasionally; cream should remain just under a simmer. Add the gelatin and cream mixture and sugar until dissolved. Remove from the heat and stir in the buttermilk.

Pour the mixture through a fine-mesh strainer into a pitcher (I used a liquid measuring cup). Divide the mixture among 6 8-ounce ramekins, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for several hours (or up to 2 days) until set.

To serve, loosen the panna cotta by dip the ramekins into hot water. Turn out onto dessert plates, garnish and serve.

Biscotti for Joy

2011-05-26T06:58:00.000-04:00

This time last year I was planning a birthday luncheon for my mother, Joy. The menu was simple, but some of the items required a lot of time and effort (like Thomas Keller's illustrious spinach quiche). There is no party this year, no shrimp to pickle or lemon buttercream to master — my mother is cavorting at the beach with a friend. Lucky woman.

I'll take Joy to dinner at Watt's Grocery, one of her favorite Triangle restaurants, when she comes to visit the weekend after her actual birthday. In the meantime, I thought I'd send a hold-over gift, a little something that recognizes her special day, a package that will be waiting for her when she returns from the coast. She's a chocolate fiend, but mailing a box of truffles in 90 degree heat is asking for trouble. After rummaging through several cookbooks, I decided to try Alice Medrich's Whole Wheat Biscotti.

I know, I know — whole wheat biscotti don't sound terribly festive. They sound almost punitive. But Medrich's recipe uses whole wheat pastry flour, which is really quite refined, and biscotti hold well, which is important in this situation. I skipped the suggested flax or sesame seeds (it is a birthday after all), and used chopped pecans in the dough simply because I had some tucked in the freezer. The result is a very crisp, light cookie that would pair well with coffee or tea, as intended.

Now I just have to stop nibbling biscotti, pack them safely away, and get to the UPS store.

Whole Wheat Biscotti
Adapted from Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-in-Your-Mouth Cookies
Makes about 25 biscotti

2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2/3 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/4 cup pecans, coarsely chopped

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit, placing a rack in the center. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or grease lightly.

Whisk the flour and baking powder together in a medium bowl.

Using an electric mixer, beat the brown sugar, oil, eggs, salt and vanilla together in a large bowl until thick and pale in color. This will take about 3 minutes. Add the flour mixture and pecans and stir until just combined. The dough will be thick and sticky. Scrape the dough onto a parchment-lined or greased baking sheet and spread it into a 5-by-15-inch rectangle (I used my fingers rather than an unwieldy spatula).

Bake for 30-35 minutes, rotating the pan from front to back halfway though to ensure even browning. Remove from the oven when puffed and firm, and cool on a rack for 20 minutes or more.

Turn the oven heat down to 300 degrees Fahrenheit.

Place the slightly cooled loaf on a work surface and slice into 1/2-inch thick cookies with a serrated knife. Remove the parchment paper or liner from the baking sheet and arrange the cookies about 1/2-inch apart (I actually needed 2 baking sheets to hold them all). Bake for another 20-25 minutes, until golden brown, rotating the pan(s) again halfway through the process.

Allow to cool on wire racks. The biscotti will keep for 2 weeks in an airtight container.

A continuing ed weekend + broccoli

2011-05-23T19:25:00.000-04:00

I spent this past weekend in class. Continuing education is a great thing, and I really enjoyed this particular course — outstanding instructors, terrific classmates, new information — but the days were long and I didn't get much done at home. I was up at 4:30 a.m. Saturday to take my boyfriend (a relatively new development) to the airport; then it was a race home to shower, a trek to the neighbor's to drop off my dog for special keeping while I was away all day, and a mad dash for coffee, arriving at class at 7:30 a.m. Sunday was much of the same, minus the airport drive and extra-early arrival time.

Which is a very long-winded way to say that a) I didn't make it to the farmers' market this weekend and b) I didn't spend much time in the kitchen. I did, however, make one of my favorite go-to vegetable dishes after a long day in class, something so simple it doesn't require much of a recipe: roasted broccoli.

Please, stay with me.

Broccoli isn't exciting or sexy, but roasting it transforms this cruciferous veg into something far different from the limp, insipid specimen most of us grew up with. There's no need to joyously shove it down raw in an effort to eat more healthily, or to drown boiled broccoli in melted cheese (though I don't know how that ever became popular). Roasting broccoli caramelizes its sugars, intensifying the flavor and making it just a tad sweet. The edges get brown and crisp, red pepper flakes add a touch of heat — it's nothing like steam-table broccoli served in the school cafeteria.

This is a great side dish, though I've been known to eat it solo when I'm tired and not terribly hungry. Like I did yesterday.

Note: Be sure to put a metal baking sheet into the oven while it's preheating. Scattering the broccoli onto a sizzling hot baking sheet will help give the final product that caramelized crunch you're going for.

Roasted Broccoli

1 large head of broccoli
kosher salt
hot red pepper flakes
olive oil

Place a baking sheet into the center of the oven; preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

Cut the broccoli florets away from the stalk and place in a large bowl. Trim the tough outer layer from the stalk with a sharp knife and discard; cut the remaining stem into thin rounds and add to the bowl. Add a large pinch of kosher salt, a smaller pinch of hot red pepper flakes, and a few tablespoons of olive oil — just enough to coat the vegetables. Toss.

Scatter the broccoli onto the preheated baking sheet and roast until cooked through, about 20 minutes. Serve warm.

Potato gnocchi

2011-05-18T18:41:00.000-04:00

Monday was gnocchi day. It was hazy and damp outside, my energy level matched the weather, and I wanted to do a little knitting while cooking (more on that later). I'd purchased a bag of russet potatoes earlier in the week, inspired to make the delicate potato dumplings after a recent trip to New York. Along with world-class window shopping, outstanding theater, and some fantastic people-watching, my time in the city included a wonderful meal at Barbuto, Jonathan Waxman's homage to rustic Italian fare. The gnocchi there were perfection — cloud-like potato puffs served with spinach and snap peas in brown butter, all lightly dusted with parmesan. I knew I'd have to make gnocchi soon after my return home.

In the past, I've made less-than-success gnocchi. Gnocchi that were heavy and dull; leaden, clunky orbs that left the diner feeling unusually full. It's true that practice makes perfect, and many pounds of Idahos later, I'm consistently pleased with the results. Using a food mill or ricer is imperative when making gnocchi — you end up with a fluffier mashed potato to incorporate into the dough. I think baking the potatoes also lightens the result, but many respected food authorities instruct you to boil them. You'll need a couple of hours to complete the gnocchi from start to finish, but a good chunk of that time can be devoted to something else, as the potatoes need about 1 hour to bake (I opted to knit a heartbreakingly cute baby kimono for my neighbors' recent arrival during that time).

Now that my (light, delicate) gnocchi are cooked and cooled, I must decide what to do with them. A dollop of fresh basil pesto sounds just about perfect, as my herb garden is exploding after such a rainy spring, but I could toss them in a simple tomato sauce. Or saute them with brown butter and sage. Or spread them in shallow gratin dish, sprinkle with shredded parmesan, and shove the wonderful mess under the broiler.

I'll weigh my options while stitching up the kimono.

Potato Gnocchi
Makes enough for 8-10 servings

3 pounds russet potatoes, scrubbed
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 extra-large egg

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Prick the potatoes several times with a fork and place them on a sheet tray. Bake for 1 hour or until tender when pierced with a knife. Allow to cool slightly, but when still warm, then pass the potato flesh through a food mill or ricer.

Put a large stockpot filled with water over a high flame. Add several pinches of kosher salt and bring to a boil. Set up an ice bath in a large bowl; place it next to the stove top.

Create a well in the center of the riced potato — this can be done in a very large bowl or on a clean work surface. Sprinkle with kosher salt and 2 cups of flour. Crack the egg into the center of the well. Using a fork, work the egg into the potato, flour, and salt, creating a soft dough. Knead it gently for a couple of minutes, then divide into small sections (about 6 pieces). Roll each section into a long rope, about 1/2-inch in diameter. Cut the rope into short pieces, about 1/2-inch long, and roll each piece along the tines of a fork (the back side). Spread the raw gnocchi onto a parchment-lined baking sheet lightly dusted with flour.

Gently drop the gnocchi into the pot of simmering water and cook for about 1 1/2 minutes — they will rise to the surface when they're done. Remove from the pot with a slotted spoon and put in the ice bath to cool. Drain the gnocchi, then toss with a few tablespoons olive oil and store, covered, for up to 2 days in the refrigerator. Reheat briefly in hot water (this will take less than a minute), then toss with browned butter in a saute pan until heated through.

You may freeze gnocchi prior to cooking. Place the baking sheet of raw gnocchi in the freezer until each individual dumpling is hard. Transfer to individual freezer bags and store for up to one month.

Whole wheat naan

2011-05-16T07:24:00.000-04:00

I find myself in sync with the food editors at The New York Times.

As I scrolled through photos of homemade naan last Wednesday night, searching for just the right shot to accompany this post on this traditional Indian bread, the newspaper was printing (and posting) a wonderful article on tandoor ovens.

While I won't be purchasing a $1299 tandoor anytime soon, I still found the piece interesting. Who knew that a ceramic artist now living in the Florida Keys made thousands of clay ovens for North America's Indian restaurants? Until a lot of extra money comes my way, my conventional oven will have to suffice. Happily, the results of my naan experiment were excellent, and pulling a baking sheet of puffed, zeppelin-like breads from the oven is pretty cool. If only I were as satisfied with the butter chicken I made that night.

I used a little whole wheat flour to assuage the refined-white-flour-guilt I sometimes suffer, but it's unnecessary (and not in keeping with a traditional recipe, from what I can tell). Feel free to use only white flour instead.

Whole Wheat Naan
Makes 12 breads

1 1/4 cups warm water
1 teaspoon active dry yeast
pinch sugar
1/4 cup ghee (clarified butter)
1/4 cup tablespoons plain yogurt
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 heaping teaspoon kosher salt
1-2 tablespoons vegetable oil (for greasing the bowl)

Dissolve the yeast and sugar in warm water. Let it stand for about 5 minutes, until foamy. Add the yogurt and ghee.

Whisk the all-purpose flour, whole wheat flour, and kosher salt together in a large mixing bowl. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir to combine. Knead the dough on a lightly floured work surface until smooth, about 7-10 minutes. Allow the dough to rise in a large greased bowl, covered with a dishtowel or plastic wrap, about 1 1/2 - 2 hours or until doubled in size.

Preheat the broiler.

Punch the dough down and turn it onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for about 5 minutes, then divide it into 12 pieces. Cover the pieces with a dishtowel or plastic wrap and allow to rest for 10 minutes. Roll each piece into a thin triangle about 7 inches wide.

Place the rolled doughs onto a baking sheet or broiler tray (you can probably fit 3-4 on one tray) and place them about 5-6 inches below the broiler. Don't get them too close — remember, the breads puff up, and you don't want to set them on fire. Cook for 1-2 minutes, then flip them over and cook the other side. The breads can be brushed with additional ghee if desired.

The potato and onion omelet

2011-05-13T13:57:00.000-04:00

The potato-onion omelet is my secret weapon. Sort of.

I pulled one together for an impromptu meal a couple of years ago when my friend Beth was visiting. There wasn't a lot of food in the house, but a quick review of the fridge and pantry revealed potatoes, onion, eggs — just what I needed for a simple omelet. I sliced, sauteed and whisked while she entertained me with stories, and not long after we were enjoying a tasty lunch. Beth still praises that meal, and I rely on this dish several times a year for a fool-proof, comforting supper.

The potato-onion omelet is not a huge secret, of course; this classic Spanish tapa has been enjoyed for eons. But it is one of those easy-to-make, you-likely-have-all-the-ingredients-on-hand, scrumptious dishes that makes you look brilliant. Traditionally cut into small pieces served with other appetizers, this is terrific finger food for a cocktail party, though I'm more likely to eat a slice accompanied by a green salad for dinner.

This dish transforms humble ingredients into something unexpected. Thinly sliced disks of potato are browned in olive oil and combined with slivers caramelized onion, the components layered and suspended in egg. It requires a little more preparation time than my average weeknight meal, but the results are worth it.

If you don't own a cast iron skillet, this is your excuse to purchase one — I wouldn't dream of cooking this omelet in anything else. Skip the overpriced culinary supply stores and look for cast iron at your local hardware store.

The omelet is lovely straight out of the oven, but it's equally enjoyable at room temperature. Leftovers keep up to 4 days, covered, in the refrigerator.

Potato-Onion Omelet
Serves about 8

1/2 - 3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 1/4 pounds russet potatoes, peeled and very thinly sliced on a mandoline (about 5 cups)
1 extra large onion, peeled and thinly sliced
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
6-8 fresh thyme sprigs
9 large eggs

Heat a seasoned 10-inch cast iron skillet over medium flame with about 1/4 cup of olive oil. When it's hot but not smoking, add the potato slices (you will hear a sizzle if the oil is hot enough). Work in batches, putting only one layer of potato into the skillet at a time, adding more oil to the pan as needed. Fry on both sides until lightly brown, then place on a paper towel-lined plate to drain. Sprinkle with salt.

When all of the potatoes are cooked, lower the heat and add a little more oil to the pan. Cook the onion slices over medium-low heat until golden brown — this will take 10-15 minutes. Season with salt, pepper, and thyme leaves stripped from their stems. Set aside.

Crack the eggs into a large bowl and whisk. Add the potatoes and onions, another pinch of salt, and stir to combine. Over medium flame, pour this mixture into the skillet. Give the omelet a few shakes and press it gently with a spatula to even out the potatoes and onions. Reduce the flame and cook for a few minutes. When the edges are brown, flip the omelet onto a large plate, raw side up, then slide it back into the pan to cook the other side. Cook for a couple more minutes, then turn it onto a serving plate.

A fabulous strawberry and ricotta tart

2011-05-10T18:10:00.000-04:00

The strawberry ricotta tart was worth it. I can't say this about every dessert I make (or eat). In fact, I can't say this about most of them. But Sunday's strawberry wonder was worth every calorie.

It began with a basket of just-picked berries from Lyon Farms. Strawberries were being unloaded from the truck when I walked through the Durham Farmer's Market early Saturday morning, and though my bags were already overflowing with produce, I couldn't help myself. A heaping basket made its way into the fold.

My dinner menu: cream of turnip soup, grilled leg of lamb with rosemary and garlic, sauteed asparagus with pancetta and lemon, Bibb lettuce with radishes and sherry vinaigrette, and the aforementioned, absolutely fabulous strawberry ricotta tart. Everything was delicious, but the tart drew raves. I had seconds that night, a sliver the following morning, another sliver for a snack Monday afternoon, and a full-size serving for dessert. I think a lot of undressed salads and extra-long dog walks are in my future, but I don't regret it. The tart is just that good.

The crisp short dough crust breaks when pierced with a fork, scattering flavorful crumbs among juicy berries and creamy ricotta-cream cheese interior. The recipe, adapted from Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson's Rustic Fruit Desserts, is time-consuming but not at all difficult. It's one that requires a bit of planning, but you can streamline things by making the dough ahead of time. I plan to use other berries as they come into season — I've got my eye on one particular blackberry bush near my house.

Strawberry and Ricotta Tart
Adapted from Rustic Fruit Desserts
Makes 8-12 servings

1 recipe Short Dough, baked and cooled in a 10-inch fluted tart pan with a removable bottom (recipe follows)

1 cup whole milk ricotta cheese
2/3 cup room temperature cream cheese
3/4 cup sugar
seeds scraped from 1/2 vanilla bean
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
3 pints (about 6 cups) fresh strawberries, hulled; halved if large
1/2 cup strawberry jam

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Combine the ricotta, cream cheese, sugar, vanilla bean seeds, salt and nutmeg with a mixer (handheld or standing) on medium speed. Add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl to be sure each is fully incorporated. Add the vanilla and stir.

Pour the filling into the baked tart shell and place in the center of the preheated oven. Bake for 30 minutes, until the edges are puffy but the center of the tart is still a little shaky. Cool to room temperature on a wire rack, then chill in the refrigerator for at least one hour.

Immediately before serving, heat the strawberry jam in a small saucepan over low heat, being careful not to let it burn. Pour it over the fresh berries, being sure to strain the jam if it contains seeds. Toss the berries to coat evenly, then place on top of the tart. You could skip the jam altogether and simply serve fresh strawberries alongside the tart.

Leftovers will keep, covered and refrigerated, for 2 to 3 days.

Short Dough
Makes one 10-inch tart shell

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cubed
2 tablespoons half and half or heavy cream
1 egg yolk

Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in a bowl. Cut in the cold butter with a pastry blender or two forks. Alternatively, combine the dry ingredients in the base of a food processor, add the butter cubes, and pulse a few times. The mixture should resemble a rough cornmeal or very small peas.

Whisk the cream and egg yolk, then stir into the flour mixture with a fork (or pulse very briefly in a food processor). Don't over process — the dough should just come together into a shaggy mass. Press the dough into a 6-inch disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and allow to rest in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and roll it on a lightly floured surface. Work from the center to the edges, turning the dough occasionally to create a (somewhat) even circle. Roll until the circle is 12 inches in diameter, about 1/8-inch thick.

Place a 10-inch tart pan with a removable bottom onto a baking sheet. Gently press the dough into the pan, tucking it into the bottom and sides. Line it with a piece of parchment paper or aluminum foil and fill with uncooked rice, dried beans, or commercial pie weights, and bake in the center of the oven for 35-40 minutes.

Take the crust from the oven and carefully remove the pie weights (lift the parchment paper or other liner). Return the crust to the oven and cook for 10-15 minutes, until lightly golden.

Cool the crust on a wire rack, checking for cracks. Repair cracks with leftover pie dough, then pour the filling into the crust and proceed with the recipe above. This short dough crust can be prebaked one day in advance and stored at room temperature, carefully covered with plastic wrap.

Ain't no cookie decorator - and turnip soup

2011-04-24T18:32:00.001-04:00

A big bowl of turnip soup can cure a a myriad of woes — or at least help soothe a bruised ego.

I knew cake and cookie decorating wasn't my thing when I told C, founder of SpiceLines, that I wanted to participate in her first ever sugar cookie decorating contest. I wasn't prepared, however, for just how humbling the experience would be. I tried to channel Martha and kept friends' helpful hints and creative suggestions in the back of my mind when I approached this project. (Kitty thought I should dress the camels in party clothes, Rhett suggested using butter icing for more control, Lisa voted for Indian-inspired garb, and Jane pointed out that Martha's staff would actually do the work). I made cookie dough and royal icing, broke out vials of food coloring, and made a big 'ole mess. Such a mess that I couldn't share it with anyone.

So SpiceLines isn't getting photos of my camel cookies — my messily marbled, polka-dotted, and sort-of-geared-up-in-a-circus-outfit camel cookies. I broke the news to C this Friday afternoon, and she was incredibly gracious, confiding that she can't decorate cakes and cookies either. That made me feel better, but I needed a culinary win to really turn my day around. The win came in the form of turnip soup.

This soup is a simple puree — it's a meal when paired with salad and bread. You can use another root vegetable in place of the turnips. Use vegetable stock in place of water for a more flavorful soup.

I think this soup tastes better the day after it's made.

Cream of Turnip Soup
Serves 6

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 medium leeks, white parts only, thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, minced
4 large turnips, about 2 pounds, peeled and chopped
2 small yukon gold potatoes, about 1 pound, peeled and chopped
3 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
6-7 cups water or vegetable stock
kosher salt
freshly ground pepper
about 1/3 cup half-and-half or heavy cream
minced chives for garnish

Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed soup pot. Add the leeks and garlic and cook over medium-low heat for about 5 minutes, until softened. Add the turnips, potatoes, thyme leaves and water, a pinch of kosher salt, and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 30 minutes, until the vegetables are tender.

Puree (I used an immersion blender), adjust seasoning, and add half-and-half or cream if desired. Garnish with minced chives.

What Would Martha Do?

2011-04-21T06:42:00.000-04:00

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Decorating camel-shaped sugar cookies sounds like fun, doesn't it? Make a few cookies, break out the royal icing, and spend a few hours playing with sanding sugars. It could, it should, be fun. But right now I'm suffering from some sort of sugar cookie paralysis.

Last month, Chapel Hill food blogger C. of SpiceLines decided to hold a cookie decorating contest. She provided the fabulous camel cookie cutters (the camel is the SpiceLines mascot) and inspiration (the lucky winner will receive a copy of Alice Medrich's Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-in-Your-Mouth Cookies). April 25, the deadline for entry photos, looms. Baked, naked camels sit on a cookie sheet in my kitchen, sanding sugars and bottles of food coloring gels at the ready. And I have no clue where to start. My initial impulse: camels-masquerading-as-other-animals. Zebra stripes, tiger spots. Purple sanding sugar doesn't really work with this theme, though.

I can't remember the last time I tried to decorate a cookie. So I'm up the proverbial creek, asking myself, "What would Martha do?" Suggestions welcome!

A birthday, a coconut cake, and neglecting the blog

2011-03-06T19:39:00.001-05:00

Over the past few weeks I've taken lousy photographs of a marvelous chocolate pound cake, accidentally deleted photographs of a to-die-for chocolate raspberry layer cake, and given up trying to photograph my favorite chicken under a brick recipe in a dim room. In other words, I've totally botched my blog responsibilities.

As much as I enjoy this blog, life often gets in the way. The fact is, I have a full time job in another arena, and food blogging takes more time than I realized. I recently resolved, however, to devote more energy to Cackalackyfoodie than I have in the past few months. I just hope someone is still reading.

It is with renewed vigor that I present you with coconut cake — a spectacular white coconut cake made to mark my friend Kirstin's 42nd year. The birthday girl opted to gather friends at a local bar for the big event, so I toted the cake (and forks and plates) to a pool hall, where the bartender graciously allowed me to use his knife to slice up dessert midway through the festivities. This recipe, found in pastry chef Joanne Chang's book Flour, is a full-on coconut celebration. Coconut milk makes an appearance in both the cake batter and the frosting it's swathed in, the entire creation covered with fistfuls of finely shredded coconut. Kirstin was thrilled with the cake, her husband even more so — he put down his pool cue for seconds.

I made the cake components in stages, baking the cake layers 2 days in advance, making the frosting 1 day ahead, and assembling everything the day it was served. I love the snow-puff look of a coconut cake. It's especially good for those of us who find cake decorating to be, er, a challenge.

You can find coconut milk in the Asian section of most supermarkets. Be sure to purchase coconut milk, rather than coconut cream, used to make sweet, sticky adult beverages (and usually found in that section of the grocery store).

