Curried chickpeas with coconut

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.

Too hot + cole slaw

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

 

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.

A continuing ed weekend + broccoli

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.

The promise of fall and spaghetti squash joys

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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.

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!)

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.

Imitation

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

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.

Potato salad and a little comfort

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.

Smashed

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.

Bejeweled carrots

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.

Ant battle

I haven't cooked anything for the last two days. Not on the stovetop or in the oven anyway. My meals are all raw, all the time.

Tiny black ants invaded my kitchen this week, trailing down a windowsill, scurrying around the laminate counters, making their way to the stovetop. The stovetop! Ack.

Proud of my neat and tidy home, I took their presence personally. I scrubbed the kitchen from top to bottom and set the oven dial to clean, hoping to roast any unwanted insects that might be lurking within. I also asked for help. Friends consoled me, told me that even a clean home was subject to invasion, but I was despondent, disgusted, at wit's end. Then the lovely Kathleen recommended a product that wouldn't poison me or the dog, and promised it would make the ants disappear within 2 days. I hit the hardware store, bought the aforementioned ant killer, set up sticky little goo traps, and hoped for the best.

Waiting for the magic ant killer to work, I couldn't stand being in the kitchen. The ants were still there, getting themselves acquainted with the goo. And I had to allow them to live, to carry the sticky mess back to their nest and share it with friends.

Watching them gave me the heebie-jeebies.

So I set up shop in the dining room. The table became a temporary (very low) counter top. I brought in my knives, cutting board, bowls, and whisks, pretending the ants didn't exist.

I focused my thoughts on an Asian coleslaw instead, using some of the contents of this week's CSA box: fennel, green cabbage, and snow peas. The CSA newsletter recommended a coleslaw made with mayonnaise, and though I'm sure it's good, I wanted something lighter, cleaner, with the nuttiness toasted sesame oil provides and the crunch of roasted peanuts. The following recipe was made with what was on hand, no stovetop or oven needed.

Cross your fingers and hope that the evil ants disappear tomorrow.

Asian Slaw

Serves 3-4 as a side dish

1/2 small head green cabbage, thinly sliced

1 fennel bulb, thinly sliced

1 red bell pepper, julienned

2 cups snow peas, julienned

3 - 4 tablespoons soy sauce

juice of 1/2 of a lime

2 tablespoons of ginger, minced

pinch of sugar

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

1/3 cup canola oil, or other neutral vegetable oil

kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1/2 cup crushed roasted peanuts (I like the lesser-salt variety, if available)

Clean and cut vegetables, removing the core and ribs from cabbage. Remove the core of the fennel bulb before slicing. Toss to combine.

Put the soy sauce, lime juice, minced ginger, and a pinch of sugar into a small bowl. Drizzle the toasted sesame oil and canola oil in while whisking, creating an emulsion. Taste, and add salt and freshly ground black pepper as needed. Be sure to coat the vegetables in a small amounts of dressing, tossing and tasting, as you go. Garnish with chopped roasted peanuts.

Radish inspiration

Radishes dominate the farmers' market each spring, and this year is no exception. Stacked high in almost every stall, in colors ranging from red to pink to white, they are hard to escape. But who would want to?


Bright and peppery, radishes are delicious all season, most often julienned and added to salads  — I find they're prettier and easier to eat when cut into tiny slivers. Thinly sliced, placed atop buttered bread, and sprinkled with salt, radishes make a favorite late night snack.


Last night I was leafing through Amanda Hesser's Cooking for Mr. Latte, and the phrase "braised radishes with mint" caught my eye. There was no recipe, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Braised lamb, braised pork, sure, but braised radishes with mint? Time to experiment. I put down the book and went into the kitchen.


Armed with my favorite chef's knife, Johnny Cash on the iPod, and fresh mint from my back porch, I was good to go.


This recipe would work without the shallot, but I put shallots, garlic or onion in just about everything. Shallots are the onion's mild-mannered, more polite cousin — their subtleties are a perfect fit for this dish. I deglazed the pan with champagne vinegar, giving the radishes a slightly pickled taste. If you don't like vinegar's zing, saute the radishes in butter and add only water to the pan.


The (pretty tasty) result of my efforts follows. This would be a great companion to grilled or roasted poultry or pork.

Braised Radishes with Mint
Serves 2-3 as a side dish


1 very large shallot, minced
1 tablespoon of olive oil
1 large bunch of radishes, cut in half, quartered if large
2-3 tablespoons champagne vinegar
3 tablespoons water
about 2 tablespoons of fresh mint, finely chopped


Heat the olive oil in a large skillet or saute pan. Add the minced shallot, a pinch of Kosher salt, and cook over medium-low heat until soft, 3-4 minutes. Turn up the heat a notch and add the radishes, cooking until lightly colored. Add the champagne vinegar and water, then cover the pan and cook on medium-low heat until the radishes are almost tender, about 12 minutes. Remove the lid and reduce any remaining liquid to a glaze. Shut off the heat and sprinkle with finely chopped mint. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

A bum rap

Party planning recently took over both my brain and this blog. I neglected to talk about last week's CSA box, which included... collard greens!

