An edamame spread

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Pour canola oil  into the cast iron skillet to coat, about 2 tablespoons.
2. Place skillet in oven, and preheat oven and skillet to 475 degrees Fahrenheit. 
3. 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. 
4. 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.
5. Cook at 475 degrees Fahrenheit for 25-30 minutes, until you see cracks in the surface.
6. 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

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

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

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

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.