White Coconut Cake with Coconut Frosting
Adapted from Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston's Flour Bakery + Cafe
Serves 8 to 10

Cake:
2 1/4 cups cake flour
1 1/4 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature, cut into pieces
6 egg whites
1 cup coconut milk
2 cups sweetened shredded coconut
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise

Frosting:
1 1/2 cups sugar
6 egg whites
1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature, cut into pieces
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt
2/3 cup coconut milk

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, placing the rack in the center. Butter and flour two 8-inch round cake pans, or line them with parchment paper.

Sift the cake flour into a large bowl or the bowl of a heavy stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Add the sugar, baking powder and Kosher salt. Combine for a few seconds, setting the mixer speed on low. Add the butter and beat for about 1 minute, until coarse and crumbly.

Combine the egg whites, coconut milk and 1 cup shredded coconut in a medium bowl. Scrape the vanilla bean seeds into this mixture.

Add half of the coconut milk mixture to the flour mixture and beat on medium-high until combined, about a minute. Stop the mixer and scrape down the sides of the bowl. Add the remaining wet ingredients at beat for 30 seconds, until the batter is light and fluffy. Divide between the 2 prepared cake pans.

Bake for 35-45 minutes (mine took 40 minutes), until the tops are firm and golden. Allow the cakes to cool completely in the pans on a wire rack.

To make the frosting: Whisk the sugar and egg whites together in a small heatproof bowl. Place the bowl over a pot of simmering water (the bowl should NOT touch the water) and whisk for 6-8 minutes, until hot to the touch. The sugar will melt, thinning the mixture.

Remove the bowl from the heat and scrape the contents into the bowl of a stand mixer. Using the whip attachment, set the speed to medium-high and whip for 6-8 minutes (mine actually took 9-10 minutes), until a light color and cool to the touch. Reduce the speed to low and add the butter a few chunks at a time. Turn the speed up to medium and mix until completely incorporated, about 4-5 minutes. The frosting will look curdled at first, but keep whipping — it will come together.

Add vanilla extract, Kosher salt, and coconut milk to the frosting and whip another 1-2 minutes; the frosting should be smooth. Use the frosting within 30 minutes or store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 1 day, though it must be beaten until smooth before using. It can also be refrigerated for up to 2 weeks. Bring to room temperature and beat with the stand mixer using the paddle attachment until smooth before using.

Remove the cakes from their pans and level the top of each cake with a serrated knife. Place one cake layer onto a cake plate or pedestal (I put mine on a cardboard round and placed it on a revolving cake stand for easier decorating). Put 2 cups of frosting on top and spread it evenly to the edges using an offset spatula. Place the second layer top-side down on top of the first. Smooth about 1 cup of frosting on top and down the sides of the cake. Refrigerate for 20 minutes (this sets the crumb coat).

Beat the remaining frosting with a spoon to keep it creamy. Spoon it on the cake, spreading it on the top and sides. Press the remaining shredded coconut (1 cup) onto the top and sides of the cake.

The cake can be stored in a airtight container in a cool place for up to 3 days.

Nancy's Cheese Souffle

2011-02-20T15:40:00.000-05:00

Friday evenings used to be a night out, an opportunity to let off steam at week's end. Just a few year ago I'd leave work promptly at 5 p.m. and meet friends for happy hour, welcoming the weekend with a glass of wine and a few fancy bar snacks. These days I'm far more likely to sit on the couch with the DVD remote and a large glass of seltzer water at the end of the week. Is it a sign of age or good sense? I'm not sure, but I know a slower Friday routine seems to suit me.

That said, I hate to be anti-social, and curling up alone on the sofa can be isolating. When my friend Cathy invited me to dinner last Friday night I happily accepted. It was a great break from my stay-at-home routine, low-key but entertaining. We caught up over a delightful homemade meal — cheese souffle served alongside a crisp green salad. Rich but not heavy, the souffle was warm and comforting, its golden brown top rising a few inches above the rim of the casserole dish, wobbling oh-so-softly when removed from the oven.

I love cheese souffle as a main course, but it would make a lovely starter to a larger meal. Experiment with different cheeses — I'm fond of Roquefort souffles accompanied by a salad of peppery watercress dressed with lemon.

Cathy followed her mother Nancy's recipe. It's wonderful.

Cheese Souffle

Recipe from Nancy Bryson

1/4 cup butter

1/4 cup flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup milk

4-6 eggs, separated (depending on how many you're feeding)

2 cup grated cheese (Cathy used cheddar)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.

Melt butter in large saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in flour. Add the milk, stirring constantly. Beat the egg yolks and add to the white sauce. Take off heat and stir in grated cheese. Whip egg whites until stiff and fold into cheese sauce. Place in lightly greased souffle dish and bake for about 30 minutes. Serve immediately.

An emergency vet visit, general exhaustion, and a coddled egg

2011-01-18T20:10:00.000-05:00

Tired and cranky. Those words best described my mood before I discovered that my dog, Gus, had scratched a couple of sutures out of his face Sunday morning. Stitches that were oh-so-carefully put into place after a biopsy last week. After parting with a gazillion (more) dollars at the emergency veterinary clinic that morning, I returned home pretty much exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but it was after noon, my stomach was empty, and I knew I needed to consume something moderately healthy if I had any chance of making it to Monday.

My refrigerator's contents determined the midday meal, though I was interested only in warm, comforting dishes, things that would make the world seem a little less topsy-turvy. Eggs were the only available protein source, but a quick scramble or omelet wasn't special enough. I needed a mood-changer, something outside of my regular routine. Enter the coddled egg.

As the name implies, coddled eggs are cooked very gently, almost indulgently. Cracked into a coffee cup or ramekin that's placed into a larger dish filled with hot water, coddled eggs cook slowly with this until the whites are firm and yolks straddle the line between set and slightly runny. Plain coddled eggs are nice, but I always tart them up a bit, placing cooked vegetables or a piece of toasted bread and cheese in the bottom of the container. The result? A more interesting, flavorful dish, one that's worth a little bit of effort.

I made creamed spinach to accompany my egg, but any cooked vegetable will do. I've used sauteed mushrooms, quickly cooked tomato tossed with cracked olives, even a few tablespoons of leftover mashed potatoes sprinkled with fresh herbs. Just spoon a bit of the selected veg (or meat) into the bottom of a buttered ramekin, crack an egg on top, and create a bain marie — breakfast (or lunch, or dinner) will be ready within 30 minutes.

Coddled Egg with Creamed Spinach

Serves 1 (with lots of extra spinach)

1/2 cup cream

2 garlic cloves, smashed

1/2 small onion

1 large bunch of spinach, stems remove, finely chopped

Kosher salt

freshly ground black pepper

nutmeg, grated

1 egg

soft butter

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Scald the cream with garlic and onion in a small saucepan (small bubbles will come to the surface — shut off the heat and set aside).

Cook the spinach in a few teaspoons of butter until the pan is dry. Strain the cream and pour it into the pan with the spinach. Bring to a simmer and allow it to thicken. Season with salt, pepper, and a few gratings of nutmeg.

Place a few tablespoons of creamed spinach in to buttered ramekin. Crack an egg into the ramekin, then place it in a small ovenproof pan (Pyrex is a great choice). Bring water to a boil in a kettle, then pour just enough of it into the pan that contains the ramekin to come 3/4 way up its side. Place the pan into a preheated oven and baked for 20-25 minutes, until the egg is set. The white will be firm, the yolk still runny when broken into. Serve with toast.

Hoppin' John

2011-01-10T06:47:00.000-05:00

My friend Caroline saved me from a year of poor luck and bad finances.

I've been making (and enjoying) Hoppin' John on New Year's Day for some time, but this year I zoned out. Hoppin' John, a tasty melange of black-eyed peas and rice, is said to bring good fortune to those who consume it on January 1. When we spoke on New Year's Day, Caroline asked if I'd eaten the requisite foods, and I realized I'd spaced out. I promptly turned the car around and drove to the grocery. Within 30 minutes I was back home, black-eyed peas and tomatoes in hand, ready to whip up a batch of Hoppin' John.

Recipes for Hoppin' John vary wildly. Some versions call for the tomatoes (and sometimes other vegetables, like peppers) to be cooked with rice; others simply combine black-eyed peas and onion with plain rice. I stick with a slight variation of Bill Neal's version — soft, somewhat mushy, ham-flavored peas served atop white rice to create a joyous starch-on-starch medley punctuated by fresh tomato and green onion. It's a fabulous combination of warm, earthy carbs and bright vegetables that should be eaten throughout the year.

Hoppin' John
Adapted from Bill Neal's Southern Cooking
Serves 4 to 6

2 cooked cooked black-eyed peas
2 cups cooked white rice
1 cup fresh tomato, chopped
1/2 cup scallions, finely sliced
Kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
Cheddar cheese, grated (optional)

Black-eyed peas:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
3 cups fresh black-eyed peas
2 ounces country ham or pork sidemeat
2 bay leaves
2 dried red chiles
water to cover

Heat the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pan over medium flame. Add the onion and garlic, a pinch of Kosher salt, and cook gently until softened, but not browned. Add the remaining ingredients and cover with water by 2 inches. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer, skimming away any scum that initially floats to the surface. Cook until the peas are tender; this will take about 25-30 minutes, depending on the freshness and quality of the peas.

Combine the cooked rice and black-eyed peas in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the tomato and scallion, season with Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Stir, cover, and allow to heat through. Add grated cheddar cheese if desired.

Fever, chills and lentil soup

2010-12-29T13:28:00.000-05:00

I knew I was in trouble Sunday night. I had every blanket in the house heaped on me, I'd jacked the thermostat up to 75 degrees, I was wearing flannel pajamas, and still I was shivering, freezing cold despite my best efforts. I've recovered after two days at home with multiple mugs of TheraFlu, lots of sleep, and a little light reading.

What to do the night before returning to work? Make a big pot-o-lentil soup, of course.

This is the soup I wish I'd had in the freezer, ready to be reheated and enjoyed when I caught this nasty cold + fever + chills thing. Hearty and flavorful, I find this earthy soup very comforting. It smacks of all that is right with rustic peasant fare. A few basic ingredients combine to create a dish that warms the body and soul on a cold afternoon. The best part — it tastes even better the next day, when the ingredients have a chance to meld.

As always, use only high quality ingredients; old veggies make for a lackluster soup. I used both homemade vegetable stock and water in this batch, but chicken stock works well. A sprinkle of freshly chopped parsley and a good crusty bread are the only garnishes required. Don't forget to drizzle a few teaspoons of red wine vinegar in at the end to brighten the flavor.

Lentil Soup
Makes 6 servings

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 small onions, finely diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 carrots, finely diced
2 celery stalks, finely diced
1 1/2 cups French green lentils, picked over and rinsed
1 28 oz. can whole peeled plum tomatoes, drained and diced
2 quarts vegetable broth, chicken stock, or water
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
a few teaspoons red wine vinegar
Kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Heat the olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over a medium-low flame. Add the onion and garlic and cook slowly, until softened but not browned, about 5-6 minutes. Add a pinch of Kosher salt, stir, and add carrots and celery. Cook another 3-4 minutes. Add the green lentils, diced tomatoes and broth, stock or water. Cook until the lentils are cooked through, about 25-30 minutes.

Season to taste with salt, pepper, and a few teaspoons of red wine vinegar. Garnish with freshly chopped parsley.

Christmas Eve + Banana Bread

2010-12-24T17:36:00.000-05:00

It's 4 p.m. on Christmas Eve and I'm baking.

I'm at my own home this evening, but tomorrow I'll drive to my parents' house, a fresh loaf of whole wheat banana bread in tow. This is the quick bread I often bring as a hostess gift around the holidays, when everyone is inundated with plates of cookies and confections (very few of which are worth the calories).

Last weekend's banana bread recipients were pleased — one friend consumed it at least twice a day and swore it was never-ending, like the loaves and fishes. A scoop of ice cream turns it into dessert, but I love it lightly toasted alongside a cup of coffee. The highlights of the recipe: sour cream for moisture, dark brown sugar for a more complex flavor, and whole wheat flour for a firmer texture.

I discovered this recipe in Molly O'Neill's New York Cookbook, a terrific compendium of stories and recipes for a truly astonishing array of dishes, from falafel to Southern-style greens to chopped liver (yes, chopped liver). This banana bread keeps for about 4 days at room temperature if well-wrapped. Best of all, it freezes beautifully.

My apologies for the far-from-ideal photo. It's getting dark — no natural light to be had. Merry Christmas!

Whole Wheat Banana Bread
Adapted from New York Cookbook
Makes 1 loaf

1 stick unsalted butter at room temperature
1 1/3 cups dark brown sugar
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon basking soda
1/4 cup sour cream
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup mashed ripe bananas, about 2 medium

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease a 9x5x3 1/2 inch loaf pan with butter or Baker's Joy spray.

Cream the softened butter and brown sugar together. Add the eggs and vanilla and beat together. Combine the baking soda and sour cream, then beat this mixture into the batter.

Sift together the whole wheat flour, all-purpose flour and salt. Alternately add the flour mixture and the mashed bananas to the batter and mix until well combined.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, spreading it evenly into the corners. Bake until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean, about 1 hour. Allow it to cool on wire rack.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger Soup

2010-12-09T20:33:00.000-05:00

It's cold outside. Really cold.

Temperatures took a dive into the teens Tuesday night, so my evening walk with the dog was very brief (i.e. down the street and back). The weather also affected the dinner menu. A cold salad? No way. I rummaged through the fridge and opted to make Carrot-Apple-Ginger soup.

This soup, or a variation thereof, was a standby when I attended culinary school back in the early 1990s. It was a new flavor combination for me, having grown up on cans of Campbell's chicken noodle and tomato soup, with the occasional tin of cream of mushroom thrown in on special occasions. I was amazed that simply simmering a few ingredients together could result in something so rich and flavorful.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger soup lends itself to a myriad of interpretations. Use pear in place of apple, a winter squash instead of carrot — just don't leave out the ginger. It provides the underlying oomph that makes this simple soup something special.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger Soup

2 teaspoons vegetable oil

2 teaspoons butter

1 onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 celery stalk, chopped

1 1/2 pounds carrots, peeled and chopped

2 apples, peeled and chopped

3-inch piece of ginger, peeled and minced

5-6 cups chicken stock, vegetable stock, or water

Kosher salt

freshly ground black pepper

Heat the oil and butter in a large stockpot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, celery, and a pinch of salt, cooking until the vegetables are soft but not brown, about 5 minutes. Add the carrots, apples and ginger, cook for a minute or two, then add the stock or water. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook until the carrots are soft (about 25 minutes) then puree with a blender (immersion or standing) adding more liquid as needed. Season to taste and serve.

Best ever cranberry relish

2010-12-07T20:48:00.000-05:00

I spent Thanksgiving in Los Angeles this year. It was lovely: the people, the food, the weather. The weather! A bit cooler than usual, Southern California's sunny skies were still a nice change from the truly cold temperatures back home. I helped with the food, but I simply followed someone else's recipes. Everything was good, but one thing was missing — Jasper White's Cranberry Relish.

Cranberry sauce made an appearance on the Thanksgiving table and it was very,very good, but it lacked the caramelized sugar, fresh ginger and white pepper that make Jasper White's zesty version my hands down favorite. It's graced my own Thanksgiving table annually since I first discovered the recipe in White's outstanding book, Cooking From New England (out of print, but worth searching for).

When I landed at RDU, my mind turned immediately to the bags of cranberries I'd purchased before the holiday and stashed in the freezer. Happily I had all of the necessary ingredients in the fridge and pantry, so pulling it together took just a few minutes. This relish is good enough to eat straight out of the pan, but I saved most of it for turkey-cranberry sandwiches.

I eyeball my ingredients, and probably add more lemon juice, white pepper and ginger than called for in the recipe that follows. Taste and adjust quantities as you see fit, but trust me, this is close to perfect.

Cranberry Relish
Adapted from Cooking From New England
Makes about 3 cups

2 oranges
1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, julienned
1 12-oz. bag cranberries, fresh or frozen
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper

Finely grate the zest of one orange and set aside. Squeeze the juice from both oranges into a small bowl.

Combine the sugar and freshly squeezed lemon juice into a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Cook until the sugar begins to turn a light brown, washing down the sides of the pan with a little water if needed to prevent burning.

When the sugar is caramelized, add the julienned ginger and orange zest. Continue to cook for about 1 minute. Add the cranberries, orange juice, and white pepper. Increase the heat to medium-heat and continue to cook, stirring frequently, for 5-7 minutes, until the berries pop and are broken but not mushy. Remove from the heat and cool.

Snow! And Havremel Flatbrod

2010-12-05T16:18:00.000-05:00

It snowed last night. In other parts of the country, this isn't unusual. But in central North Carolina, it doesn't necessarily snow every year, and wintry white flakes are uncommon in early December. I took a cue from Mother Nature and holed up at home. Chicken stock simmered slowly on the stove and I rummaged through the pantry for a crunchy snack. There were none to be found, so I took note of available ingredients, then browsed through Bernard Clayton's Complete Book of Small Breads for a recipe, settling on Havremel Flatbrod, or Norwegian Oatmeal Flatbread.

These crackers are slightly sweet, crispy, and addictive (the dog loves them). The dough is sticky and wet, and was a little difficult to work with. Clayton recommends using a pastry cloth and pastry sleeve-covered rolling pin, but I settled on smearing it across parchment paper with a flexible plastic dough scraper (and used my fingers). The result was a thicker cracker that took longer to cook than the recipe indicates — but I was still pleased.

Clayton writes that this flatbread is traditionally served with cheese, spreads, and soups, but I've been munching on them straight out of my handy Tupperware container. They should last for weeks stored this way, but I don't expect them to be around that long.

Havremel Flatbrod
Adapted from The Complete Book of Small Breads
Makes 1 pound

2 tablespoons sugar
3/4 cup melted unslated butter
1/2 heaping teaspoon Kosher salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
3 cups all-purpose flour or 2 cups all-purpose flour and 1 cup whole wheat flour
2 cups quick-cooking oats

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Combine the sugar, melted butter and salt in a large bowl. In a separate container, combine the buttermilk and baking soda. Alternately add the flour and the buttermilk to the sugar-butter mixture, then stir in the oatmeal. If you're using a heavy duty mixer, use the paddle attachment and mix for 2 minutes, adding a bit of flour if needed. Knead for 4 minutes.

Working with 1/3 cup of dough at a time, roll it into a ball and then flatten it onto the pastry cloth. Roll it paper-thin with a rolling pin covered in a pastry sleeve. Roll it onto the rolling pin, then unroll it onto a baking sheet. If you don't have a pastry cloth and rolling pin sleeve, spread the dough onto a parchment-lined baking sheet with a dough scraper, using your fingers as necessary.

Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 8-10 minutes, until lightly browned (my thick flatbread took close to 17 minutes). Slide the flatbread onto a metal rack to cool, and break into pieces.

Popcorn meals

2010-12-01T19:41:00.000-05:00

I've been away from the blogosphere for too long, but the truth is, I haven't cooked much worth writing about in the past few weeks. There were a few batches of what I'll call Disappointing Muffins (not worth posting) and I've spent a lot of time eating this:

Popcorn, straight out of the microwave bag. Who needs a recipe for that?

I am trying to get out my funk, and have a few blog-worthy items in the hopper, so I hope to return soon with a few tales and recipes to share. I hope you'll stay tuned.

Pumpkin madness

2010-11-11T11:26:00.000-05:00

Pumpkin madness has begun.

Piled high on farmers' market tables, the orange-hued squashes remind shoppers that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Their canned brethren — plain puree and the-too-be-avoided-at-all-costs pie filling — are prominently displayed in end-of-aisle pyramids at the grocery store. And for those not paying attention (or spending time) in food venues, pumpkin spiced drinks now receive top billing at coffee shops.

As much as I like the traditional spices associated with pumpkin pie — nutmeg, cinnamon, clove, sometimes a touch of molasses — I wanted to bake a little pumpkin something-something that veered in a slightly different direction. Regan Daley's recipe for Pumpkin and Orange Breakfast Cake fit the bill. Light and moist, this cake ushers in autumn with a bright citrus note.

I'm tempted to add cranberries in the future, but I stuck to the original recipe this time. Though I'm a coffee girl, I think this would be perfect with a cup of hot tea and the morning paper; a dollop of whipped cream on the side makes it an ideal dessert. And actually, it's delightful served plain, without any garnishes.

I took the lazy route and use canned pumpkin in this recipe, but roasting a pumpkin is easy. Cut a small pumpkin (about 3-4 pounds; use any type other than those sold for jack-o-lanterns) in half, remove the seeds with a spoon, and place in a large cassole dish or jelly roll pan with a few tablespoons of water. Roast at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 50-60 minutes. Scrape the flesh from the skin and pulse in a food processor until smooth. Most pumpkins are very fibrous, which can ruin the texture of baked goods, so don't skip this step.

Pumpkin and Orange Breakfast Cake with a Fresh Orange Syrup
Serves 10
Adapted from In the Sweet Kitchen

Cake:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons finely grated orange zest
3 large eggs, two of them separated
1 cup pumpkin puree, homemade or canned solid-pack pumpkin
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cake flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

Syrup:
1 large orange, juiced
1/2 cup sugar

additional unsalted butter for greasing the pan

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a 9-inch fluted tube pan (be sure to get into the nooks to avoid unhappiness later) and set aside.

Cream the butter, sugar, and orange zest until light and fluffy. Add the whole egg and 2 yolks - one at a time - to the butter mixture, scraping down the bowl after each addition. Beat in the pumpkin puree.

Sift the fours, baking powder and salt together in a medium bowl. Add to the batter in 3-4 stages, blending gently after each.

In a small bowl, whop the egg whites to soft peak. Fold them into the batter, then scrape it into the buttered pan and smooth with a spatula. Bake in the center of the oven for 50-60 minutes, until the sides begin to pull away from the pan and a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

To make the syrup. combine the 0range juice and sugar in a small pan over low heat and stir to dissolve the sugar. Bring to a boil without stirring for 2 minutes, then use it immediately (pour a few spoonfuls on invidualy slices) or allow the syrup to cool and refrigerate for up the 3 days.

The cake holds for several days at room temperature if well-wrapped, or can be frozen for up to 2 months.

Not enough time. And butternut squash soup.

2010-11-05T12:00:00.000-04:00

I shouldn't complain about being busy. I'm much better busy. It's sitting around with lots of time on my hands that gets me into trouble. Current time sucks include:

- Work. Enough said.