Collard greens are assertive, but I think they get a bum rap. People assume they don't like collards based on reputation, without ever tasting them. It doesn't get much worse than that, does it?

Sadly, my parents are anti-collards. Hailing from the Deep South, one might expect them to embrace this green. They don't. Turnip and mustard greens are welcome in their home, but my father's face wrinkles when he describes collards. These are very serious wrinkles — everything furrows and folds. Even his tone of voice changes. The smell of long-cooked collards seems to be a major stumbling block for my father. I think their scent betrays wholesomeness and the earthy flavor to come.

Ronnie's Country Store in Winston-Salem, North Carolina supplied the country ham for this week's recipe. Ronnie's is my mother's favorite stop when she's downtown. Joy swings by and checks out the fresh produce, which is displayed in boxes on the street and inside. She often picks up candy for her grandsons. And she keeps an eye on the country ham scraps. There's rarely a need for a full country ham in our family, but Ronnie's sells trimmings for a reasonable price, and I'm often the beneficiary of her outings. I keep the scraps wrapped in plastic and frozen, pulling them out to flavor — you got it — collards.


I love collard greens cut into ribbons and sauteed with garlic (this takes 3 minutes, tops), but something about slow-cooked greens sits with me in a way that's tough to describe. Redolent of pork and chile pepper, these collards beg for a bottle of hot pepper vinegar and a warm piece of cornbread. 


Whichever cooking method you choose, be sure to remove the tough, woody stalks from the collard leaves before proceeding.


The following is my go-to, slow-cooked, collard recipe. Adjust according to taste. Substitute chicken stock for water if you want a more substantive dish.

Slow-Cooked Collard Greens

Serves 3-4 as a side dish

2 tablespoons olive oil

• 1 onion, diced
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• 1/2 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 piece of country ham, about 2 x 2 inches
• 1 pound collard greens
• about 4 cups of water or chicken stock

Heat olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and garlic and saute until tender, about 7 minutes. Add country ham scraps and cook for a few minutes more. Add collards and wilt. Sprinkle with hot red pepper flakes. Add a very small pinch of salt, water or chicken stock, and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook for about 1 hour, maybe a little more, until the greens are tender. Taste for seasoning and serve.

Behold, the spring turnip

A beautiful bunch of purple-top turnips were included in this week's CSA box. I like turnips, but many people don't, think they don't, or don't know what to do with them.

Spring turnips differ from their cool weather counterparts, and can be treated accordingly. The beauty of the spring turnip: a crisp, peppery goodness their winter brethren don't offer. Young spring turnips can cooked of course (they're great mashed with potato or made into soup) but it's a shame not to exploit their bright, fresh quality.

Simply sliced on a mandoline, sprinkled with kosher salt, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and a bit of vinegar — this emphasizes a spring turnip's best features. Enjoy alone or as part of a salad.

After singing the praises of raw young turnips, I now bring you a cooked turnip recipe. I want to light the stove, break out a spatula, and feel like I'm really cooking. And I need use up the fattening dairy products leftover from Thursday's ice cream.

Feel free to use only half-and-half here, or reduce the calorie count further by using milk thickened with a blond roux (flour and butter cooked together). Think bechamel sauce. One key point is to flavor the cream with garlic and thyme; another is to slice the turnips very thinly, so they don't require blanching before being layered into the gratin.

This makes a nice lunch paired with a green salad and bread. It can also be used as a first course or side dish.

Turnip and Leek Gratin
Yield: 4 servings

2 garlic cloves
a little butter for the gratin dish
1 cup of half-and-half
1/3 cup of heavy cream
a few springs of fresh thyme
1 heaping tablespoon of Dijon mustard
3 large leeks, white and light green parts only, cut in half lengthwise and again into 1/4-inch thick half-moons
1 1/2 pounds of turnips, peeled and sliced into 1/8-inch thick rounds
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan or Gruyere cheese, grated

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Rub a gratin dish (mine is 1 1/2 quarts) with a smashed garlic clove and butter.

In a saucepan, heat the smashed garlic cloves with the half-and-half, thyme sprigs, and heavy cream. Don't boil, but bring to a simmer and reduce for a few minutes. Whisk in the Dijon mustard and strain.

Leeks should be cooked in boiling, salted water for 2-3 minutes. Drain and cool.

Layer the turnip and leeks in a gratin gratin dish, sprinkling salt and freshly ground black pepper between the layers, as well as a few thyme leaves. Pour the heated cream mixture (strained) between the layers and over the top. Sprinkle with grated cheese.

Cook for about 55-60 minutes, until the top is nicely browned and the turnips are soft.