- Reading. I'm working on Colum McCann's wonderful novel Let the Great World Spin and debating whether or not to download Keith Richards' autobiography Life to my new Kindle. Not a typical Lynn book, but I'm fascinated, because really, that man should be dead by now.

- Line-by-Line , the amazing New York Times series by artist James McMullan (part of the online Opinionator Blog) that teaches readers how to draw. I come home at night, curl up with my laptop, a piece of paper, and a 2B pencil. I haven't created anything worth sharing, but I'm having fun.

- Writing. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month, affectionately known as NaNoWriMo. The goal? To write 50,000 words in the month of November. This particular project isn't going so well.

All of this means I haven't been cooking dinner as often as usual. Or writing about it. Or taking photographs. Which makes me a lousy food blogger.

I did find time to make one of my favorite fall soups earlier in the week: curried butternut squash soup with caramelized pear. Most squashes are fairly delicate in flavor, but butternut holds up well to more assertive spices, like curry. Roasting the squash before adding it to the soup pot would be a great way to enhance the sweetness, but I simply chopped it up and cooked it in chicken stock (the whole time-saving thing). There's no cream in this pureed soup, but it's so smooth you won't miss it. Or feel guilty taking a second helping.

I often caramelize diced apple for this soup — it's a beautiful, tasty garnish — but I had pears in the fridge, so I used them instead. Make this with water or vegetable stock if you like — it will still be great. The soup is simple, good, and worth finding time to make. I promise.

Curried Butternut Squash Soup with Caramelized Pear
Serves 6 to 8

2-3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large white onion, diced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 bay leaf
2 teaspoons Madras curry powder
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
2 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded and chopped into 1x1-inch pieces
6-7 cups chicken or vegetable stock
Kosher salt
white pepper

2 pears (or apples), peeled, cored and finely diced
1 tablespoon butter
pinch sugar

Melt 2-3 tablespoons of butter in a large, heavy stockpot. Add the onion, carrot, celery and garlic, sprinkle in a pinch of salt, and soften over medium heat, about 7-8 minutes. Add the bay leaf, curry powder, and turmeric, and cook for another minute, stirring constantly. Add the butternut squash and stock, bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook 25-30 minutes, until the squash is tender. Puree with an immersion blender or in a standing blender. If you use a traditional blender, be very careful. Hot soup is dangerous stuff. Taste and season with Kosher salt and white pepper.

Heat 1 tablespoon of butter in a saute pan until foamy. Add the diced pear and sprinkle with a pinch of sugar, tossing to coat. The fruit will soften and caramelize in a couple of minutes. Use this as a garnish.

Smoke detectors and grape focaccia

2010-10-31T22:08:00.000-04:00

My home's smoke detectors are very, very sensitive.

I never worry that I'll be asphyxiated in my sleep if the house begins to smolder, which is generally a big positive. But baking things at high temperatures on a stone — crusty, tasty things like pizza — sets off the smoke alarm. I'd forgotten (or blocked out) that tidbit before firing up the stove to make grape focaccia Saturday. The harsh, blaring noise forced me to throw open each and every window while flailing a kitchen towel around my head like a madwoman. It also drove my dog Gus into the backyard. He stayed as far from the house as possible, and had to be coaxed back inside.

It was worth the hassle. Tossed with freshly chopped rosemary and thinly sliced shallots, the grapes wrinkled and softened as they cooked. The natural sugars are intensified as they bake. It's a great textural experience, biting into oozing fruit, warm juices dribbling down your chin, then encountering a mellow bread with a crisp crust.

In the past, I've added a bit of turbinado sugar and crushed fennel seeds to the topping, when I'm going for a sweeter bread, or thrown in a couple of thinly sliced garlic cloves if I want a slightly more savory option. I think thinly sliced roasted fennel would make for an interesting combo — that goes onto the Things To Make in the Future List.

Grape Focaccia with Rosemary and Shallots

This recipe makes enough dough for 2 focacce, about 10 x 16 inches each. The topping quantity listed below is enough for one focaccia. Double the topping quantity if you plan to bake both, or freeze the leftover dough for future use.

Dough

1 package active dry yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons)

1/4 cup warm water (for dissolving yeast)

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 heaping tablespoon Kosher salt

2 1/2 cups water

6 1/2 - 7 cups all-purpose flour

Topping

1 large shallot, thinly sliced

1 1/2 cups seedless grapes (red or green)

1 tablespoon rosemary, finely chopped

1 large pinch Kosher salt

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

Combine the yeast and 1/4 cup of water in a mixing bowl and stir to dissolve. Let it stand for about 10 minutes to proof.

Add the olive oil, salt, 2 1/2 cups of water and flour to the mixing bowl. Stir with a heavy wooden spoon. When the mixture comes together, knead it by hand on a floured work surface until smooth, about 12-15 minutes (a little less if you're using a mixer). Place it in an oiled bowl to rise, covered with plastic wrap or a tea towel, until doubled in size. This will take about 1 1/2 hours.

Divide the dough into 2 pieces and press into the desired shape on lightly floured or parchment-lined baking pans (mine are most often misshapen rectangles). Press your fingertips into the dough, forming small dimples. Cover and allow the shaped dough to rise for about 2 hours.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Brush the dough with 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Toss the grapes and sliced shallots with a pinch of Kosher salt and finely chopped rosemary. Spread evenly over the focaccia dough, then bake for 25-30 minutes, rotating once to ensure even browning. Cool on a baking rack for 5 minutes before serving.

The beauty of roti

2010-10-28T18:46:00.000-04:00

Unleavened bread is a wonderful thing. I've known this for a while, but it fell off my radar screen for a couple of years. I got caught up in the hoopla that (justly) surrounded Jim Leahy's No-Knead Bread and turned to the magic of an easy artisan-style loaf whenever it came time to bake. That changed this past weekend, when I went with an Indian dinner menu for an informal gathering (a.k.a. Game Night).

I'm no Indian food expert, but with the help of Julie Sahni's Classic Indian Cooking, I turned out a great meal featuring braised chicken with bay leaves, cardamom and cloves; lentils in garlic butter; a fresh mint relish; saffron rice; and Besan ki Roti, or Chickpea Flour Bread. Roti requires a bit of last-minute effort, but the recipe couldn't be simpler and the results are terrific. Griddle baked and finished over an open flame, the roti puff up, the soft aroma of chickpea flour wafting into the kitchen as the breads gently deflate and are brushed with ghee (clarified butter). The bread is lovely by itself, though it's the perfect vehicle for scooping up other foods. I'll be making roti for solo meals, rolling out small portions of dough on an as-needed basis, but it's fun party food, something guests can help with just before you sit down to eat.

Note: I plan on increasing the amount of red pepper a bit the next time I make roti. I couldn't taste it and didn't get any heat using the recommended 1/2 teaspoon in the original recipe that follows. Follow your taste buds.

Chickpea Flour Bread (Besan ki Roti)
Makes 24 six-inch roti, enough for 8-12 people
Adapted from Classic Indian Cooking

2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup chickpea flour
1/4 - 1/2 teaspoon red pepper (optional)
1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt
1 1/4 cups (or more) warm water
additional all-purpose flour for dusting

Put the whole wheat flour, one cup of all-purpose flour, chickpea flour, Kosher salt and red pepper (if you're using it) in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a metal blade. Pulse a few times to combine, then add then the water slowly through the feed tube with the machine running. The dough will come together in a shaggy mass.

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead for 10-15 minutes by hand. The dough will be soft and slightly sticky. Cover and allow to rest for at least 30 minutes, but up to 24 hours, before you plan to bake.

Place the dough on a work surface, dusting flour at the ready, and knead gently for about a minute. Divide it into 2 balls, then divide each of those into 12 equal portions. Roll the pieces into small balls and cover with plastic wrap as you work with them individually.

Place one ball on your work surface, dusting with flour to prevent sticking, and flatten with a rolling pin. Roll into a disc about 6-inches in diameter.

Bake on a hot griddle (I used a cast-iron skillet) until a few brown spots appear and the bottom is cooked, then flip over and cook the other side for about 30 seconds. Using a pair of tongs, hold the bread flat over another burner — over the flame — with the gas set to high. Cook for 10-15 seconds, then turn and cook the other side for another 10-15 seconds.

Serve as is, or brush with ghee (clarified butter). Roti doesn't reheat well — it gets dried out and leathery — so enjoy fresh off the flame or at room temperature.

Hibernating with orange flower-buttermilk sorbet

2010-10-21T07:16:00.000-04:00

What to do with the three-quarters of a quart of Maple View Farm buttermilk sitting in the refrigerator? Though I am the type to drink it, I decided to make sorbet — something to share. I was headed to my friend Cathy's house for dinner and a movie, and dessert was in order. Rather than stick with the ever popular buttermilk-lemon combination, I opted to use the orange flower water that's been sitting in my pantry for eons (alongside an almost identical pretty blue bottle of rosewater).

Orange flower water has a floral quality that makes a nice counterpoint to buttermilk's rich, slightly sour flavor. Combined with simple syrup for sweetness and brightened with a few drops of fresh lemon juice, the sorbet was a big success. Cathy and I enjoyed a quiet evening with a few episodes of HBO's New Orleans drama Treme, bowls in hand. I highly recommend both.

Note: I added orange zest to the sorbet for color and flavor, but it should be considered optional — the sorbet would be good without it. If you opt for pretty orange flecks, add them after your sorbet is frozen, stirring it into the finished product as it comes out of the ice cream machine. Zest sometimes catches on the mixing paddle of the ice cream maker, forming a big clump rather than the evenly dispersed look you're going for.

Look for orange flower water in Middle Eastern stores or the ethnic section of an upscale grocery like Whole Foods. You can also order it (and rosewater) from Amazon. I'm a big fan of the frozen canister type ice cream makers made for home use — they come in 1 and 2-quart sizes, and you can buy an extra canister or two if you make lots of frozen desserts.

Orange Flower - Buttermilk Sorbet

Makes about 1 quart

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup water

3 cups buttermilk

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1 teaspoon orange flower water

zest of 1 orange, finely grated

Combine the sugar and water in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves, then turn off the heat and set the simple syrup aside to cool.

When the syrup is room temperature, combine it with the buttermilk, lemon juice and orange flower water to create the sorbet base. Chill for at least one hour, then freeze according to your ice cream machine's instructions. Add the orange zest to the sorbet after removing it from the machine and freeze for up to 1 month.

Rhett's Southern pantry

2010-10-15T16:53:00.000-04:00

One of things I like most about my friend Rhett is his love of all things Southern. He is fiercely devoted to his hometown of Charleston and will never live anywhere else. He doesn't want to. I, too, am a Southerner, but my loyalties aren't so strong. I left North Carolina as soon as I graduated from college planning never to return. 16 years later I find myself enjoying life in Chapel Hill — enjoying it very much — but I threaten to move far, far way on a regular basis. I think it's the way I'm wired.

Rhett's reaction to my recent blog post on pantry basics came as no surprise. He sent a brief list of things he thought I missed, things his kitchen never lacks. All of these items are very regional, very Charleston, very much like Rhett himself — and I thought it would be fun to share. What follows is a slightly edited version of his email, as well as my own input. Maybe you'll be inspired add a few items to your list of kitchen staples.

Rhett's Pantry Staples

Bourbon

Rhett: I drink it, yes. However, it does amazing things to pork, chicken, soups and chili; it's also great with chocolate and nuts.

Lynn: I don't drink it, but I keep a bottle of Maker's Mark my liquor cabinet. Friends (you know who you are) love the stuff, and I cook with it occasionally, using it to flavor ice cream, cake and hard sauce.

Buttermilk

Rhett: Without buttermilk there is no reason on this good earth to make biscuits, cornbread, pancakes/waffles or fry much of anything. It elevates wild game to new heights.

Lynn: Agreed. And I like to drink it, something my restaurant coworkers back in Boston thought was particularly disgusting.

Grits and cornmeal

Rhett: These are the most under-rated food items in the world. They pair well with seafood, chicken, veal, and wild game (marsh hens with grits and gravy). Fried grits can be topped with anything from pulled pork to caviar and creme fraiche.

Lynn: I keep cornmeal from White's Mill in Abingdon,Virginia in my pantry at all times. Your comments have set off a shrimp and grits craving.

Local honey

Rhett: Sue Bee is the Coors Light of honey — tasteless. Making the extra effort to buy local is more than worth it. It helps local farmers, the local economy, and provides many health benefits.

Lynn: Good point. I buy honey from Little Tree Farm in Oxford, NC. It's more expensive than nationally distributed honey, but worth it.

Joy's cornbread

2010-10-14T14:07:00.003-04:00

My father claims that it took my mother, Joy, two years to perfect her cornbread. Many of her initial cooking efforts were, um, unsuccessful. I've heard tales of burnt pot roast, fallen cakes, and undercooked vegetables, though those last dishes would be considered overcooked by many today — think green beans stewed for hours with bacon. To be fair, Joy had just turned 20 when they married, and she didn't have much cooking experience. She went from her parents' house to a dorm room to sharing a trailer with her new spouse in Jackson, Mississippi.

When I stop to think about it, my father was probably just looking for his mother's cornbread. Don't most men want food like Mom used to make? Maybe this post should be named after my paternal grandmother.

I compare all other cornbread to this one, the one my mother made daily when I was growing up. When I left home it was the one recipe of hers I had to have, the one thing I knew I'd want to recreate wherever I lived, so I set out to record the process exactly. But Joy doesn't measure ingredients when she makes this particular dish. The cups and scoops come out for just about everything else, but cornbread she creates by eye, by feel. We came to a consensus after a few tries, and I'm happy to report that the following recipe will very accurately reproduce Joy's version.

This isn't for everyone. I expect that anyone accustomed to what my father calls "Yankee cornbread" will be appalled by the crisp exterior, lack of sugar, and somewhat dry crumb, but these are things I like best about it. I love the crunch, the fact that this cornbread is perfect for scooping up the juices that surround slow-cooked Southern summer vegetables like pink-eyed peas and butter beans.

Compared to Miss Effie's cornbread, described by my friend Kitty in her guest post back in August, my mother's cornbread is loaded with "extras" like flour and baking soda. Joy used to cook this with bacon grease — she kept it in an old orange juice concentrate container in the fridge — but she's lightened up and uses vegetable oil now. An iron skillet is mandatory. Don't even think about baking this in another type of pan. Leftovers can be frozen — they're great for stuffing.

Joy's Cornbread

1-2 tablespoons of vegetable oil, lard or butter for the skillet
1/3 cup cornmeal (yellow or white)
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon table salt
1 egg
1 cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Place a 10-inch cast iron skillet — the bottom coated with a tablespoon of bacon grease, vegetable oil, or butter — in the oven as it heats. The hot oil creates that crispy exterior you're aiming for.

Combine the dry ingredients in a medium mixing bowl with a fork or whisk. In another bowl, whisk the egg into the buttermilk, then pour this mixture into the dry ingredients. Pour the batter (it will be pretty thick) into the preheated skillet, spreading it to the sides with a spatula. Bake for 20 minutes. Warm slices are best slathered with butter.

The pantry

2010-10-12T17:31:00.000-04:00

My friend Kathleen emailed me a few months ago with a question. She wondered how I could "whip up dinner every night," making a modest meal out of whatever was already in the house. My culinary background helps, but the truth is my day-to-day meals are nothing fancy, just good, simple dishes made from great ingredients. I visit the grocery store or farmers' market a couple of times each week for fresh produce or proteins, but I do have a well-stocked kitchen. The refrigerator always contains eggs, a hunk of parmesan cheese, a couple of lemons; the pantry is never without pasta, rice, a large assortment of dried herbs, and a few vinegars. The assortment varies a bit, but below is a list of basics I think every kitchen should have. It limits multiple trips to the store and allows you to create something tasty with whatever fresh items you bring home.

A few hints: it's wise to buy dried herbs and spices in the smallest containers you can find, unless you have a big cooking or baking day planned. Yes, they are more expensive per ounce, but they age quickly. Old oregano that smells and tastes like dust is no bargain. Check for bulk items at the grocery - you can buy as much or as little as you'd like, the turnover is usually pretty good, and the pricing is better.

The following is a very basic list of pantry staples. Herbs are dried unless otherwise noted.

Salt - Table salt and kosher salt. I almost exclusively use kosher salt, but table salt is often called for in baking recipes because the smaller grains dissolve more easily. Kosher salt doesn't contain additives - typically iodine - found in table salt.

Whole black peppercorns - grind to order in a pepper mill

Vinegars - My first choice is sherry vinegar; I always have white wine and red wine vinegars as well as a good quality balsamic

Pasta - I keep one long, skinny pasta (spaghetti, fettucini) and one or two shorter types (penne, macaroni)

Rice - long rained white rice is my first option; brown rice allows me to feel virtuous

Mustard - Dijon (regular or grainy) and dried ( I love Coleman's)

Kalamata olives (in a glass jar, not a can; canned olives taste like tin)
Canola oil (or another neutral vegetable oil)

Chile oil
Bay leaves

Cinnamon, sticks and ground
Coriander seeds
Cumin seeds
Fennel seeds
Oregano leaves
Baking powder
Baking soda
Unsweetened cocoa powder
Vanilla extract
All-purpose flour
Unsalted butter
Eggs (large)
White or yellow onions - 2 or 3
Fresh garlic heads - 2 or 3
Red onion -1
Whole peeled tomatoes, canned - 2 or 3 cans
Extra virgin olive oil
Dried red chile peppers - whole
Hot red pepper flakes
Sugar - granulated and light brown
Soy sauce - I prefer Kikkoman
Tabasco sauce
Worcestershire sauce
Fresh lemons - 2 in the fridge at all times
Fresh parsley - I grow my own, so it's available at a moment's notice

Creamy bean soup

2010-10-07T10:09:00.000-04:00

Scrumptious, smooth, creamy. Herb-scented, olive oil-enriched, crouton-garnished. I need to create quite an impression of the simple bean soup I made last weekend, because the pictures, well, the pictures aren't so great. And if you don't try this (brown soup with beige croutons) you'll regret it.

Spectacular fall weather inspired a bit of bean cookery over the weekend. I ventured into the pantry and broke out a bag of better-than-average heirloom beans — snowcap beans — from Rancho Gordo. Beans I ordered and got all worked up over in June, and with good reason. The heirloom varieties I've tried thus far have been amazingly good. Like all great ingredients, the Rancho Gordo beans haven't needed much help, just the addition a few aromatic vegetables and an herb or two.

Snowcap beans remind me of cranberry beans with their rich, velvety texture — perfect for soups. When I make this type of pureed bean soup I typically use a little pancetta, cooking the vegetables in rendered fat before adding the beans, herbs, and water or chicken stock, using the crisped meat as a garnish. Feel free to do that here if you'd like, but if you go to the trouble of procuring heirloom beans, try it first without the meat. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

You'll find many different opinions on the best ways to cook dried beans. Some people recommend adding dried seaweed or crushed espazote to the water to aid digestion; others insist that a pinch of baking soda does the trick. Many advise that you not add salt to the bean pot until they're done, lest you toughen the skins and prevent them from ever truly cooking through. I haven't found that any of these things are true, and I've tried them all. Seaweed and espazote are nice for flavor, but I'm not convinced that they help the, er, bean problem. Dried beans benefit from a soak prior to cooking — this simply speeds up the process.

Velvety Bean Soup
Serve 6-8

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound dried snowcap or cranberry beans
1 large onion, diced
5 garlic cloves, minced
2 carrots, diced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 rosemary sprigs
10 sage leaves
water
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Cover the dried beans with cold water and soak, refrigerated, 8 hours. When it's time to cook the beans, drain and proceed with the recipe. If you're pressed for time, place the dried beans in a large pot and cover with water by about 2 inches. Bring to a boil, cover with a lid, then shut off the heat and allow the beans to soak for one hour. Drain, then proceed with the recipe below.

Warm the olive oil in a heavy-bottom stockpot over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until soft, about 5-7 minutes. Add the celery and carrots, stir, and cook another 5 minutes. Add the herbs and soaked beans, and cover with fresh water by about 2 inches. Simmer the beans until tender, adding more water if necessary. My batch of beans cooked in about 35 mintues, but please note that the cooking time varies, as some beans are older (and therefore more dried out) than others.

Remove the herb sprigs and puree with an immersion blender or standing blender. If using an upright, work in small batches with the lid loosely covering the top, and allow the soup to cool a little bit before pureeing. Hot splatters are painful as well as messy. Add more water to thin the soup if necessary and season with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Garnish with freshly made croutons (toast small cubes of the best white bread you can find in a little extra virgin olive oil on the stove top) and a drizzle of olive oil.

Slightly cooler temps = spicy three bean chili

2010-10-01T09:03:00.001-04:00

All of my bitching about hot temperatures brought about a change in the weather. OK, that had nothing to do with it, but we've been hit with 2 days of much needed rain, the kind of weather that makes me want to curl up with a book and put a pot of soup on the stove. So what if it's a comfortable 74 degrees? Cooler weather calls for a celebration, and the promise of autumn brings thoughts of football, colorful leaves, and hearty foods. Fall is the best time for chili.

I took a yoga class after work, delaying my return home by an hour, so I used canned beans for my veggie chili meal. I use dried beans whenever possible (better flavor, less sodium, significantly less expensive), but this was a last minute decision, and I wanted chili before midnight.

My vegetarian chili recipe isn't set it stone — sometimes I add smoky chipolte peppers, toss in a zucchini or two, add a bottle of ale — but this recipe is a pretty standard starting point. I love the heat and complexity provided by fire-roasted tomatoes and jalapeno peppers, but feel free to make adjustments. Cooling garnishes include sour cream and cheese, if you like that kind of thing. I settled for a sprinkling of scallions on top, a piece of cornbread on the side. Hunkered down with a bowl of spicy bean marvelousness, my legs tucked underneath me on the couch, and a book in hand (The 19th Wife, which is good, but I've reached the saturation point with this polygamy thing), I couldn't have planned a better night.

Spicy Three Bean Chili
Makes about 8 servings

3 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 celery stalk, diced
2 green bell peppers, diced
3 jalapeno peppers
2 teaspoons ground cumin (freshly ground if possible)
2 tablespoons chili powder
2 bay leaves
2 15-ounce cans fire-roasted tomatoes, including juice
1 28-ounce can whole peeled or diced tomatoes, including juice
1 15-ounce can kidney beans, drained
1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans, drained
1 15-ounce can black beans, drained
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Possible garnishes:
scallions, chopped
sour cream
lime juice
cilantro, chopped
cheddar cheese, grated

Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed stockpot. Add the onion and garlic and cook over medium low heat until soft. Add the green pepper, celery and jalapeno, and cook for another 3-4 minutes. Add the chili powder, freshly ground cumin and bay leaves. Add the tomatoes and beans, stirring well to combine. Sprinkle with a few pinches of kosher salt and bring to a simmer. If the chili is too thick, thin it with a little water. Cook for at least 30 minutes before serving — longer is better. Like most chilies, this one improves with time. For best results, make it a day in advance.

The promise of fall and spaghetti squash joys

2010-09-28T14:12:00.000-04:00

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I am desperate for fall to arrive. It officially began September 22 this year, but you wouldn't know it. Summer heat continues, with average high temperatures in the eighties, so my sweaters remain tucked away, the air conditioner continues to run throughout the afternoon, and my thoughts of warm autumnal foods remain just that. Thoughts.

Happily there is one super simple, light fall squash dish that doesn't seem terribly out of place in this unseasonal weather: spaghetti squash with butter, parsley and parmesan. A dish so easy it requires only a quick description rather than a formal recipe. A dish that allows me to cook and consume a vegetable in season, without feeling heavy and weighed down. Plus, it's fun - the cooked flesh pulls away from the yellow skin in long, willowy strands that wrap perfectly around a fork. Mild in flavor, I think spaghetti squash shines when paired with these light ingredients, but it's sometimes tossed with tomato sauce, a dieter's stand in for the more caloric pasta.

I like to roast the squash in a medium oven, but you can cook it in the microwave if you're in a hurry. If you opt to nuke it, split the squash down the middle, remove the inner guts and seeds, and cook with 2 tablespoons water on a microwave safe plate for about 10 minutes. Microwaves differ (as do squash), so it make take a little more or less time. When the squash is soft and the strands pull out easily, you're good to go. They will retain a little crunch when cooked.

Spaghetti Squash with Parsley and Parmesan
Serves 3-4

1 spaghetti squash, weighing about 3 pounds
3/4 cup parmesan cheese, grated
1/4 cup parsley, grated
3-4 tablespoons of butter
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Pierce the spaghetti squash several times all over with the tines of a fork. This will allow steam to escape during cooking - you don't want it to explode in the oven. Bake until soft, about 1 hour. Remove from the oven and split in half lengthwise. Scoop out the seeds with a spoon, then use a fork to pull the spaghetti-like strands away from the skin. Place the strands in a bowl, toss with the remaining ingredients, and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Cell phones and pecan shortbread

2010-09-26T17:26:00.001-04:00

It was a quiet Saturday. Very quiet. I was busy with meetings and errands, household chores and dog walks, but I enjoyed an unusual amount of down time, time for reading and movies — pleasures I don't get enough of on weekends. It was fantastic. I was a little miffed that I hadn't heard from a few people, but happy with the silence, the tranquility. When I went to recharge my cell phone Saturday night I realized the ringer was turned off. Five messages on voice mail, seven missed calls. Lesson learned: put the phone on vibrate more often, though do it intentionally.

Baking was included in Saturday's roster, as I planned to meet friends for coffee and wanted to bring a snack. I think coffee meetings beg for snacks. These can come in a savory form, but most often a sweet, sugary something-something is the best accompaniment to hot beverages and scintillating conversation. Or even not-so-great conversation. Our meeting was lively and fun, but I do think the cookies added a bit of cheer.

This was my first time baking cookies from celebrated author Dorie Greenspan's Baking: From My Home to Yours (my very first post featured her pound cake). If the pecan shortbread is any indication of how good her other cookie recipes are, I look forward to more time in the kitchen with this book.

Greenspan's technique for rolling out shortbread dough was a revelation to me. I've always patted the soft dough into a prepared pan, pricked it with a fork, and preceded with baking. In this recipe, the dough is placed in a plastic bag with a zipped closure and rolled out into a smooth rectangle using a rolling pin. The top of the bag is left open during the rolling to let out air and avoid a nasty explosion. When the correct size is reached, the bag is sealed and the dough is left to firm in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours before it's cut into squares and baked. The result: the neatest, cleanest looking shortbread cookies I've ever made. Tasty, too.

Brown Sugar-Pecan Shortbread Cookies
Makes 32 cookies
Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
pinch of ground cloves
2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup finely ground pecans

Confectioners' sugar, for dusting (optional)

Sift the flour, cornstarch, salt and cloves together and set aside.

Beat the butter and brown sugar together until the mixture is very smooth (about 3 minutes in a heavy stand mixer using the paddle attachment). Reduce the speed to low and add the dry ingredients. Mix only to incorporate - don't overwork. Add the ground pecans and mix the dough just a few more times, evenly distributing the nuts.

Use a rubber spatula to transfer the dough to a gallon-size zipper-lock plastic bag. Leaving the top open, place the bag on a flat work surface, and roll the dough into a 9 x 10 1/2 inch rectangle that's about 1/4" thick (mine was little thicker). Turn and lift the bag as you roll to avoid creases. Seal the bag, pressing out air, and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or for up to 2 days.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and position the racks to divide the oven into thirds. Line baking sheets with parchment or silicone mats.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and slit the bag open. Turn it onto a cutting board (throw out the bag) and cut the dough into 1 1/2-inch squares. Place the squares on the baking sheets and prick each with a fork, gently pushing the tines through the cookies until they hit the sheet.

Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, rotating the sheets halfway through (back to front and top to bottom). The cookies will still be very pale when they're done. Cool on a rack. I skipped the confectioners' sugar, but, if you like, dust the cookies with it while they're still warm. Cool to room temperature before serving.

These will keep in an airtight container for about 4 days at room temperature. They can be frozen for up to 2 months.

Just because peanut butter cookies

2010-09-22T08:59:00.000-04:00

Peanut butter cookies remind me of my Uncle James. More accurately, they remind me of my mother, Joy, who bakes them for her brother a few times each year. Christmas is a given, but she's been known to whip up a batch of cookies for his birthday, when he's not feeling well, or just because. I think just because is the best reason of all. Fresh flowers gracing Monday night's dinner table, a hand written note that doesn't mark a special life occasion — these are the things that make me smile.

Joy relies on an old, well-worn copy of The Joy of Cooking for many recipes, and peanut butter cookies are no exception. They're crumbly and rich — wonderful cookies that remind me of home. One big whiff of the very peanut buttery dough transports me to childhood. My elementary school age self, slightly dusted with flour, stands at the kitchen counter, pressing the tines of a fork oh-so-carefully into the tops of the raw dough, simultaneously flattening and marking the cookies with a cross-hatch.

As a forty-something, I've strayed from my mother's standard recipe, adding coarsely chopped peanuts to the dough and often opting for the extra-large variety, which I find extra-appealing. I made a batch Tuesday night (regular size) and mailed half to Uncle James; the remaining cookies made it to work the following day. It's no one's birthday, (happily) no one is ill; it's a batch of Just Because Peanut Butter Cookies.

Peanut Butter Cookies
Makes about 28 cookies

1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup peanut butter (smooth or chunky)
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of kosher salt
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup lightly salted peanuts, roughly chopped (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Line baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone mats and set aside.

In a small bowl, combine the flour, salt and baking soda. Set aside.

In a mixing bowl, cream the butter, then add the peanut butter and sugar, beating until light. Add the egg and vanilla, mixing until combined. Add the dry ingredients, mixing until well blended. Add the chopped peanuts (if using).

Roll the dough 1 1/2- inch balls and space them 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Flatten them slightly with the tines of a fork (I like to mark them in 2 directions, the lines running perpendicular to each other in a crosshatch pattern — old habit). Bake for 10-11 minutes, until light golden brown. Remove to a rack to cool.

Most excellent cherry oatmeal cookies

2010-09-15T10:30:00.000-04:00

A package of dried Bing cherries caught my eye at Trader Joe's over the weekend. Clipped neatly to a hanger that ran the length of the shelf, the ruby spheres looked, well, interesting. Desirable. Promising. Surely they'd add something special to a grain salad or batch of brownies (those marketing people know what they're doing). Into my cart they went.

I began leafing through Cindy Mushet's cookbook The Art & Soul of Baking when I got home. Buoyed by my recent success with her cream scone recipe, I was eager to try more of her creations. Is it merely coincidence that the book included a recipe for Cherry Oatmeal Cookies? Divine intervention? I don't know, but in less than an hour I had a batch of homemade goodness a coworker described as "the best cookie ever." I've already received a request to make them again for Halloween. Is there a Halloween party at work I don't know about?

The only change I made to the original recipe was to increase the amount of dried cherries and oatmeal in the dough — in my opinion, more cherries and more oatmeal make for a better cookie. If you want to follow the recipe as written, decrease the amounts listed below by 1/4 cup. According to the cookbook, this recipe makes about 50 cookies, but I ended up with 36. Okay, so I ate a few spoonfuls of raw dough (I couldn't help myself), but not 14 cookies worth. I swear.

Cherry Oatmeal Cookies

Adapted from The Art & Soul of Baking

Makes about 36 cookies

1 stick (4 ounces) unsalted butter, softened

1/2 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed

1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1 large egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup rolled oats

1 cup dried cherries

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and place a rack in the middle of the oven. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone mat.

Beat the butter, brown sugar and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Be sure to scrape the sides of the bowl with a spatula to be certain the ingredients are evenly combined. Add the egg and vanilla extract and blend well.

In another bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. With the mixer at a low speed, combine the dry ingredients to the butter mixture. Add the oatmeal and dried cherries and mix until evenly combined.

Use a small ice cream scoop or spoon to portion the dough, spacing the cookies 2 inches apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake for 13 to 16 minutes, rotating the baking sheets once to ensure even cooking. The cookies should be cooled on a rack and may be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

Improving my morning scone

2010-09-10T10:45:00.001-04:00

Scones are lovely when properly made, but many store bought versions are lackluster at best. I knew better than to purchase one at Starbucks the other day — none of their food is worth spending my money on — but they looked so pretty, sprinkled with sugar and piled high under a glass dome next to the cash register. I couldn't help it. I caved.

Maybe it would be different this time, I thought. Maybe this particular scone would have real flavor and a tender crumb, maybe it would bring back memories of clotted cream and jam at high tea. No such luck. I choked down the dry, bland crumbs with my Venti half-caff and swore I'd never waste my hard earned money on a Starbucks pastry again. It was time to start baking scones at home.

I tried a few different sources before declaring Cindy Mushet's cream scone from The Art & Soul of Baking the winner of my find-the-best-scone-recipe contest. Rich flavor + tender crumb + crisp crust = a good morning. I added orange zest and fresh rosemary to the dough for a different twist, though I baked three batches before I was really pleased with the results.

The first batch was tasty but the flavors were a little too faint. Batch two was a classic case of overcompensation — too much orange zest resulted in a slightly bitter scone (not what I want in my morning pastry). The third go round proved most satisfactory, a nice balance of sweet and savory, no trace of bitterness, but not cloying. As always, use the following recipe as a starting off point and make adjustments to suit your taste buds. A drizzle of orange glaze (1/2 cup powdered sugar and 1-2 tablespoons of fresh orange juice) would be a nice touch if you like a sweeter scone.

And now my mind focuses not on work to be done, but scone varieties: classic currant, lemon-poppy seed, ginger, blueberry. As I write, Mushet's buttermilk raisin scone recipe beckons — additional scone postings are very likely to follow.

Orange Rosemary Scones
Makes 8 scones

Adapted from The Art & Soul of Baking

2 cups all purpose flour
1/4 cup sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
zest of 1 orange, finely grated
2 heaping tablespoons rosemary, chopped
1 stick (4 ounces) cold unsalted butter, cubed
1 cup chilled heavy cream
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon sugar and a touch of brown sugar for topping

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit and line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone mat.

Place the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a food processor and process for several seconds to combine. Add the orange zest and rosemary and pulse again. Add the butter and pulse a few times, until cut into small pieces. Add the cream and pulse until the dough begins to clump together. I opted to finish pressing the dough together by hand on a work surface rather than risk over processing.

Pat the dough into a 1-inch thick circle, roughly 7 inches in diameter, then cut into 8 equal wedges. Place the wedges on the prepared baking sheet about 2 inches apart, then brush the tops with lightly beaten egg (there will be some left over) and sprinkle the tops with sugar.

Bake in the center of the oven for 14-16 minutes, until golden brown. Cool on a rack for 5 minutes before serving. The scones are best served the same day, but (despite Cindy Mushet's warnings) I found they were still acceptable 24 hours later if stored in an airtight container.

A soft shell legacy

2010-09-07T11:02:00.000-04:00

Old boyfriends leave legacies, some better than others. Exes have, in no particular order, improved my computer skills, introduced me to camping, and tried (unsuccessfully) to turn me into a runner. One of the better gifts of the past: grilled soft shell crab with Thai spices, a specialty of former boyfriend Joe Number One. Number One is not to be confused with Joe Number Two, whose legacy included thrift store t-shirts and Indie music.

Huddled over a Smokey Joe Weber Grill on the back porch of my Boston apartment many years ago, Joe Number One introduced a new approach to the soft shell crab. (Never mind that we weren't supposed to be grilling anything on the rickety wooden porch of a triple decker; I kept a large bucket of water and a fire extinguisher at the ready). I was accustomed to sauteed soft shells, usually served with a pan sauce in a fancy restaurant or squished between two buttery rolls slathered with mayo. Joe Number One's crabs were a revelation. The flavors were bright and clean, accented with lemongrass and cilantro. When I learned that soft shell crabs would be part of my Core Sound Seafood share last week, I knew exactly what I'd do with them.

Joe Number One is long gone — he's married, has a daughter, and calls California home — but I think good thoughts and give him a big thumbs up when soft shells come into season. They aren't in season this time of year, but were included in last week's CSF share due to rough fishing conditions.

My frozen soft shells were already processed, but if you purchase live crabs in the spring, you may have to clean them yourself. Cut off the eyes and mouth with a pair of kitchen scissors or paring knife, then lift the pointy shell ends and remove the gills. Lastly, flip the crab over and remove the remove the apron, a flap on the underside. This isn't as difficult (or ghastly) as it sounds, though I find it's easier if I thank the crabs for their sacrifice before beginning.

Marinate the crabs for 30 minutes to 1 hour before grilling. I enjoyed mine with a pile of jasmine rice and sauteed bok choy — they are best with simple sides. And when you bite into your beautifully seasoned soft shell crab, try to recall a few (positive) things your ex(es) left you.

Grilled Soft Shell Crabs with Thai Spices
Makes marinade enough for 3-4 soft shell crabs

2 stalks lemongrass, outer leaves removed, minced
2 serrano chiles, minced
6 scallions, white and light green parts, minced
juice of 1 lime
pinch sugar
1 garlic clove, minced
4 tablespoons canola oil
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, minced
kosher salt

Preheat the grill.

Combine the first seven ingredients in a small bowl and whisk to combine. Pour over cleaned soft shells and allow to marinate for 30 minutes. Sprinkle with kosher salt and grill over a medium flame, turning once. The crabs will turn red as they cook, and should be done in about 5 minutes. Garnish with cilantro and serve.

Late nights and food processor poundcake

2010-09-06T06:38:00.000-04:00

Fistfuls of chocolate-covered almonds and late day caffeinated beverages conspired to keep me up way past bedtime Saturday night. I spent the evening with my good friends Rob and Kirstin, dining outdoors in their lovely backyard, dogs underfoot, followed by a (sloppy) game of darts. Rob won. When I returned home it was time to wind down, but I was far too jacked up by artificial stimulants to sleep. What to do close to midnight when sleeping is impossible? I broke out the food processor and started a baking project I'd put off for a over a week.

My friend CB emailed me in late August with a request. Attached was a link to Mark Bittman's New York Times piece "Sneaking a Poundcake Out of the Food Processor," which she wanted me to try. Is it really possible to make a decent cake batter in the food processor? I was curious, especially since I'd made a version of that very recipe (it was adapted from Flo Braker's The Simple Art of Perfect Baking, a wonderful book I've used for years) using a stand mixer. The primary difference between the newspaper version and the original (aside from technique): the Grandaisy Bakery poundcake is soaked in a citrus syrup after baking, intensifying flavor as well as the moisture level. This is a moist cake anyway, due to the almond paste in the mix. Using the food processor was quick, easy, the resulting cake wasn't tough, as I'd worried — try it yourself and see.

Citrus-Almond Poundcake
Serves 10-12
Adapted from The New York Times and Grandaisy Bakery

12 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, plus more for the pan
flour for pan
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup fresh orange juice
3 cups plus 2 tablespoons sugar
7 ounces almond paste
7 large eggs
2 teaspoons lemon zest
2 teaspoons orange zest
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups cake flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Thoroughly butter and flour an 8-cup Bundt pan, making sure to cover all nooks and crannies.

Put the lemon and orange juice in a small heavy saucepan with 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar. Cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar dissolves. Remove from heat and set aside.

Place the almond paste and 2 cups of sugar in the bowl of a food processor and process until completely combined. Add cold, cubed butter and process until light. Add the eggs individually with the machine running; add the zests and vanilla and process until smooth.

Stop the machine and add the flour, baking powder and salt. Pulse a few times, being careful not to over process, which will result in a tough cake. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake about 1 hour and 10 minutes, until golden. The cake is done when a cake tester or skewer inserted into the center comes out clean. Allow to cool in the pan, on a rack, for about 15-20 minutes, then pour the citrus soak over it. Let it stand for 30 minutes, until the liquid is absorbed. Remove from the pan and slice.

An edamame spread

2010-09-02T14:32:00.002-04:00

Fresh edamame pods have a rather magical quality. Fuzzy and green, they're something I want to reach out and touch, rather than tear apart and eat. When they appeared in last week's CSA box, I debated how to prepare them. I frequently boil or steam the pods, sprinkle them with coarse salt, and pretend I'm in a Japanese restaurant, splitting them open and popping individual beans into my mouth. I've added edamame to salads, soups, and risotto, but this time I opted to turn them into a dip or spread — something healthy to snack on when I come home famished.

Cooked until tender and pureed with olive oil, fresh mint, and garlic, the soy beans morph into a bright green, beautifully flecked spread that's a nice alternative to the ubiquitous hummus. I added lemon juice, scallions, and a serrano pepper for spark; you might try red onion or lime juice instead. This is good stuff — I nearly consumed the entire batch while reading (The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman; highly recommend).

Edamame Dip
Makes about 3 cups

2 cups edamame beans, shelled
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves
1 serrano pepper, seeded and chopped
2 small bunches scallions, white and light green portion, chopped
1 garlic clove, chopped
juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup warm water
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Bring a quart of lightly salted water to a boil; add edamame and cook until tender, about 7-8 minutes. Drain and place in a food processor with mint, serrano pepper, scallions, garlic and lemon juice. Pulse a few times, then scrape down the sides. With the motor running, add extra virgin olive oil and water through the feed tube. If the dip is too thick, add more water. Season with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Breakfast baking — blueberry cornbread

2010-08-29T21:48:00.000-04:00

The baking bug got me this weekend — Saturday afternoon, to be exact. I wanted something with a crust, a bit of crumble, a piece of baked goodness that I could reheat and smear with butter for breakfast or a snack. After running errands all day I wasn't willing to make another trip to the grocery store, so a quick review of the pantry determined the menu.

The refrigerator contained a near empty quart of buttermilk, a half eaten container of my favorite Greek yogurt, a carton of eggs, and a pint of blueberries. Pantry staples flour, cornmeal, baking soda and salt were a given; combining all of the aforementioned ingredients resulted in Beth Hensperger's Yogurt Cornbread (with blueberries).

Without the berries, this would still be a nice cornbread. More cake-like than the cornbread I grew up with (or that described by my friend Kitty in her guest post), this bread is lightened with a cup of all-purpose flour, given rise with baking soda, moistened with egg, buttermilk and yogurt. The addition of blueberries transforms it from a lunch or dinner accompaniment to a breakfast-worthy treat. On Sunday morning, I toasted a slice in a cast-iron skillet and dabbed it with honey butter, which added the touch of sweetness I thought it needed to pass as breakfast food. With hot coffee and The New York Times, it was a wonderful way to start my day.

Blueberry Cornbread
Adapted from The Bread Bible
Makes one 8-inch cornbread

1 cup fine yellow cornmeal
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
grated zest of 1 orange
2 large eggs
1/4 cup buttermilk
1 1/4 cups plain yogurt
1/4 cup corn oil (I used canola oil)
1 pint blueberries, rinsed

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Thoroughly butter an 8-inch springform or deep cake pan and set aside.

Combine the cornmeal, flour, salt, baking soda, sugar and zest in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, buttermilk and yogurt. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and whisk together. Add the oil and blend to combine. Fold in the blueberries taking care not to over mix, then spoon the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake in the center of the oven for 25 minutes, or until a toothpick or cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean. Let stand for at least 15 minutes on a cooling rack before serving.

Clams, take 4

2010-08-24T22:43:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's another clam entry. I really like clams, so the fact that they keep appearing in my CSF share is a good thing. Fresh and briny, a littleneck clam is a beautiful thing to behold. And a wonderful addition to the dinner table.

After picking up last week's delivery, I was tempted to make something sort of unusual, something with curry paste, lemongrass and coconut milk, a dish with a tempting title. But as I've mentioned before, I'm a simple, rustic cook at heart, so I went with a classic — linguine with clams. Chances are good you have all of the ingredients necessary for this dish — aside from the shellfish — in your pantry. Super quick (soaking the clams takes longer than actual cooking) and virtually foolproof, this is an easy dish to pull together for a weeknight supper.

The sauce is light, accented with garlic, given a touch of heat by hot red pepper flakes, and the parsley provides a bright herbaceous quality as well as color. I recommend buying a nice loaf of bread to serve with dinner. You'll need it for soaking up the extra juices.

Linguine with Clams
Serves 4 to 6

36 littleneck clams
1 pound dried linguine pasta
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 large white onion, finely diced
5 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup white wine
2 teaspoons hot red pepper flakes
1/2 cup parsley, chopped
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Scrub the clams and soak in cold water for 30 minutes.

Bring a large stockpot full of water to the boil; add several pinches of kosher salt. Cook the linguine until al dente, using the package instructions as a guide. Drain the pasta, reserving about 1/2 cup of the liquid.

Heat the olive oil in a very large saute pan (I used an 8 1/2 quart pot with a lid). Add the onion and garlic and cook over medium heat until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the hot red pepper flakes, stir, and cook for another minute. Add the clams and wine. Cover the pot and cook over medium heat until the clams open, about 5 to 7 minutes. Throw out any clams that do not open. Add the cooked pasta to the clams and sauce, tossing to combine. Add the parsley, taste, and add salt and pepper as needed. If the sauce is too thick, use the reserved pasta water to bring it to the desired consistency.

Crab cake breakfast

2010-08-20T18:47:00.000-04:00

Breakfast is not my favorite meal. Actually, that's not true. I love a leisurely breakfast, a weekend breakfast, a breakfast featuring homemade pancakes, bacon, stuffed french toast, or slow-cooked, creamy grits. It's the weekday breakfast I'm not so thrilled about. My typical work day morning is sure to include coffee, but not much else. I sometimes grab a piece of fruit as I head out the door, devouring it in the car. Occasionally I throw a piece of bread in the toaster. On a really good morning, oatmeal topped with a bit of cream and brown sugar makes an appearance, but that's rare.

Friday morning was an exception to my hurried routine: I had crab cakes for breakfast. Light, delicate, enhanced with shallot and parsley, bound with egg and breadcrumbs, brightened with lemon — they were fabulous. I toyed with the idea of a crab omelet, a seemingly more acceptable breakfast entree, but I just wanted a delicious crab cake. The beauty of living alone — no one is around to criticize.

Fresh backfin crab meat and a bag of clams arrived Thursday afternoon, my community supported fishery pick up day. I made the crab cakes that evening, giving them plenty of time to set up in the refrigerator, and spent the night reading. And looking forward to breakfast.

The following recipe is an adaption of the late Bill Neal's version, featured in his outstanding work Bill Neal's Southern Cooking. This book is a must for anyone interested in authentic Southern cuisine. Every recipe is a keeper, and Neal provides a great deal of history in this well-written classic. I adore his crab cakes because they are simple, allowing the crab to shine through rather than be overpowered by other ingredients. I didn't have the scallions or parmesan cheese the recipe calls for, so I substituted shallots and upped the amount of parsley. I also used fewer breadcrumbs than the original recipe, simply because they weren't needed — the cakes held together. These are wonderful served with homemade tartar sauce, but I just squeezed a bit of lemon juice over them and got the day off to a great start.

A quick thanks to everyone who commented or emailed in response to my melancholy day. I'm slowly pulling up and out of the downward trajectory. Avocado on toast does help, as does a rather luxe breakfast.

Crab Cakes
Makes 8-9 cakes

1 pound backfin crab meat, picked through for shells
1 large egg, beaten
3 tablespoons half-and-half
1 large slice stale white bread, crust removed and cut into small cubes
3 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
2 shallots, finely chopped
zest of 1 lemon
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
cayenne pepper

Combine all of the ingredients in a medium bowl, tossing gently to combine. Press into small cakes and refrigerate, covered, for at least one hour. Saute in melted butter over medium heat, browning both sides. If you're working in batches, place the first group of browned crab cakes on a platter in a low oven (200 degrees Fahrenheit) while you saute the second batch.

Serve with lemon wedges or homemade tartar sauce.

Melancholy with avocado on toast

2010-08-17T19:10:00.000-04:00

Maybe returning from vacation is more difficult than I remember. I've always thought it was a bit of a downer to return to work, to face up to the fact that I can't continue with the anything goes attitude I adopt on holiday. But I don't recall re-entry ever being quite so tough.

I've tried to be good, to deal with the blahs by hitting the gym every day, but it doesn't seem to be working. I cried myself to sleep after watching the final episode of Six Feet Under on DVD last night. It's a touching episode, sure, but my body chemistry must be wonky. Or I need a major life change. Or something.

What to do in the meantime? I sought a food pick me up. Not in the douse-your-sorrows-in-vats-of-ice-cream-and-brownies-way (though it sounds good, doesn't it?), but in the comforting-yet-good-for-you-way, finding foods that are healthy and good, that fill me up and leave me satisfied. Something delicious and wholesome and wonderful.

I turned to avocado on toast for today's lunch. Thin slices of ripe avocado atop toasted whole grain bread, sprinkled with kosher salt, doused with a bit of lemon juice, and garnished with baby pea shoots. You can mash the avocado if you prefer a guacamole-like texture, add tomato, substitute lime juice for lemon, skip the pea shoots.

It may not warrant a recipe, but avocado on toast is my idea of great comfort food. And with any luck, it may chase away the blahs.

A tomato pie for Art and Gwen

2010-08-15T11:26:00.001-04:00

I'm fortunate for a good many things in my life: a job I enjoy, a lovable rescue dog, good friends, generous parents. And I'm very lucky to have two great neighbors. Art and Gwen, whose home is adjacent to my own, looked after my house while I was gallivanting around California, watering plants and keeping an eye on things (they promised to call the police if they noticed anyone walking away with the television). This isn't extraordinary. They did, however, install a new back porch light for me while I was gone. A porch light they wouldn't allow me to pay them for because I look after their place a lot (they both travel frequently for work).

How to reimburse them? I went with tomato pie. This week's CSA box included lots of red, ripe tomatoes, perfect for the starring role in a dish. I love tomato pie, something I discovered just a few years ago, despite my Southern upbringing. My mother and I went to the charming Mozelle's for lunch when I was home for a visit, and I decided to try a slice. It was amazing. Sweet and luscious, the tomatoes were baked with onion, mayonnaise and cheddar cheese (that's right, mayo and cheddar — trust me, it's fabulous), encased between two flaky layers of pastry.

Back at home, I began experimenting with the ingredients, using a recipe from an old junior league cookbook as the jumping off point. I don't have the cookbook (it belongs to my mother, Joy), but I think the recipe called for raw onions and didn't include garlic. I love caramelized onions and put garlic in just about everything, so I used them in my version, along with fresh basil. I peel the tomatoes, as the skin can be off putting, but I've seen recipes that skip this step.

Homemade crust is essential for an off-the-charts-good pie, but if you have a high-quality store bought pie dough and you're pressed for time, feel free to use it here. I don't make a double-crust pie like they do at Mozelle's simply because I don't need to consume that much pastry (it is mighty good, though). I think the result — a top layer of melted cheese — is smashing, but if you're feeling decadent, add the second pastry layer and bake until golden brown. A simple green salad is the perfect accompaniment.

I used a 10-inch French tart pan (tin, with a removable bottom), but a 9-inch glass pie pan would be fine.

Southern Tomato Pie
Serves 8

1 10-inch savory pie crust, pre-baked (recipe follows)
3 tomatoes, peeled, cored and diced
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons butter
3 garlic cloves, minced
3-4 tablespoons fresh basil, finely chopped
1/2 cup mayonnaise (use Duke's brand if available in your area)
1/2 cup sharp cheddar cheese, grated
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
a few pinches of sugar, if necessary

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

To peel tomatoes, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Make a small x on the bottom of each tomato with a paring knife. Drop them into boiling water for 30 seconds. Remove and plunge into an ice water bath to stop the cooking. The skins will slip off easily. Core the tomatoes, and cut them in half across the middle (if they were globes, this would be the equator - don't cut through the stem). Use your fingers to remove the seeds, then chop into 1/2-inch dice. Place in a colander and allow to drain while you caramelize the onions.

Melt the butter in a large skillet and add the sliced onions. Cook over medium-low heat for 20-30 minutes, until golden brown. Add the minced garlic in the last 5-10 minutes of cooking and season with kosher salt and a few turns of the pepper mill. Stir occasionally to ensure even cooking.

Gently squeeze the chopped tomatoes to remove excess liquid (you don't want the bottom of your pie to be soggy). Season the tomatoes with salt and freshly ground black pepper, adding a few pinches of sugar if necessary. Combine the mayonnaise and grated cheddar cheese in a small bowl and mix to combine.

Cover the bottom of the pre-baked pie shell with tomatoes. Sprinkle with 2 tablespoons of basil, then cover with a layer of caramelized onions. Add the remaining basil, then spread the top evenly with the mayonnaise and grated cheese. Place on a baking sheet and cook for 35-45 minutes, until the top is golden brown.

Pie dough
Makes enough for one double crust pie or two 9 or 10-inch single crust pies

2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 sticks cold butter, cubed
1/3 to 1/2 cup ice water

Place the flour and salt in the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add the cold, cubed butter and pulse a few times, until the butter has broken down into very small pieces and the mixture resembles a coarse cornmeal.

Slowly add the cold water through the feed tube with the machine running. Do not over-process — the dough should just come together, and may still be a little crumbly. Turn the dough onto a work surface and press together, adding water if necessary. Divide into 2 pieces, form into discs, wrap with plastic wrap, and let rest in the refrigerator for at least one hour. The dough may be frozen at this point for up to one month.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

After the dough has rested at least one hour, roll one portion into a large circle, using your pie tin as a guide — the circle must be large enough for the dough to cover both the bottom and sides of the pan. Press the dough gently into the pan, crimp the edges, and place in the freezer for 20 minutes before baking. To blind bake, cover the dough with a piece of parchment paper and fill it with pie weights (I use rice). Bake for 15 minutes, then remove the weights and bake for another 10 minutes, pricking the bottom with a fork. Remove from the oven and allow to cool.

Greetings from California

2010-08-09T12:38:00.000-04:00

Chilly, foggy San Francisco days did nothing to dampen my appetite last week. I noshed on appetizers at RN74, sampled Chinese fare in the neon-green dining room at Yuet Lee, downed raw oysters at Hog Island Oyster Company, and consumed fabulous spring rolls at Slanted Door, an upscale Vietnamese restaurant with stunning bay views. I'm against taking pictures in restaurants with my SLR (I'm there to enjoy the food, not let it sit and congeal, slowly cooling to room temperature while I pretend to be a professional photographer), so I bring you a few images of other enjoyable city experiences. Above, a dahlia in Golden Gate Park. Below, a few shots of Chinatown.

Now I'm off for another tasty day in wine country, where the clouds burn off each morning to reveal beautiful blue skies and ideal temperatures. I loved Bouchon's incredible French fare and enjoyed a marvelous meal at Bottega with my friend and former coworker, Angela, now chef at Restaurant ZuZu in downtown Napa (also on my To Visit list).

It will soon be time to go — I'm running out of money and clean clothes.

Guest post: When tacky is good

2010-08-06T20:58:00.000-04:00

My friend Kitty is a great cook and wonderful writer. When she asked about guest blogging, I (was very surprised and) jumped at the opportunity.

I'm on vacation, uploading this piece from beautiful Northern California, and hope to write again in about a week. With any luck, I'll have fun vacation photos and stories to share. So far, so good. Better than good, actually — this holiday is close to perfect.

Until I'm home and have time to write, you should make you some cornbread.

- Lynn

When Tacky is Good

by Kitty

Like many, my childhood memories are often associated with food. Oh, sure, there was the time that the dog and a water moccasin had a falling out (snake won, as did the vet who billed us for the puppy paw repair), the day my father and brother unveiled the swing they had built for me, and dancing in the sprinklers on a hot day. But those pale in comparison to the rich and vivid culinary memories.

My grandmother was a great cook. Wait — let me amend that, she was a great Southern cook. She kept a vat of hardened bacon grease in her Frigidaire, had coconut and caramel layer cakes at the ready 24/7, and wielded some hefty power from her 5’ frame when there was a stove and a cast iron pan involved. And it is from that cast iron pan that she made her greatest creation — good, plain, simple cornbread.

This is not the cornbread you find at Whole Foods. It is not sweet, fluffy or cake-like. This is not the cornbread you find in novelty bread baskets at upscale retro-Southern restaurants. This is a very plain concoction that most resembles corn tack — toothsome, crunchy and meant to be consumed that day.

For this particular recipe, the quality of the ingredients is equal in importance to the required cookware. I usually accompany this wonderful treat with another Southern staple — the vegetable plate. Fresh sliced tomatoes, fried okra, cucumber and onion salad and, these days, pickled beets.

Miss Effie’s Cornbread

Required cookware: a well-seasoned cast iron skillet

1 1/2 cups high quality, stone-ground corn meal (I’ve been using Pollard)

1 1/2 cups water

salt

canola oil

Pour canola oil into the cast iron skillet to coat, about 2 tablespoons.
Place skillet in oven, and preheat oven and skillet to 475 degrees Fahrenheit.
While oven is heating, combine water, salt and cornmeal. You’re going for a runny consistency. Remember when you made moats around sand castles? That’s what you’re going for.
After 15 minutes, remove pan from the oven, and pour in the cornmeal batter. The oil in the pan will spatter a bit, and begin to cover the top of the batter — that's good. The mixture should only be about 1/2 inch thick in the pan.
Cook at 475 degrees Fahrenheit for 25-30 minutes, until you see cracks in the surface.
Remove from oven, turn out onto a cutting board, and serve with plenty of butter (or to be all nouvelle Southern, honey butter!)

The countdown begins, and a vegetable gratin

2010-08-02T22:42:00.000-04:00

This past weekend was filled with good stuff. I celebrated my father's 68th birthday Saturday, was inundated with hugs and kisses from my handsome 3- and 4-year-old nephews, and I went shopping for my upcoming trip to Northern California, because who wants to look schlubby on vacation?

The first Sunday morning surprise: a steady rain greeted me when I got up to walk the dog, and temperatures hovered around 70 degrees Fahrenheit (if only early in the day). Such a relief! It was an unusual way to usher in August, typically the hottest month of the year, but a very welcome one.

My second Sunday morning treat: an email from my travel buddy noting that we would be in California in less than 72 hours. Let the countdown begin!

I spent the day running errands and straightening up. I insist on leaving my house clean and neat before going out of town — I can't handle returning to a disorderly mess. That philosophy trickles down to the kitchen and meal planning. I must use up any and all perishable items before departure.

When dinner rolled around, I scoured the fridge and pantry. Time to use the CSA red creamers (and a few baby yellow potatoes), the storage onions in the bin, the tub of feta from Costco that seemed like such a great deal weeks ago. No grocery store runs allowed.

These ingredients were perfect for a gratin, a delicious layering of vegetables I accented with garlic, a few kalamata olives, and topped with homemade breadcrumbs. Almost as good the tasty gratin — peering into a nearly empty refrigerator at night's end.

Gratins are typically served as side dishes, but I let this play the starring role Sunday night, accompanied by a simple green salad.

Tomato, Onion and Potato Gratin
Serves 8 as a side dish

1 1/2 pounds red creamer potatoes, thinly sliced
2 onions, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 garlic cloves
2 medium tomatoes, sliced
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/3 cup kalamata olives, pitted and roughly chopped
2 slices sourdough bread
handful of fresh basil leaves
handful of fresh parsley leaves
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Lightly oil or butter a 6-cup gratin dish, and rub the bottom and sides of the dish with the cut end(s) of a halved garlic clove.

Place a skillet over a burner set to medium-low heat, glaze it with olive oil, and add the onion. Cook for 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until caramelized. Add 3 finely chopped garlic cloves to the onion in the last 5 minutes of cooking.

The potatoes must be very thinly sliced, a little shy of 1/4-inch thick. Steam them until tender, about 5-8 minutes, and set aside.

Put the bread slices in a food processor and pulse until roughly chopped. Add a few teaspoons of minced garlic and freshly chopped basil and parsley, and set aside.

To build the gratin, place a layer of steamed potatoes slices on the bottom of the greased gratin dish. Sprinkle with freshly ground black pepper and kosher salt, then layer with half of the caramelized onion-garlic mixture. Top with a second potato layer, season, add the rest of the cooked onions, then top with sliced tomatoes. Tuck a few basil leaves into the crevices, sprinkle with more salt and pepper, then top with chopped olives, freshly crumbed feta cheese, and light, fluffy homemade breadcrumbs.

If you have only canned breadcrumbs 1) throw them away and 2) skip this step. I would happily forgo the crunch of fresh breadcrumbs rather than subject myself to the processed version.

Place the gratin dish onto a baking sheet to catch any spills, and bake for 45-60 minutes. The topping will be golden brown and the interior heated through when done. Garnish with freshly chopped herbs before serving.

A chilled melon soup

2010-07-31T09:22:00.002-04:00

I planned to bake cornbread and fry okra for dinner Thursday night. Paired with sliced ripe tomatoes and freshly cooked pink-eyed peas, they make a classic Southern meal, something I make for myself once every summer. It's a seasonal, feel good meal, one I look forward to. Another day of scorching temperatures made me rethink my course of action.

A cantaloupe hid in the corner of my refrigerator — an overly ripe, slightly dented specimen from a CSA box of old. This not-so-attractive fruit, peeled, chopped and combined with a handful of almonds, turned into dinner with the help of my Waring blender and a few drops of citrus juice. I think of this as a super-simplified take on grape and almond gazapacho. A cucumber might be a nice addition to the melon-almond soup recipe below (I didn't have one), and the heat of a jalapeno pepper would be an interesting twist. My cantaloupe was very sweet, but add a bit of simple syrup or agave nectar if your soup needs a little sugar.

Simple syrup is made by combining equal parts water and sugar in a saucepan over low heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Adding granulated sugar to the soup would result in a grainy texture.

The following recipe would serve 3-4 as an appetizer; in typical single gal fashion, I consumed 2 helpings, slipped Season 5, Disc 1 of Six Feet Under into the DVD player, and supplemented my delicious starter with popcorn. Everything — entertainment included — was wonderful, but I'm a little depressed. There is no Season 6.

Chilled Melon and Almond Soup
Serves 3-4

1/2 cup blanched, slivered almonds
1 ripe cantaloupe, peeled and roughly chopped
3/4 cup cold water
2 teaspoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons lime juice
pinch of kosher salt
mint leaves, finely chopped
extra virgin olive oil

Put the almond slivers in a heat-resistant bowl. Cover with boiling water and let sit for at least 30 minutes, allowing them to soften.

Put 1/4 of the peeled and chopped cantaloupe into a blender with cold water — enough to get the blades going without trouble — and puree. With the blender running, add the rest of the melon, a few pieces at a time, and puree until smooth. Add lemon and lime juice, and a pinch of kosher salt. Taste, and add a few teaspoons of simple syrup or agave nectar if necessary. If the soup is too thick, thin it with more cold water.

Chill for at least 1 hour before serving. Garnish with freshly chopped mint leaves and a drizzle of olive oil.

Panzanella, for a sweltering summer

2010-07-29T10:43:00.000-04:00

I'm living for my Northern California vacation. Temperatures dropped from their record highs earlier in the week — it's only in the 90s now. Ninety-something degrees Fahrenheit plus the sweet kiss of humidity that causes profuse sweating after 5 minutes outdoors. I plow through it, but I'm generally miserable.

An attitude adjustment is in order.

My CSA produce box helps a bit. Each Wednesday is a little like Christmas. I enter the (cool, clean) walk-in refrigerator at Foster's Market to pick up my share of goodies, thinking about what I'll create with the contents. After walking the dogs near the market yesterday (dogs is plural — I'm caring for my brother-in-law's sweet black lab this week), we piled in the car, fresh veggies in tow, and headed home. Under Gus and Jenny's watchful gaze, I made panzanella, the Italian bread salad that's perfect for summer. No oven or multiple saucepans needed — just a sharp knife, heavy cutting board, and a mixing bowl.

Panzanella is peasant food, a dish that makes use of leftovers, a no-waste option that's not only delicious, but makes you feel virtuous to boot. Basil and tomatoes from the produce box joined leftover ciabatta from the weekend's romesco sauce. Softened by liquid, the bread cubes absorb the flavors that surround them. Cucumber adds crunch, the onions are a bit pungent — the result is a refreshing option for yet another sweltering summer day. This is intended to be served as a side dish, but some of us consume more than one helping and call it dinner.

Panzanella
Serves 4 as a side dish

4 cups of stale ciabatta, cut into 1-inch cubes
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
3-4 ripe tomatoes, cubed
1 small red onion, sliced
1 small cucumber, peeled, seeded and chopped
16 or more basil leaves, chopped
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Place ciabatta cubes in a large bowl. Sprinkle with olive oil and red wine vinegar and let sit for 10 minutes. Add the remaining ingredients, toss gently to combine, taste for seasoning, and serve.

Romesco to the rescue

2010-07-27T08:07:00.015-04:00

Saturday was hot. Crazy hot. Sweltering, blazing, go-inside-before-you-melt hot. With a heat index of 108 degrees Fahrenheit, it was a good day to get things done early. I'd dealt with the dog and completed my shopping at the Raleigh farmers' market (30 miles away) by 8:30 a.m. It was also a day for egg cookery experiments — I tried to cook an egg on my back deck. Really. It was very much a runny-yolked, sunny-side-up sort of egg, but the heat got to it. And to me.

It was not a good day to turn on the oven. I did anyway, as I'd invited my friends Mo and Doris to dinner, but after roasting tomatoes and garlic for romesco sauce, I turned the oven dial to off. The evening's entree, freshly caught mullet from Core Sound Seafood, was going on the grill. As the air conditioner struggled to keep up with record temperatures, any additional cooking would have to take place outdoors.

Spanish cuisine was at the forefront of my brain, having fried a batch of Padron peppers earlier in the week. When I worked at Rialto restaurant in Cambridge years ago, the menu included items inspired by France and Spain, as well as Italy. Chef Jody Adams has gone virtually all-Italian these days, but it was there that I learned to make a delicious seafood paella, as well as a mean romesco sauce.

I hadn't cooked mullet before, and though I had a general sense of its flavor, I wasn't sure what would compliment it. Enter romesco, a terrific jack-of-all-trades sauce that goes with most anything. I've served it with other fish, shellfish, meat, veggies, and perhaps best of all, smeared it on grilled bread. Though easy to prepare, romesco's taste is complex. It features tart-yet-sweet roasted garlic, tomatoes, and peppers; vinegar's acidity; the coarse texture and full flavor of almonds.

Romesco paired nicely with the fish, and grilled slices of ciabatta went quickly when spread with sauce. The mullet was fabulous, the corn soup was outrageously sweet, and glorious peaches (sliced, served without adornment) were the perfect dessert.

The next time you're unsure of what to serve with grilled just-about-anything, consider romesco.

Romesco Sauce
Makes about 3 cups

4 ripe tomatoes, cored
1 very large head garlic (I used elephant garlic, supplied by my CSA)
1 red bell pepper
1 cup blanched almonds
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 slice white bread

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

Core the tomatoes and cut them in half. Place them in a roasting pan with the head of garlic, also cut in half. Toss with a few tablespoons of olive oil, then sprinkle with kosher salt and roast for 45 minutes - 1 hour, until caramelized.

Blacken the red pepper over a gas range (place on top of a lit burner, turning with tongs until charred throughout), on a grill, or in the oven. While still warm, put it in a bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Allow to cool, then peel and remove seeds.

Toast the almonds in a dry skillet over low-medium heat on the range. They will smell nutty and brown slightly when they're ready, about 5-7 minutes. Set aside to cool.

When the tomatoes and garlic are done, allow to cool, then remove the skins. Put them in a food processor with the roasted red pepper and toasted almonds. With the machine running, slowly add the extra virgin olive oil and red wine vinegar. The sauce should be thick, the almonds giving it a coarse texture. Add the bread and process. Taste for seasoning, adding salt, vinegar, or olive oil as necessary.

Romesco sauce will keep in the refrigerator for about one week.

What to do with a Padron pepper

2010-07-23T19:18:00.000-04:00

Padron peppers were included in a recent CSA share. Small, spritely, and kelly green, the peppers stood out among the box's tomatoes and potatoes, hogging the limelight and sparking my interest. But what does one do with a Padron pepper? I hadn't a clue. Hats off to the Internet for a quick save.

Googling "Padron pepper" brought several recipes to my attention, all identical. The Padron pepper is a native of Spain, most often enjoyed as part of a tapas offering, fried in olive oil, and sprinkled with kosher salt or coarsely ground sea salt.

Ignoring the insane heat index (what to do when it hits 105 degrees Fahrenheit?), I jacked up the air conditioning, turned on the (pretty much useless) oven fan, turned a burner to medium, and placed a large cast-iron skillet on top. I poured a bit of olive oil inside, washed and dried the peppers, and layered a few paper towels on a plate. When the oil became a slick, shimmering mass, I put the peppers into the fiery skillet and stepped back — you must step back — avoiding oil splatters and splutters that cascaded from the range. The peppers blistered within 2 minutes. I turned them with a slotted metal spoon, then drained the peppers on the aforementioned paper towels and sprinkled them with salt.

Then I took a bite. Several bites. Padron peppers are fantastic. Though generally mild with a hint of sweetness, a few hot peppers lurked among the handful I tried. Prepare yourself for the occasional spark of heat. Fried Padron peppers are meant to be a small part of a larger tapas spread, so enjoy these alongside (my favorite) Spanish omelet filled with layers of onion and potato, shrimp with romesco sauce, and hunks of Manchego cheese.

Imitation

2010-07-21T16:45:00.002-04:00

Life is expensive. This week I've written checks for car insurance, car registration, and a car inspection. I've paid utility bills, bought new contact lenses, and Zyrtec for the dog. I'll drop about $2,500 for car repairs Thursday morning (good, trusty car, but it's getting old). It's also time for a haircut.

Did I mention that I'm going on vacation in 2 weeks? Lovely Northern California awaits, but it's not free.

Time to cut back in other areas. Like food. Eating out is a pretty rare event for me, but I still spend a fair amount on food — I think it's worth it to buy quality products. Happily, food is least expensive when it's in season, so my CSA produce and CSF fish are a pretty good bargain. So where to cut? I'm giving up Tofu Pad Thai from my local Whole Foods Market.

I love Tofu Pad Thai. As hard as I try to stay away from prepared foods (usually for health reasons, but also to save money), I find myself buying the stuff a couple of times each month. Red pepper flakes, cooked egg, and a snappy fish sauce give the rice noodles and tofu a clear, clean flavor and interesting texture. I find myself gravitating toward the prepared foods counter when I'm there. It's like a magnet, pulling me in and siphoning hard-earned bills from my wallet.

Not today. Today I bought rice noodles, a block of extra-firm tofu and a handful of snap peas. At home, I got to work, using the ingredient list on an old container label as a guide (though I added a few things and left others out). The results were quite good! I don't have a cost breakdown, but I'm sure my savings were substantial, which means more money for vacation. Look out, San Francisco...

Note: Use soy sauce instead of nuoc mam (fish sauce) for a vegetarian version of this dish.

Tofu Pad Thai
Serves 6-8

1 block extra-firm tofu, drained, pressed and cubed
7 oz. wide rice noodles
3 eggs
1/2 pound sugar snap peas

1/4 cup nuoc mam (Asian fish sauce)
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons unseasoned rice wine vinegar
1 lemon, juiced
3 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 cup canola oil

2 teaspoons hot red pepper flakes
2 jalapenos, minced
2 bunches scallions, thinly sliced
1/2 cup dry roasted peanuts

To press the tofu, place the bock between two paper towel-lined plates. The top plate serves as a weight. Allow the tofu to drain at least 30 minutes before cutting into 1/2-inch cubes.

To prepare the rice noodles, bring a medium pot of water to a rapid boil. Turn off the heat and throw the noodles in. Allow them to soften in the hot water for 10 minutes, then drain.

Whisk the eggs in a small bowl. Cook omelet-style in a small skillet coated lightly with cooking spray or canola oil. When cooked through, allow to cool, then slice into small cubes.

Blanch the sugar snaps in boiling water for 2 minutes, drain, then place in an ice water bath to stop the cooking. Drain and roughly chop.

Combine the nuoc mam, sugar, rice wine vinegar, lemon juice, and garlic in a bowl. Slowly add the canola oil while steadily whisking to create an emulsion.

Place the cubed tofu, egg, blanched sugar snap peas, and softened noodles in a large bowl. Add the dressing and toss gently to combine. Add the hot red pepper flakes, jalapenos, scallions, and peanuts, and toss again. Taste for seasoning and serve.

Okra and tomatoes

2010-07-19T10:55:00.000-04:00

Thursday was a day off. A day filled with rambunctious (almost) 3-and-4-year-old boys, an arthritic black lab, and a bag of farmer's market okra. My sister drove down from New Jersey with her sons and dog last week, staying with my parents in Winston-Salem. I don't see them often, so a quick day trip was mandatory. After dropping off Gus Monster with a friend, I high-tailed it to Winston for the day, hanging out with crazy kids for the afternoon.

The day included play time at the pool, big wheel races down a steep driveway, and an early birthday celebration for the soon-to-be-3-year-old, complete with a bunny cake. When it was time to go, my parents insisted that a bag of fresh okra go with me. They said they wouldn't eat them before they went bad, and though I'm not certain that's true, I happily brought the green pods home.

Growing up in the South with Mississippi-raised parents, okra was a regular part of summer suppers. Dredged in four and cornmeal, the sliced pods were fried in vegetable oil until crisp, drained on piles of paper towels, then sprinkled with salt. Brown and crunchy, the fried nuggets appeared next to sliced tomatoes, field peas, butterbeans and cornbread.

I love fried okra, but I've experimented with other cooking methods since leaving home. Grilling has become a favorite, one that allows the vegetable's gentle nature to come forth. Shunned by some for a gooey interior, the fuzzy pods are really very mild. Okra pairs well with acidic players, like lemon and tomato — I combined them with Indian spices for a change of pace from the (delicious, comforting) Southern-fried version.

Between Sunday night thunderstorms, I raced to the grill with CSA cherry tomatoes and the gorgeous green okra from my parents. I tossed them all with oil, salt and pepper, tumeric, cumin and coriander, threaded on skewers, and cooked until tender. A squeeze of acid livened things up — lemon wedges were the perfect garnish.

Grilled Okra and Tomatoes

1/2 pound young okra, pods no more than 4 inches long
cherry tomatoes
2 tablespoons canola oil
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon tumeric
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 lemon, cut into wedges

Soak wooden skewers in water for at least 30 minutes before grilling. Preheat the grill.

Rinse the okra and tomatoes. Trim the tops of the okra pods, but leave them whole. Toss the vegetables with oil, cumin, coriander, tumeric, salt and pepper. Thread the okra pods onto skewers; repeat with tomatoes. (The tomatoes will cook more quickly then the okra, so keep them separate).

Grill over direct, high heat, turning once. The tomatoes will be done within 2-4 minutes, depending on size. Remove from the heat when the skins begin to split. The okra will take roughly 6-8 minutes to cook. Remove from the heat when the pods are lightly charred and they are easily pierced with a knife.

Serve with lemon wedges.

Jammin'

2010-07-17T17:41:00.001-04:00

Heirloom tomatoes seemed to reproduce on my kitchen countertop this week. Between the entire contents of a CSA produce box (normally split with a friend who's out of town) and a boxful of tomatoes from a client's garden, supply far exceeded demand. Cherokees, green zebras and German Johnsons graced fresh green salads, topped pizzas, and played a starring role in homemade soup. Sliced, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, and sprinkled with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, the ripe, fragrant fruits helped make the summer heat (almost) bearable. But eating them at breakfast, lunch and dinner wasn't enough.

It was time for tomato-onion jam.

This isn't a jam in the traditional sense. Thick and rich, it's summer tomato intensified, made even better with caramelized onion, garlic and spices. More traditional tomato jam recipes exist — they often include much more sugar and are processed in a boiling-water bath, which means they'll last up to a year.

Tomato-onion jam is a seasonal favorite, though I don't stick to a particular recipe each year. I look to my pantry, consider what flavors I'm craving, and go from there. Last night's version featured the heat of hot red pepper flakes, ginger's zing, and the earthy goodness of caramelized garlic and onion. I'm going to enjoy a spoonful with roasted chicken (served room temperature in this latest heat wave) and a spinach salad for dinner.

Smear tomato-onion jam on bread and serve with cheese, use it with roasted or grilled meats and poultry, or make it part of a sandwich. It's also pretty terrific consumed directly from the jar (this is allowed if you live alone). Consider adding ground cumin seed, cardamom, or a freshly chopped jalapeno or serrano pepper to the recipe. Make it your own.

Tomato-Onion Jam
Makes about 3 heaping cups

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 red onion, diced
1 large shallot, diced
5 garlic cloves, minced
6 medium ripe tomatoes, peeled and chopped
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1/8 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon freshly ground cumin
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, grated
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

To peel tomatoes: Make a small "x" on the bottom of each tomato. Drop into boiling water for 30 seconds, remove, then plunge into an ice water bath. The skin will slip off easily, pulled from the flesh with a paring knife.

Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the onion, shallot, garlic and cook over low for about 20 minutes, with the pan covered. When the vegetables are soft, remove the lid and allow the vegetables to caramelize over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally. This will take another 15-20 minutes. Add peeled, roughly chopped tomatoes, red wine vinegar, hot red pepper flakes, cumin, ginger, kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens, about 15 minutes. Taste and correct seasonings as necessary.

Tomato-onion jam will keep, covered, in the refrigerator for about one week.

Potato salad and a little comfort

2010-07-14T22:10:00.001-04:00

Last night I made potato salad — lots and lots of potato salad. Enough to feed 35 to 40 people. My creation wasn't incredibly creative or earth-shattering. It wasn't my personal favorite. It was, however, a classic American potato salad, seen frequently at summer picnics. Garnished with finely chopped celery, red onion, and dressed with copious amounts of delicious mayonnaise, it was very, very tasty. I just hope it's worthy of the word "comforting."

This potato salad will be served at the SECU Family House at UNC Hospitals, which is like a Ronald McDonald House for families of critical care adult patients. They, too, need extended lodging at a reasonable price, a shuttle to and from the hospital, and friendly faces. They need a break from vending machines and hospital cafeterias, an opportunity to decompress and enjoy a meal with others. The house meal program provides that. Volunteers make and serve dinner an average of 4 nights a week at the SECU Family House. When my friend Jeanne asked if I would take charge of the starch one hot July night, I knew potatoes would end up on the menu.

Potatoes themselves are comforting. Plain, yes, but that's the beauty of the spud. Who doesn't love French fries, scalloped potatoes, or potato gnocchi? The humble potato is given soul with pats of butter and freshly chopped herbs, enlivened with bold spices. I needed a dish that was simple and easily identifiable, an offering that most people would enjoy and find soothing. Capriciousness was to be avoided.

Enter Classic American Potato Salad. Reheating isn't necessary. It can be made in advance. And I hope it brings positive memories to those who'll consume it: thoughts of grilled hot dogs and games played on vasts fields of grass, family bicycle rides and beach balls, squished sandwiches and suntan lotion. I hope my simple offering brings people a tiny bit of hope and a smile.

The following recipe isn't terribly exact. I kept tasting and stirring and adding and tasting again, making notes along the way, but I can't promise The World's Best Potato Salad if you follow this recipe to the letter. I can promise that it's a very good guide, a place to start— and I think that's how you should view any recipe. I did a lot of balancing between hot/bitter and sweet (mustard vs.sugar), putting in too much dry mustard initially, correcting by dissolving sugar in cider vinegar, adding more mayonnaise to round out the flavor. Homemade mayo is ideal, but I went with Duke's brand to save time (it's widely available in the South). If Duke's isn't available in your area, look for mayonnaise with very few ingredients listed on the label. You should be able to easily pronounce them all.

Classic American Potato Salad for a Crowd
Serves about 35 as a side dish

13 pounds of Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled
1/3 cup cider vinegar
1 1/2 tablespoons Coleman's dry mustard
3 tablespoons sugar
3 1/2 - 4 cups mayonnaise (homemade is ideal, or use a high-quality brand, like Duke's)
2 large bunches celery, finely chopped
3 red onions, finely diced
2 bunches parsley, finely chopped
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

After peeling the potatoes, check to see if they are roughly the same size. Cut any large potatoes in half - you want the pieces to be similar in size so they cook through and are done at the same time. Place the potatoes in large, heavy-bottomed pots (I used 3 large stockpots) and cover with cold water. Add a pinch of kosher salt to each pot and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook the potatoes, uncovered, until easily pierced with a paring knife. Drain and cool until they can be handled. Cut into 1/2-inch squares.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the cider vinegar, sugar and dry mustard, whisking to dissolve the sugar. Whisk in the mayonnaise (it will thin out a bit). Add the celery, onion, parsley, and potatoes. Toss gently to evenly coat, and sprinkle with a few teaspoons of kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Taste and adjust seasonings as necessary. Chill for at least one hour before serving. It's nice to sprinkle the potato salad at the end with additional freshly chopped parsley for color.

Clamtastic

2010-07-12T14:32:00.000-04:00

Two and a half pounds of live clams. One pound of frozen peas. Garlic, onion, chopped mint. White wine. Butter. Olive oil. Combine all for a scrumptious dinner (if you are single and happy with one-dish meals) or serve as a starter at your next gathering.

I often think I should rename this blog "What Lynn Found in the Refrigerator and Freezer."

This weekend was lovely food-wise — an easy, grilled mackerel supper Friday night was followed by dinner at French bistro Rue Cler Saturday, celebrating July birthdays with friends. Sure, I still had to walk the dog, clean the house, and try to put next Wednesday night's work lecture out of my head (I don't do well in front of groups). But I enjoyed Sunday's make-do meal. More than enjoyed — Sunday's dinner was pretty tasty.

Get ready for well-cooked peas. Accept that they won't be a fresh green color — heat takes its toll. The beautiful, bright green orbs you began with (fresh or frozen) will look past their peak, approaching an olive-y hue. Embrace the darkened pea. It is cooked through, not at all chalky, the ultimate in pea-essence. Flavor triumphs over color.

Clams, Peas and Mint
Serves 2 as an entree, 4 as a starter

2 1/2 pounds clams, scrubbed clean
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 white or yellow onion, minced
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
pinch of kosher salt
1 pound frozen green peas (or fresh peas, but they will take longer to cook)
1/3 cup white wine
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup freshly chopped mint

Heat butter and olive oil in a large skillet or saucepan over medium-low heat. Add garlic, onion, and a pinch of kosher salt. Stir occasionally and cook until soft, about 12 minutes.

Add frozen green peas and cover the pan, cooking 5 more minutes. If you're using fresh peas, add another 10-12 minutes of cooking time. Add white wine, water, and scrubbed clams to the pan. Cover and cook over medium-high heat for about 6-10 minutes, until the clams open. Sprinkle with freshly chopped mint, drizzle with a bit of additional extra virgin olive oil, and serve. Feeling fancy? Garnish each plate with a sprig of mint.

Holy mackerel

2010-07-11T13:21:00.001-04:00

Hot. Tired. Grumpy. Ready to hang out with the Gus the Wonder Dog, continue feeding my Big Love DVD addiction, and go to bed early. Lame? Perhaps, but it's exactly what I wanted Friday night. I also needed to eat dinner.

My Core Sound Seafood share arrived Thursday afternoon and CSA produce came in the night before that. Finding food wasn't an issue, but keeping my meal low key was. I'm not afraid of time in the kitchen or elaborate preparations, but hot + tired + grumpy = simple supper. The more intricate preparations I'd considered Thursday night were no longer an option.

Sleek, golden-spotted Spanish mackerel fillets and a big bag of clams made up this week's seafood delivery. Mackerel is a fishy fish, usually assertive. If it had a volume, mackerel would fall on the medium-loud end of the dial. I was (happily) surprised by how gentle Friday's mackerel was. Can you use the word gentle to describe a fish fillet? Freshness made a tremendous difference.

Grilled Spanish Mackerel with Lemon and Oregano

Rinse mackerel fillet(s) with water and pat dry. Make a few shallow slices through the skin before lightly coating it with olive oil.

For one fillet, I cut 2 thin slices from a lemon from the refrigerator, cut those in half, and chopped a handful of fresh oregano. I stuffed the slits (on the skin side) with the herbs, then flipped the fillet and and covered the flesh with additional oregano and the lemon slices. I set the remaining 1/2 lemon aside for grilling, inspired by Mark Bittman's recent NY Times article, 101 Fast Recipes for Grilling. I let the fish marinate for about 30 minutes.

I sprinkled kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper on both sides of the fillet, then lit the grill. Roughly 12 minutes later I enjoyed an absolutely marvelous meal.

Start grilling the fish skin side down. My fillet was thin, and it was only 3-4 minutes before it was time to flip. It cooked for another minute or so before I removed it (and the half lemon ) from the grill.

A few tips:

Be certain the grill is hot and clean, sparing yourself the agony of a big, sticky mess. I've come close to tears when my meal clings to the grates.

Oil the grill well before using. I often use old (clean) t-shirt scraps, dip them into canola oil, and rub them along the grill grates with tongs. Sometimes I'll cut an onion in half, spear it with a large meat fork, dip it in oil, and use that instead.

Tempted though you may be to fuss with the fish, you only need to flip it once. Start skin side down in this case, resist the urge to poke and pry, then flip after 3-4 minutes. Allow it to finish cooking (again, let it be) flesh side down. This will only take another minute or two.

Before grilling the lemon half, brush the cut side lightly with canola (or another neutral) oil.

Smashed

2010-07-08T13:05:00.001-04:00

Is it acceptable to have a favorite CSA item? A reasonable person would ask, why not? A favorite vegetable is perfectly acceptable.

I was ridiculously excited about the fingerling potatoes that appeared in a recent CSA share. And I felt guilty about it. I wanted to love all of the fruits and vegetables equally. It seems unfair to like eggplant more than zucchini, melon more than onions. Less-loved produce brings to mind unloved toys that sit tangled in wrapping paper on Christmas Day, ignored while The Favorite Toy receives all of the attention.

Fingerlings are among my favorite potatoes, my culinary equivalent of The Favorite Toy. Creamy and rich, they have a dense quality the (sturdy, trustworthy) Russet doesn't share. Rummaging through the refrigerator last night, I stumbled upon a pound of fingerlings I'd set aside and promptly forgotten. Despite the heat wave that grips the east coast — we hit a record high of 101 degrees Fahrenheit — I turned on the oven, brought out my cast iron skillet, and whipped up a summer favorite: smashed potatoes with red onion, arugula, and sherry vinegar.

Adding herbs, arugula leaves, sherry vinegar, and a fruity olive oil to the potatoes soon after they leave the oven is key to the success of this dish. The greens wilt against the warm fingerlings, while the vinegar and oil soak in, adding a depth of flavor that would be lost if the ingredients are combined cold. Crush the potatoes with a masher made for the job, leaving a few clumps. It's far more appealing than a smooth puree (you're not going for silky, just mushed) and I promise, it tastes better that way.

I enjoyed my smashed fingerlings propped in front of the TV with another episode of Big Love. I'm officially addicted. Who knew the lives of polygamists in the Salt Lake City suburbs would make for such great television? I've also officially given up on the teen romance novel Twilight. I started reading it over the weekend, but can't figure out what the hype is about. I don't care about handsome vampire Edward Cullen, his cold skin, or his muscular chest. If only I could get the precious moments of my life back that I wasted on the book.

Smashed Fingerlings with Arugula and Red Onion
Serves 2-3

1 pound fingerling potatoes, rinsed
6 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed with the back of a chef's knife
1/4 cup parsley, chopped
a handful of arugula
1/4 small red onion, thinly sliced
sherry vinegar
extra virgin olive oil

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.

Toss the fingerlings and garlic cloves with a large pinch of kosher salt, a few grindings of the pepper mill, and olive oil. All ingredients should be evenly coated. Place in a 10 to12-inch cast iron skillet or roasting pan (a cookie sheet would also work) and cook for about 25 minutes, until the potatoes are easily pierced with a paring knife.

Remove from the oven and toss with freshly chopped parsley. Add fistfuls of cleaned arugula, a hearty splash of sherry vinegar, and moisten with a few glugs of extra virgin olive oil. Add a few slivers of red onion for crunch, and flavor. Season with salt and pepper. Enjoy warm or at room temperature.

Time for tabbouleh

2010-07-06T08:23:00.000-04:00

I'd forgotten about tabbouleh. Not entirely, of course, but I couldn't remember the last time I enjoyed this popular Middle Eastern salad. When a friend asked if I could bring a nut-free, dairy-free dish to her annual Fourth of July pool party (nut-free and dairy-free to prevent a couple of small guests from going into anaphylactic shock), tabbouleh came immediately to mind. It fits the bill perfectly: cracked wheat enlivened with generous amounts of parsley and mint, dressed with lemon juice and extra virgin olive oil, all combined with flawless summer tomatoes.

I made a big batch of the stuff the morning of July 4. A true Lebanese tabbouleh contains far more parsley than grain, but I cheated; I tired of chopping bunches of herbs long before I reached the 5 cups required. The result was still delicious. So delicious that I made it again for dinner.

My friend Trish and I stopped by the grocery store post-pool party to pick up salmon fillets, lettuce, assorted snacks — visions of a big, beautiful meal in our heads. As the day wore on and we settled down with the first five episodes of Big Love on DVD (because I really need to get hooked on another cable TV show on a channel I don't subscribe to), Trish and I agreed that grazing in front of the TV was ideal. The salmon stayed in the refrigerator and I made a second, smaller batch of tabbouleh, brought out flatbread, cheese, and my new favorite olive, the Castellano. Spread out on the coffee table, the food was ideal. Light, great at room temperature, and easy.

Looks like tabbouleh will be a mainstay this summer.

Tabbouleh Salad
Serves 4

1 cup bulgur
2 cups water
1 bunch scallions, chopped, including part of the green top
2-3 bunches flat-leafed parsley, finely chopped
1 bunch mint, finely chopped
3 medium tomatoes, diced
2 lemons, freshly juiced
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Place the bulgur in a heatproof bowl. Bring the water to a boil, then pour it over the bulgur and give it a quick stir. Cover with plastic wrap and allow it to sit for 30-45 minutes.

While the cracked wheat rehydrates, clean and chop the herbs, scallions and tomatoes.

When the bulgur has softened, strain to remove any extra water, then fluff with a fork. Add the chopped vegetables and herbs, then dress with lemon juice and olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Tabbouleh is best made an hour or two before you plan to serve it, giving flavors a chance to meld and improve. Serve at room temperature.

Classic vs. wildly popular, and an awesome summer salad

2010-07-03T13:09:00.002-04:00

My friend Mo is a big reader. Novels, non-fiction, poetry — Mo likes it all. We discuss books at work, and he very kindly brought two in for me this week. The first: Selected Short Stories of William Faulkner (with a "from the library of" sticker inside and a post-it note marking "A Rose for Emily"). The second: Twilight, which he borrowed from a friend.

Yes, that Twilight, the teen vampire love story sensation, the instant bestseller, the first in a series that spawned a succession of films. As the weekend unfolds, I face a choice: Faulkner vs. Meyer. Nobel-prize winning author vs. contemporary sensation, one of the American South's most important literary figures vs. one of Time magazine's Most Influential People of 2008 (Meyer ranked #49).

I'll make my decision later. Right now it's time for lunch, and I'm about to enjoy one of my favorite summer salads, a salad that focuses on summer fruit — using whatever is at its best — with peppery arugula and Marcona almonds. If you aren't familiar with Marcona almonds, prepare to be amazed. And addicted. Marcona almonds are ridiculously good. They are shorter and rounder than a regular almond, a little sweeter, definitely richer in taste. Imported from Spain, Marcona almonds are lightly fried in olive oil and salted. After eating the last one, I run my fingers through the empty container, coat them with whatever oily, salty goodness is left, and lick them. There, I admit it.

Today's salad features fresh farmer's market peaches and the sun jewel melon that arrived in this week's CSA box. Stripped of its bright gold skin, the pale, slightly green-hued flesh reminds me of honeydew. I wish figs were in season — they're a favorite paired with a few sprigs of arugula and sherry vinaigrette. I use more fruit than arugula in this salad; I think of the greens as a bright accent, not the star.

Marcona almonds have become increasingly popular in the States, and are usually available at Whole Foods, Costco, and Trader Joe's. If you can't find them, use toasted almonds instead.

Summers Fruits with Arugula and Marcona Almonds
Serves 1-2

Sherry Vinaigrette:

1 tablespoon shallot, minced
3 tablespoons sherry vinegar
pinch of kosher salt
6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Combine the minced shallot, sherry vinegar, and kosher salt in a small bowl. Whisk in the olive oil, starting slowly, gradually adding it in a steady stream. Whisk constantly to create an emulsion.

Salad:

1 large ripe peach, pit removed, cut into 1/4-inch slices
1/2 sun jewel melon, skin and seeds removed, cut into 1/4-inch pieces
a few slivers of red onion (optional)
a handful of arugula, washed and dried
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons Marcona almonds

Combine the fruits in a bowl and drizzle with a few tablespoons of sherry vinaigrette. Add the arugula and red onion (if using) and toss gently. Taste for seasoning — it will probably need a pinch of kosher salt and a few turns of the pepper mill. Add more vinaigrette if necessary. Put on serving plate(s) and sprinkle with Marcona almonds.

Big summer

2010-07-02T09:59:00.000-04:00

This is the year of Big Summer. Crazy hot temperatures hit central North Carolina in early June and let up on the last day of the month. Coupled with humidity, this is the kind of weather that renews my vow to move to the Pacific Northwest, the land of cool, green, and lush. I love Oregon. Everyone wears layers, paddles the Columbia River on weekends, and eats fabulous food from trucks stationed downtown. The pace seems slower (I know those people at Nike are getting a lot done, but walking around Portland feels better, easier, than the East Coast cities I've lived in). Life isn't sluggish or dull, but velocity is somehow altered.

I digress.

Because someplace else is always better than where you are.

Today I'm enjoying a reprise — I woke to temperatures in the 60s and a cool breeze — but the crazy heat sped up the crop cycle (so says my CSA farmer). This week's produce box included 3 different melons, cherry tomatoes, and heirloom tomatoes. After splitting the share with my friend Cathy, I brought home the ultimate small watermelon, whose flesh was the best-est of all possible watermelons. Sweet, lush, and juicy. I also brought home a sun jewel melon, which resembles a fall delicata squash and has an amazing perfume. It radiates heat and summer and flowers.

Watermelon-Tomato-Feta Salad for dinner was a no-brainer, given my ingredients. If you haven't discovered this treasure, do try it. I don't remember exactly when I stumbled upon the glorious tomato-watermelon salad combination (it was sometime in the late 1990s, during my Boston years). I've enjoyed countless variations since then, but I'm happy with this version: ripe watermelon, gorgeous tomatoes, red onion, basil and/or mint, freshly crumbled feta cheese, a splash of vinegar, and extra virgin olive oil. Add kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, and you've captured the best of summer.

I used cherry tomatoes in today's salad, but diced regular tomatoes would work just as well.

Watermelon-Tomato-Feta Salad
Serves 1-2

1 cup cherry and/or grape tomatoes, halved or quartered, depending on size
1 1/2 cups watermelon, cut into 1/2-inch cubes, seeds removed
3-4 tablespoons red onion, diced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
1 tablespoon mint, chopped
2 tablespoons basil, chopped

Combine the tomatoes, watermelon, and red onion in a large bowl. Sprinkle with kosher salt and a few grinds of black pepper from the pepper mill and toss. Add red wine vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, and feta, then toss gently to combine. You can refrigerate the salad at this point for up to and hour. Add freshly chopped herbs just before serving.

Worth speeding for

2010-06-30T14:55:00.003-04:00

I'll admit that I speed. Not in residential areas or past schools, and never, ever in busy parking lots, but I push my Subaru a good 5 or more miles over the speed limit almost everywhere else. I am That Person. Last Thursday evening I drove a little faster than usual. It was CSF pick up day, and I had very little time to make it to Carrboro to get my share. They close shop at 6 p.m., and if you don't make it, you're out of luck.

Pedal to the metal (slight exaggeration) on Highway 54, I pulled into the Carrboro Plaza parking lot just in time. A gray tent sheltered a handful of people and a huge ice chest from the blazing sun. My share of fresh shrimp and scallops were tucked inside, driven up that day from Down East by the fisherman of Core Sound Seafood.

Yes, Down East North Carolina is a real place. It's the state's beautiful Coastal Plain region, made of up 13 communities that share one high school and one hospital. The seafood is amazing, and I jumped at the chance to support this great organization. They set aside one dollar for every pound of seafood sold to a special assistance fund. The fund provides financial help on an as needed basis to commercial fishing families. Pretty cool, huh?

I shared milky white sea scallops with my friend Beth Friday evening, but set the shrimp aside for another time. They were gorgeous, medium-sized shrimp that smelled clean, almost sweet, and not at all fishy. I can make many shrimp dishes without glancing at a cookbook, but I was eager to break from my standard repertoire. I wanted something light that didn't require a lot of oven time, as temperatures continued reach the upper 90s.

I rummaged through cookbooks, the pantry, and the refrigerator, and found a can of coconut milk purchased ages ago. Almost an entire bunch of cilantro lurked in the fridge's produce drawer, along with a serrano chile and a lime. I took cumin seeds from the spice shelf, my ancient Cuisinart from its hiding place, and made cilantro-coconut chutney as detailed in The New Way to Cook by Sally Schneider. It was perfect — a light recipe that used ingredients I had on hand. I made minor adjustments to suit my taste (more cumin seed, less chile, and I used unsweetened shredded coconut).

The sauce is wonderfully refreshing. The powerful flavor of cilantro is offset by coconut milk, the lime juice adds zest, and the chile pepper gives a bit of heat. Be sure to make the sauce before starting the shrimp — shrimp cook very quickly.

Down East Shrimp with Cilantro-Coconut Chutney
Adapted from The New Way to Cook
Serves 4

Cilantro-Coconut Chutney:
1 bunch cilantro, washed, large stems removed
2 teaspoons cumin seeds, toasted
1 serrano chile pepper, minced
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
pinch sugar
3/4 cup unsweetened coconut milk
2 tablespoons lime juice
3 tablespoons unsweetened shredded coconut

Combine washed and dried cilantro (large stems removed) in the bowl of a food processor with toasted cumin seeds, serrano, and salt. Pulse on and off until the mixture is coarsely chopped. Add a pinch of sugar, coconut milk, and lime juice, and process again. Taste for seasoning, adjust as necessary, and set aside for dipping.

Poached Shrimp:
2 quarts water
large pinch kosher salt
1 lemon, cut into slices
1 bay leaf
1 onion, quartered
several parsley sprigs

1 1/2 pounds medium shrimp, shells on

Bring the water and all ingredients except shrimp to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-high and simmer for 5 minutes. Add the shrimp and shut off the heat. The shellfish will turn bright pink and curl when cooked through. This will take about 5 minutes. Drain, pat dry, and serve alongside the cilantro-coconut chutney.

Lavender-lemon cookies, revisited

2010-06-28T21:07:00.000-04:00

Shortbread was the answer. I'm sure there are other good alternatives to the not-so-great-lavender cookies I made on my not-so-good day, but Sunday's shortbread experiment didn't disappoint.

In fact, Sunday was a nice day overall. I worked out, wished a good friend happy birthday, and dropped AT&T as my wireless carrier. I can talk on the phone! In my house. Walking the dog down the street. Anywhere in my neighborhood. The calls never drop, the connection isn't fuzzy, and I'm able to listen to voicemail messages in their entirety. I miss the iPhone's fun applications and colorful screen, but they're no substitute for a working phone line.

Back to the cookies: shortbread's tender crumb and buttery flavor provide the perfect backdrop for the lavender-lemon combo I was so eager to try. These cookies would be great with a cup of hot tea, and though I don't plan to consume hot beverages in this weather, I know this batch of cookies won't be thrown out.

They're so good I should call and tell someone about them.

Lavender and Lemon Shortbread
Adapted from The Joy of Cooking
Makes 24 bars

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup confectioner's sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 teaspoons dried lavender, finely chopped
1 1/2 teaspoons fresh lemon zest, finely grated
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1-2 teaspoons sugar to sprinkle on top (optional)

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit.

Cream the butter and both sugars together with the paddle attachment of a heavy-duty mixer. Add the salt, lavender, and lemon zest, and continue to beat until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes.

Add the flour and mix to combine. The dough should come together — it may look a bit crumbly. If necessary, add a teaspoon or two of water until it holds together. Lightly knead, then press into an 8 x 8-inch square, ungreased baking dish.

Pierce the dough deeply with a fork, sprinkle with 1-2 teaspoons of sugar (if using), and place the pan in the center of the oven. Bake for 45-50 minutes, until the edges are a light brown. Remove the pan to a cooling rack and cut into squares while still warm.

Sea scallops and teal toes

2010-06-26T21:27:00.001-04:00

It's like living in New Orleans without the benefits. No Creole cottages, no charming trolley line, no Sazerac cocktails with friends under live oaks — just crazy hot and humid weather all the time. This week's temperatures were record worthy, and I was determined not to turn on the oven Friday night. No way, no how. I couldn't raise the indoor temperature a single notch.

I'd invited my friend Beth to dinner that evening, so an acceptable cold or room temperature meal was required. Gorgeous scallops arrived in my CSF pick up Thursday (this is new, the community supported fishery thing), and I couldn't let them sit in the refrigerator while we ate something else. My mind drifted back a good 14 years, to a kitchen in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and a menu that at one point included a seared scallop entree. It was served with steamed couscous and a winter green salad, and dressed with a tangy tangerine vinaigrette. Not right for this meal, but a good jumping off point.

I soaked a few bamboo skewers in water before heading to work and considered my menu throughout the day. A quick market run on the way home yielded an orange, a couple of limes, and large bunch of fresh cilantro. I was ready for supper.

My scallop dish was loosely based on the aforementioned menu item. Grilled scallops yes, citrus yes, couscous yes. From there, it's a departure. My dish was served cold, I was too time-strapped to steam the couscous (if you can, steam it at least 3 times instead of going the 5-minute boiling water route as suggested on most boxes)*, and I strayed into pseudo-ceviche category with jalapeno, citrus juice, and red onion. Diced cucumber provided cool crunch, the pepper added a bit of heat, and the citrus gave a refreshing tang. Everything was served on a bed of leafy greens tossed with citrus vinaigrette.

After a lovely meal accompanied by great conversation (food always tastes better in good company) I walked Beth to her car and asked about her toenails, nails that caught my eye early in the evening — the shiny blue-green polish stood out. My query was exactly what was intended: she produced a business card for www.tealtoes.org, an organization devoted to raising ovarian cancer awareness. My red polish is off, I have a small stack of tealtoes business cards in my possession, and I look forward to finding the perfect blue-green for my own toenails over the weekend.

* Note: Paula Wolfert's brilliant, aptly titled cookbook Couscous and Other Good Food from Morocco explains how to steam couscous. I'll try to cover it in a future post, but this book is worth purchasing. Wolfert's experience with Moroccan cuisine is second to none, her writing is clear and concise, and she'll introduce you to a world of possibly unfamiliar (and delicious) flavors.

Grilled Scallops with Citrus and Cilantro
Serves 2-3

3/4 pound fresh sea scallops, ligament removed from the side if attached
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

1 Valencia orange, pith removed and cut into segments
1 tablespoon lime juice
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/4 small red onion, finely diced
1 small cucumber, diced
1 jalapeno pepper, minced
3-4 tablespoons cilantro, finely chopped

Prepare your grill for high, direct grilling. Be certain the grates are well-cleaned and well-oiled to avoid sticking.

Toss the scallops in a bowl with olive oil, salt and pepper. Thread them onto metal skewers or bamboo skewers that have soaked at least 30 minutes in water. Place the skewered scallops onto the hot grill and cook through, turning once. This will take about 5 minutes. Allow them to cool, then cut in half or quarters, depending on size.

Removed the peel and white pith from the orange. Hold it over a bowl to collect juice while you remove the segments from between the membranes with a paring knife. Cut the orange segments in half. (You can use the orange juice to make citrus vinaigrette if serving with greens).

Place the orange segments and scallops in a bowl. Add the lime and lemon juice, red onion, cucumber and jalapeno. Toss to combine and chill, covered, for 1-2 hours in the refrigerator. Add freshly chopped cilantro just before serving. Check seasoning, adding additional citrus juice, salt and pepper as necessary.

Not my best day

2010-06-24T14:03:00.001-04:00

Yesterday wasn't my best day. It was far from my worst, but it was a not-quite-right day, a day of miscommunication, a dog on Prednisone, and lack of sleep.

My CSA farmer drops off boxes of produce at a local restaurant each Wednesday, and my friend Cathy or I (we're splitting a share) swing by for pick up late in the afternoon. I thought she was getting the box yesterday. She thought I was picking it up. Oops. It's probably still there, but my plan to have grilled vegetables for dinner fell to the wayside.

I returned home to give my dog steroids and lots of Benadryl — looks like Gussie's allergies are getting worse — and decided a little baking therapy would help turn things around. I love the clink of measuring spoons and the feeling of accomplishment I get when freshly baked cookies emerge from the oven. Too bad last night's cookies didn't turn out so well.

I've been eager to use the dried lavender flowers my friend CB brought me the last time she visited. Lavender is heady, perfume-like — it reeks of summer. Since summer officially began June 21, why not try to celebrate (this is not my favorite season) and bake something with a seasonal vibe? After combing through numerous cookbooks, I settled on a lavender cookie recipe in The King Arthur Flour Cookie Companion. It was quick, simple, and I could easily make minor adjustments without doing damage. I thought lavender would be enhanced by lemon, so I left out the vanilla extract and added a little over a teaspoon of freshly minced lemon zest.

Lavender and lemon were not the problem — it was the sugar. The cookies are too sweet, at least for my palate. I planned to take the bulk of the cookies to work (trying to cut back my calorie intake these days) but after trying one, I'm not comfortable sharing them with anyone. The sugar lingers in your mouth, rather than the flavor. It coats your teeth. Ick.

So I have a new project: to develop or find a lavender-lemon cookie recipe worth sharing. Instinct tells me to try a shortbread. Wish me luck!

Waffledom

2010-06-22T09:15:00.002-04:00

My weekend escape to Washington, DC may have been the best ever. That's saying something, as I've been to the nation's capital many times — and I used to live there.

After 4 1/2 hours driving on interstate highways, I relaxed on a small patch of green outside the sculpture garden Friday evening. I enjoyed live jazz, drinks, and a few tasty snacks with friends old and new. We had outstanding sushi that night followed by fantastic crepes the next morning at Eastern Market, a food and flea market on Capitol Hill (I also walked away with a cool t-shirt and a new piece of art for the house). Saturday afternoon involved window shopping and catching up with a dear friend in Old Town Alexandria, followed by another great meal. Sunday brunch with former co-workers wrapped up the weekend.

Quick trips to a city I called home for years are always lovely, but this particular weekend was stellar. Especially remarkable: gluten-free chocolate waffles at Sunday brunch. My friend Kathleen is allergic to gluten, and this dessert was perfect for her. Rich and dark, the waffles were topped with whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, and drizzled with hot chocolate and caramel sauces. Gluten-tolerant members of the party (myself included) missed nothing.

Back home in Chapel Hill, I started thinking about waffles. A lot. I thought about how much I like the crisp exterior that adds an interesting bit of crunch to any meal. I recalled how waffles make breakfast feel special, smeared with soft butter and drizzled with honey or maple syrup. I remembered how terrific they can be when served as dessert.

Lots of sugar in my diet is a bad thing — time to cut back on calories and crank up the exercise — so the idea of savory waffles took hold. Chicken and waffles are big in the South, and I love waffles topped with creamed mushrooms, but I needed something light. I found my favorite buttermilk waffle recipe and made a few changes, cutting back on sugar and adding shallots and fresh herbs. They were a great substitute for salad croutons at dinner, and I enjoyed one reheated for breakfast this morning.

Just a little bit of waffle to brighten my day, and to remind me to plan another trip to Washington. Soon.

Normally I would use 2 cups of buttermilk in this recipe, but I didn't have enough on hand after making cucumber soup last week. I added yogurt and whole milk to make up the difference. If you don't have buttermilk, you can make a quick substitute by adding 1 tablespoon of lemon juice or white vinegar to 1 cup of room temperature whole milk and letting it sit for 10 minutes.

I had a lot of parsley out back, but use your favorite fresh herbs. I love the slight heat of jalapeno — leave it out for a mellower waffle.

Fresh Herb Buttermilk Waffles
Serves 4-6

1 cup buttermilk
1/3 cup plain yogurt
2/3 cup whole milk
2 eggs
4 tablespoons butter, melted and cooled

1 cup all-purpose flour
2/3 cup stone-ground cornmeal
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 cup shallot, minced
2 tablespoons parsley, finely chopped
2 tablespoons thyme, finely chopped
1 jalapeno pepper, minced

Whisk the wet ingredients in a medium bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk the dry ingredients together. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and whisk together. Add the shallot, parsley and jalapeno, and stir until thoroughly combined.

Ladle the batter into a greased, preheated waffle iron and cook for 7-8 minutes, until crisp and golden. If serving warm, place them in a 250 degrees Fahrenheit oven (on a rack) while you cook the remaining batter.

If you won't be consuming them all at once, cool the waffles completely on a rack at room temperature before wrapping. They will keep in the freezer for one month.

Cool as a cucumber

2010-06-17T23:55:00.001-04:00

I'm escaping town. Tomorrow! It's time for a mini-vacation. Washington DC, my old haunt, is my destination — I hope I don't melt during the drive. A few books on CD are ready for the journey (I stopped by the library last night in a rare moment of foresight), but I've still got to do laundry, pack, and walk the dog. Thankfully, dinner is taken care of. A soup made with my CSA cucumbers sits in the fridge, chilling to a perfect 39 degrees Fahrenheit.

Trying to rid the refrigerator of perishables before my departure, I scanned its contents and realized cucumber soup was the answer to my problem. A half-empty buttermilk container sat of the top shelf, dill and mint were available in the yard, and both lemon cucumbers and a few of their oddly shaped, thin-skinned green relatives lingered in the vegetable bin. Lemon cucumbers are aptly named. Round and a very pale yellow, they seem vaguely exotic. Sliced open, the flesh is a pale, yellow-green hue. They taste just like an average cucumber.

If you have thick-skinned, waxy cucumbers from the grocery, you must peel and seed them before proceeding with the recipe. Peeling and seeding more delicate cucumbers, like Kirbys, is a matter of taste. I ignore super small seeds, but scoop out the rest with a spoon. Tonight I left the cucumber skins on — I like the green flecks they leave in the soup — but they add texture that some people don't care for.

This is a very simple soup, one that could be jazzed up with grated ginger, made with yogurt and a little cold water instead of buttermilk, garnished with walnuts and walnut oil for a taste of Persia. Experiment.

Cucumber Soup with Jalapeno, Mint and Dill
Serves 3-4

4 cups roughly cut cucumbers, about 6 Kirbys/pickling cucumbers, skins on but seeded
2 garlic cloves
5 scallions, whites and light green parts chopped
2 teaspoons fresh mint, finely chopped
2 teaspoons fresh dill, finely chopped
1 jalapeno pepper, minced (quantity depends on heat of pepper - taste and adjust accordingly)
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
kosher salt
white pepper
freshly squeezed lemon juice, if necessary

Peel and seed cucumbers if necessary and set aside. Crush garlic cloves on a cutting board and grind into a paste with a sprinkling of kosher salt — a mortar and pestle would work as well. Place the cucumbers, garlic paste, and remaining ingredients into a blender and process until smooth. Season with salt and white pepper to taste; add a few drops lemon juice if needed.

Chill the soup for at least one hour before serving. Garnish with additional freshly chopped herbs.

Bejeweled carrots

2010-06-16T08:42:00.001-04:00

Last week's CSA box contained the most visually arresting carrots I've ever come across. Purple outside, orange inside, these carrots were stunning. I wasn't sure what to do with them — if cooked, would the colors bleed and muddle? Unseasonably hot weather (it feels like August in early-to-mid June) meant I wouldn't find out. No way was I firing up the oven on a day with a heat index over 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

Combined with parsley, mint, oil and vinegar, carrots make a refreshing, ideal summer side dish. Feel free to substitute another light vinegar for the lemon juice and white wine vinegar used here. If I'm lucky enough to receive another bunch of purple carrots, I'll slice them thinly and blanch for a minute or two — they look particularly gorgeous when cross cut. Tonight, I opted to grate them. The picture above looks like a dish of carrots and beets, no? No. The purple flecks are the outer edge of these beautiful veggies, post-grating.

A Google search revealed that purple carrots have more beta carotene than their ubiquitous orange relatives. If I ever live in a house with a decent yard, I hope to plant some and enjoy them more often.

Carrot Salad with Parsley and Mint
Serves 1-2

1 1/2 cup grated carrots
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons parsley, chopped
2 teaspoons mint, chopped
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Put the vinegar and lemon juice in a small bowl and whisk in the extra virgin olive oil, creating an emulsion. Season with salt and pepper. Toss the dressing with the grated carrots and combine with freshly chopped parsley and mint. Chill for one hour before serving.

Continued good fortune

2010-06-14T21:15:00.000-04:00

This ridiculously hot and humid weekend had a definite upside: it was filled with good wishes, good friends, and a celebratory lunch with my mother. It was my birthday weekend.

I spent time doing selfish and indulgent things, like getting a pedicure and hunkering down during a thunderstorm with a book instead of cleaning house. At this age I'm not into gifts, but I was happily surprised with a fabulous robot drawing — I thought it was a chicken, but no matter — from my 4-year-old nephew, now prominently displayed on the refrigerator.

Don't you think it looks like a chicken?

I also lucked into another 1 1/4 pound bag of fresh clams from my friend Lisa, a CSF member who isn't down with the texture of bivalves. Not a birthday gift, but definitely a weekend highlight.

What to do with my good fortune? I combined the clams with sausage, beans, and kale — a Portuguese-inspired stew that's a meal in itself, ideally served with a piece of toasted country bread to soak up extra juices. I cooked the cannellini beans early in the day with aromatics, combining them at dinner time with hot Italian pork sausage and dinosaur kale for a complete meal. The beans are creamy, rich and flavorful.

You'll have extra beans if you cook the quantity listed below. They're wonderful on their own, served with meat or poultry, or pureed for a dip or crostini topping.

Cannellini Beans

1/2 pound dried cannellini beans (I used Rancho Gordo brand), soaked overnight in water
1 white onion, roughly chopped
1 carrot, roughly chopped
1 celery stalk, roughly chopped
2 bay leaves
3 garlic cloves, smashed

large pinch of kosher salt

After soaking the dried beans overnight (8+ hours) in water, drain and place in a large pot. Cover with fresh water and add onion, carrot, celery, bay leaves and garlic. Bring to a boil and immediately reduce to a simmer. Cook until tender, 1 - 1 1/2 hours. Add kosher salt in the last 10 minutes of cooking — adding it too soon will prevent the beans from cooking through.

Clams with Sausage, Beans, and Kale

1 1/4 cups cooked cannellini beans, cooking liquid reserved (see above)
1 link hot Italian pork sausage (I found a local sausage at Whole Foods)
1/2 white onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1 1/4 pounds clams, scrubbed
1/2 bunch kale, ribs removed and cut into ribbons
parsley, chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Remove the sausage from it's casing, break up the meat, and cook in a large saucepan or skillet (I'm partial to my cast-iron beauties) over medium heat, rendering the fat and crisping the meat. Add 1/2 cup chopped white onion, one minced garlic clove and saute. Add olive oil if necessary.

Reduce heat to medium-low and add chopped kale (about 1 cup, packed tightly after cutting into ribbons), the cooked beans and their cooking liquid, and cook 5-6 minutes, adding water if necessary — you don't want anything to brown.

Add clams and more water as needed, cover, and cook 10 minutes, until clams open. After cooking, discard any unopened clams. Season to taste, sprinkle with parsley, and serve with toasted bread.

(Really good) deviled eggs

2010-06-11T22:42:00.001-04:00

I have a weakness for deviled eggs. They are the high school quarterback gone all-American, the little black dress at a cocktail party, the hors d'oeuvres equivalent of a perfect apple pie. Deviled eggs are a dish most everyone loves, classic and timeless, ideal for a summer gathering. When Karen and Crystal sent me their summer dinner party menu and asked if I would bring a starter or two, deviled eggs were the first thing that came to mind.

I grew up with good-but-not-great-deviled eggs. Who can forget the paprika-sprinkled yellow-and-white orbs that emerged at every picnic? The spice added color and a bit of flavor, but I don't think they did the egg any favors. My mother added jarred pickle relish to the yolk mixture, and while they were tasty, the relish sometimes overpowered the yolks. Eggs are delicious but delicate. It's important to enhance the goodness that is a perfectly hard-boiled egg without overwhelming it.

As an adult I learned to 1) make my own mayonnaise and 2) break away from the relish-dominated-paprika-dusted model. I learned that simple is better if you use the best ingredients. Eggs are easier to shell when they're old, because the air pocket between the hard outer shell and the contents expands over time. Hard-boiled eggs are easier to peel if you do it quickly, just after shocking them in cold water, and while still submerged.

I'm always up for variations on a theme: curried deviled eggs, deviled eggs topped with chow-chow, with caviar, with country ham — but these are my favorite.

(Really good) Deviled Eggs
Makes 24 eggs if split in half lengthwise; 12 if used as cups

12 large eggs
1 tablespoon white or cider vinegar
3/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1/3 cup homemade mayonnaise (recipe follows)
3 teaspoons freshly chopped tarragon or chives

Place the eggs in a saucepan and cover with water by about 2 inches. Bring to a boil. Immediately shut off the heat and cover the pan when the water hits the boiling point. Set the eggs aside and let them rest for 10-11 minutes.

Drain and rinse the eggs with cold water, shaking them against the edges of the pan to crack the shells. Peel and cut in half (more traditional), or remove the top third of the egg, forming a cup. Remove the yolks and set the whites aside.

Push the cooked yolks through a fine-meshed sieve. This is time consuming but worth it — the filling will be significantly creamier than if you simply mashed the yolks with a fork. Combine the sieved yolks with vinegar, sea salt, sugar, and homemade mayonnaise. Taste and adjust seasonings (vinegar, salt, mayonnaise) as necessary. Use a teaspoon to fill the whites with the yolk mixture. Sprinkle with freshly chopped tarragon or chives just before serving.

Homemade Mayonnaise
Makes about 1 1/4 cup

2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon cider vinegar
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 teaspoon Coleman's dry mustard
1-2 pinches sugar
2 egg yolks*
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil

Combine the vinegar, lemon juice, salt, dry mustard, and sugar in a bowl and whisk to dissolve the dry ingredients. Add the egg yolks and whisk to combine. Begin whisking these ingredients at a fast pace,
then slowly — drop by drop — add the oil. The mixture will thicken and lighten in color, at which point you can pour the oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking constantly.

Homemade mayonnaise will keep in the refrigerator for about one week.

* Consuming raw egg yolks increases your risk of Salmonella or other food borne illnesses.

A chocolate chip thank you

2010-06-09T13:28:00.003-04:00

Gus the Wonder Dog?

Um, no. Not always. I love my silly noodle dog, and he's generally well-behaved, but sometimes... Sometimes he's not. Gus' primary offense is choosing to ignore me when I tell him to come. 4 out of 5 times he's on target, returning to me for the treats I keep in my pockets. But there's that 20 percent chance he's going to find something better, more interesting than me. Something stinky and smelly, maybe even dead and edible. Then all bets are off.

I let Gus off leash the other night to play with some neighborhood dogs, and yes, he ran away. There was no returning when I called — it was into the woods at a gallop, me calling his name and commanding him to come, empty leash in hand. Fantastic. I walked through poison ivy infested woods, across my neighborhood, and into the adjoining development, searching for a black and tan mutt with a red collar — and getting angrier by the minute. I wondered if I should give up and go home. Or at least go home and get the car rather than hoofing it.

Then I heard someone calling my name. It was nice neighbor Steve, who'd captured Gus and put him inside his house along with his two dogs.

How much do I love Steve for this? Enough to go beyond a word of thanks, and what says thank you better than a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies?

My chocolate chip cookie recipe has evolved over time — it's Nestle Toll House ramped up. Best enjoyed right out of the oven, these cookies are chewy inside and crunchy outside. I use more (dark) brown sugar than granulated sugar, which gives them a deeper flavor. I also skip the semi-sweet morsels and replace them with a high-quality bittersweet chocolate chopped into chunks. Callebaut brand stays in my pantry — it's a nice chocolate that doesn't break the bank.

Chocolate Chip Cookies
Makes about 36 cookies

2 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 sticks (1/2 pound) butter, softened
1 1/4 cup dark brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
12 ounces bittersweet chocolate, cut into chunks

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and position racks in the center. Line baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.

Sift the flour and baking soda together; add the kosher salt and stir with a whisk to combine.

In a heavy-duty mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugars together on medium-high speed for a solid 5 minutes, until light and fluffy. Scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl, then add the eggs one at a time, scraping again after each addition. Be certain they are completely incorporated into the dough. Add the vanilla and mix again.

Add the flour mixture with the mixer on low speed, then add the chocolate chunks. Remove the bowl from the mixer and fold by hand to be sure all the ingredients are evenly mixed in.

Drop the dough on the parchment-lined baking sheets in 2 tablespoon increments. The cookies will spread a little as they cook — I put 9 or 10 cookies on a sheet tray. Bake for 11-12 minutes, rotating pans once while they bake.

Cool the cookies on cooling racks, and bake the remaining dough as above. These cookies will keep for 3 days in an airtight container.

Clam roast for one

2010-06-07T13:53:00.000-04:00

Firing up the oven this weekend didn't seem like a good idea. Temperatures hovered in the low 90s, my air conditioner hummed constantly, and neither the dog nor I could walk far without panting. I wanted to stay on the couch with a book and a tall glass of ice water. But I had clams — perfectly shaped, off-the-boat fresh, hard-shelled clams — and I wanted, needed, just had to roast them. Even if it meant roasting a little bit, myself.

I must thank my friend Lisa for the clam bounty. Smart, personable, and open-minded, Lisa is up for most anything. Except bivalve mollusks. I'm sad for her, but it worked to my advantage. Lisa is a member of Walking Fish, a community-supported fishery (CSF), based on the community-supported agriculture (CSA) model. Each week she picks up her share of seafood, freshly delivered from the North Carolina coast. This week's delivery included the dreaded clam, which I was happy to take off her hands. Roasted in a cast iron skillet with potato, onion, garlic and tomato, clams make a perfect meal — simple, easy, and straightforward, but most importantly, delicious.

My former employer, chef Jody Adams, is the genius behind this dish. I learned a tremendous amount about all things food when I cooked at Rialto years ago, but working with New England fish and shellfish in Jody's kitchen was especially enlightening. I grew up in a less-than-adventurous family. Seafood didn't make it to our land-locked dinner table, so there was a lot to absorb on the job. Jody's clear, clean flavors and beautifully balanced palate are exemplified in this dish, published in the Gourmet Today cookbook. It's a perfect meal for the home cook.

In typical Lynn fashion, I didn't have all of the required ingredients on hand and wasn't willing to make another trip to the grocery to procure them. I substituted grape tomatoes for plum tomatoes, adding them later in the cooking process than described to make up for their small size. I had far fewer clams than called for in the original recipe, and made adjustments accordingly. Also, I'm a huge garlic fan, so the quantity listed below isn't on par with Jody's recipe — but it made for incredible snacking. I hope you'll try it.

Cast-Iron Roasted Clams
Adapted from Gourmet Today
Serves 1-2

2 medium red potatoes, sliced into 1/4-inch thick half moons
1/2 of 1 large red onion, cut into 1/4-inch thick wedges, root ends intact
10 cloves of garlic, peeled
scant 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 1/4 pounds small hard-shelled clams, scrubbed
1 cup cherry tomatoes, cut in half
1/4 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon parsley, chopped

Place a rack in the center of the oven and heat to 500 degrees Fahrenheit.

Toss the potatoes, onions and garlic in olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Place them in a large cast-iron skillet (10-12 inches is fine for this number of clams) and roast for 15 minutes. Add the scrubbed clams to the pan and cover with a lid or a piece of foil. Continue to roast for another 8 minutes. Add the halved cherry tomatoes to the pan and roast another 3-4 minutes, covered.

Remove the skillet from the oven and check to see that all of the clams are open. Discard any that remain closed. Add hot red pepper flakes, toss to combine, and sprinkle with chopped parsley.

The beans have arrived

2010-06-05T08:04:00.002-04:00

The beans arrived! Twelve pounds of heirloom bean fabulousness was waiting on my doorstep when I returned home from work Tuesday evening. It was the highlight of my week.

"What beans?" you may be asking. The beans I've been meaning to write about for a while, but haven't found time. Now is the time.

I went out to dinner for with the vivacious Caroline a few weeks ago. We met at Poole's Diner, one of my favorite Raleigh restaurants. It's hip, it's happenin', it's downtown. It really was a diner in its former life, complete with tin ceilings and a Formica-clad bar saved in the renovation. Chef/owner Ashley Christensen serves local, seasonal, hand-crafted food at Poole's, usually of French or Italian pedigree, sometimes with a Southern twist. The Grand Marnier-spiked chicken liver pate is to die for.

I have worked in a few nice restaurants and I understand the special touches they offer, but this woman churns her own butter. Churns butter! Takes the term housemade to a new level.

Caroline and I enjoyed deviled egg salad and fried green tomatoes with roasted tomato relish; a lovely frisee salad with asparagus, poached egg, bacon cornbread croutons, and Banyuls vinaigrette; North Carolina soft shell crab on Rancho Gordo Good Mother Stallard Beans; and a Royale with Cheese (I love a good Pulp Fiction menu reference).

Everything was good, but my soft shell crab was the hands-down winner. Yes, the crab was lovely — a seasonal crustacean crisped to perfection and lightly sauced with a bit of aioli. But those beans. The beans! They were amazing. Rich, earthy, and melt-in-your-mouth fantastic. These are the beans I've been looking for.

I've read about Rancho Gordo for years — it's made the pages of The New York Times, Saveur, Gourmet (R.I.P.), Bon Appetit, and The San Francisco Chronicle. Founder Steve Sando raises heirloom beans and seeds in California's Napa Valley, and ships his products internationally, and though I'd visited the company website several times in years past, I never made a purchase. After my meal at Poole's I marched forward to my trusty Mac G5, credit card in hand, and bought dried beans online. Many, many, many dried beans. With a flat $8.00 shipping rate, why buy one little bag? Stock up. Branch out. My pantry now holds 9 varieties of beans I've never heard of.

Dear reader, you are in for many a bean recipe. One pound of Good Mother Stallards sit submerged in water, waiting to be unleashed this weekend.

If you visit Poole's — and if you're in Raleigh, North Carolina, you must put it on your To Do List — know that reservations aren't accepted. Be prepared to wait. The charming tin ceiling is lovely to look at but doesn't help the noise factor. I've had to wait a little longer than I'd like for food in the past, though that wasn't the case on my most recent visit (do remember that everything is made to order). Oh, and you won't be given a menu. Several chalk boards hung on walls list the evening's selections, so you may have to get up and walk across the room to see your options.

You should go. No doubt. The food is consistently terrific.

Green 'maters

2010-06-03T22:29:00.002-04:00

I fell for the green tomatoes. Perched next to their red hothouse relations on a vendor's table, firm, somewhat tart, and close to the color of lime, they called out to me. Green tomatoes are often available in late spring or early summer in North Carolina, and again in late fall, when farmers and gardeners harvest the unripened fruit before it can be damaged by frost. At the height of summer, vine ripened beauties take over, so you buy green tomatoes when you see them, like I did at the farmer's market Sunday afternoon.

Driving home after a great evening with friends, I pulled into the Piedmont Triad Farmers' Market for a quick look around. Green tomatoes (and a few peaches) caught my eye, and I returned to Chapel Hill with visions of fried green tomatoes, green tomato relish, and green tomato pie. In the end, I made none of those. Instead I opted for pickled green tomatoes.

I'll pickle just about anything. Pickled turnips, pickled okra, pickled pumpkin — something is ready any time of year for pickling. I adore the crisp zing and complex flavor pickles provide. They can be sweet, sour, spicy, curried. Imagination takes over, and it's great fun to experiment. I went with a quick refrigerator pickle this time. Unlike their canned counterparts, quick pickles last only a couple of weeks chilled (there's no sterilizing of jars, no boiling-water processing), but it's easy to go through a small batch. They're terrific snacks and incredible counterparts to grilled meats. Give me a pickle platter any day.

I improvised this recipe. Feel free to adjust ingredients or add new ones to taste. Adding a hint of sugar, as I did, isn't required, but I think it evens out the flavor. If you don't like your pickles spicy, skip the hot red pepper flakes. Add celery seed or coriander — experiment.

If you don't have green tomatoes, try onions, young turnips or daikon this time of year. For a classic dill pickle flavor, use a handful of dill fronds and leave out the sugar, mustard seed and bay leaves.

Green Tomato Pickles
This makes enough brine for 2 pounds of vegetables

2 pounds green tomatoes, cut into 1/2-inch wedges

6 cups water
1 cup white wine vinegar
1/4 cup kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes or 2 dried red chile peppers
1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns
6 garlic cloves, smashed
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon yellow mustard seeds
several sprigs of fresh thyme

Cut the green tomatoes into 1/2-inch wedges and place in a heatproof container, like Pyrex.

Combine the remaining ingredients in a large saucepan or pot and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Pour over the prepared tomatoes in a heatproof container. Cool to room temperature (about 1 1/2 hours), cover, and refrigerate in a non-reactive container.

These pickles must be stored in the refrigerator and will last about 2 weeks.

Bring on the ribs

2010-06-02T13:51:00.002-04:00

You only have one chance to make a first impression. Keep that in mind the next time you eat with strangers.

I went a dinner party hosted by my friends Karen and Crystal this past Saturday. They live about an hour-and-a-half from me, and the other guests were local. I was excited about helping with hors d'oeuvres, spending time with my old friends, and the opportunity to make new ones. I packed a bag, sent Gus the Wonder Dog to overnight camp, and hit the road.

Karen and Crystal planned a very seasonal menu, perfect for Memorial Day weekend (the unofficial start of summer, marked by the opening of swimming pools, men in seersucker, and increasingly hot temperatures). We had corn and red onion salad with basil, fantastically flavorful baby back ribs, and sauteed asparagus. A pound cake garnished with lemon curd and berries rounded out the meal. It was summer on a plate.

Maybe I enjoyed everything a little too much. In my enthusiasm, I managed to dribble rib sauce down my shirt. Onto my right breast. Nice! After a little grief from another dinner guest — she borrowed my camera and documented the stain — I marched upstairs to my suitcase, found another t-shirt, and quickly changed.

Rubbed with dry spices and allowed to sit overnight before spending a long time in a low oven, the ribs were tender and delicious. The kind of ribs that get a person (me) into trouble. Crystal graciously shared her recipe, a riff on Alton Brown's. Be careful: wolfing down ribs too quickly could result in stained clothing.

Crystal's Baby Back Ribs
Adapted from Alton Brown

Use for 3 racks of pork ribs.

Dry rub:
2 cups light brown sugar
1/4 cup chile powder
1/8 cup chipolte chile powder
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon cardamom
1/8 cup cumin
1/8 cup smoked paprika
close to 1/4 cup Italian seasoning
1/8 cup thyme
1 tablespoon onion powder
1/3 cup kosher salt

Glaze:
1 cup white wine
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons honey
2 garlic, minced
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

Preheat the oven to 225 degrees Fahrenheit.

Combine all of the dry rub ingredients and mix thoroughly. Spread the rub evenly on the ribs — the coating will be fairly thick, though this recipe makes enough for more than one batch. Wrap the ribs in heavy aluminum foil, shiny side out, and marinate at least one hour (Crystal's ribs marinated overnight) in the refrigerator.

Combine all of the glaze ingredients in a microwave safe bowl and heat on high power for 1 minute. If nuking isn't a option, combine everything in a small saucepan and heat until the honey dissolves.

Remove the ribs from the refrigerator but keep them wrapped in foil. Place them on a jelly roll pan and cover with the glaze. Bake at 225 degrees Fahrenheit for 2 1/2 hours. To test if the ribs are done, twist them in the center — if the middle ribs turn easily, they're ready.

Take the foil packages from the oven and pour the liquid contents into a medium saucepan or skillet. This is most easily accomplished by snipping off one end of foil. Bring the liquid to a boil and cook for a minute or two, reducing to sauce consistency. Brush the glaze onto the ribs and broil until caramelized. Slice the rib slabs into 2 bone portions, place in a bowl, and toss with the remaining glaze.

Devour.

Peaches and prosciutto

2010-05-31T16:20:00.004-04:00

A box of ripe, juicy, slightly bruised peaches saved me.

I met my friends Karen and Crystal at the Piedmont Triad Farmers' Market in Greensboro, North Carolina Saturday afternoon. They were hosting a dinner party that night, and I was in charge of hors d'oeuvres. (Really good) deviled eggs were already on ice in the car, but I knew I needed another offering. Velvety prosciutto slices were also on hand (I grabbed them from the fridge that morning as I packed), but I wasn't happy with the standard melon-prosciutto pairing I'd planned. It's a classic, winning combination, but it felt too safe, a bit boring. While Karen and Crystal searched for flowers, I sought inspiration. I found it in a "fresh peaches" banner.

The rosy fruits on display were lovely but very firm, the kind that sit on the counter at room temperature for a few days before they're fit for consumption. Dinner was in 5 hours. I asked if any riper peaches were available, and the vendor waved me around the table, into the booth. "You can take as many of those as you'd like for three dollars," she said, gesturing to a box under the table. Succulent and slightly battered, those peaches weren't considered suitable for sale. I filled my bag quickly and knew exactly what would become of them.

Guests in attendance and deviled eggs on display, Crystal lit the grill while I tried to master the over-sized tongs I had to work with. I grilled the peaches — sliced, brushed with melted butter, and dusted with sugar — until they were lightly charred and soft. Piled high on a platter and tossed with balsamic vinegar, everything sprinkled with freshly chopped mint... I was satisfied. The salt and fat of the prosciutto is a perfect foil to sweet fruit, balsamic vinegar provides zing, and mint adds a fresh dimension.

Ideally you'll have ripe but firm fruit to work with if you opt to grill them — extremely ripe peaches will turn to mush. Wash peaches and remove any bruised areas with a knife prior to grilling.