September Food Haiku Winner + Steel Cut Oats with Fig Sauce

Steel Cut Oats with Orange-Stewed Figs

My recommendation for fig season is a simple one: don't hesitate. As in, if you see a basket of figs while you stroll through your weekend market, buy them. If you say to yourself, I'll get some next week, they might be gone. I speak from personal experience, it's worth noting. 

Steel Cut Oats with Orange-Stewed Figs

So, now that you have your basket of figs, you can make this comforting fall breakfast. It's a warm bowl of steel cut oats with syrupy figs, made sweet from fresh orange juice and a touch of maple syrup. But first, congratulations to Vivian Tu, this month's food haiku contest winner! 

steel cut oats with orange-stewed figs

for the oats
1 cup steel cut oats
3 cups water
1 cup whole milk or almond milk

for the figs
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 basket figs (about 3/4 pound), tops cut off and sliced lengthwise
1/2 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch salt

To make the oatmeal, add the oats, water, and milk to a 4-quart sauce pan and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer 20 to 30 minutes, until tender. I like to add a splash of milk at the end, to make it a bit more soupy.

To make the figs, melt the butter in a 4-quart saucepan or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the sliced figs, orange juice, maple syrup, cinnamon, and salt. When the liquid is bubbling, reduce the heat and simmer for 5 to 10 minutes, or until the figs are tender and most of the orange juice has evaporated, leaving behind a sweet and thickened sauce. 

Pour spoonfuls of fig sauce over the bowls of oats before serving. 

Steel Cut Oats with Orange-Stewed Figs
Steel Cut Oats with Orange-Stewed Figs

[BOOK ENDS] Introducing the Cover of Eat This Poem + Pre-Orders!

Pre-Order on Amazon!

Pre-Order on Amazon!


Book Ends is an occasional series where I share insights about the cookbook writing process. For even more, subscribe to my newsletter.

In the life cycle of a book, there are many milestones. Some are small, like finishing a chapter, or settling on just the right sentence. Others are large, like signing your publishing contract. I believe they should all be celebrated with a glass of champagne.

I often talk about milestones because when you consider your writing careerhopefully one that spans many years and even decadesquiet moments are common. There are more days spent choosing the right word, receiving an email from a reader, or attaching your poems in a submission email (or receiving rejection letters) than finishing book proposals or giving readings. 

The big moments are exciting. They provide momentum to keep going, certainly. But it's how we devote ourselves to the time in between that the life of a writer is really made.

I'm currently in a season where big moments come in more rapid succession. This, after three years of relative calm, testing recipes and working on chapters bit by bit, until a whole manuscript appeared. Now, we've only six months to go before Eat This Poem arrives in bookstores. And you can pre-order it! (I'll be writing more about pre-orders in a bit, because they're HUGELY important.)

I'm also taking a final look at the proofs, with pages designed and illustrated by a very talented artist named Cat Grishaver. You can get a sneak peek in this video.

And the cover!! What do you think? I smiled ear to ear when I opened up the email with draft art a while back. I wanted something timeless with a touch of whimsey, and I think this is exactly right. 

I hope you love it!

Haiku Contest Finalists | September 2016


Fig season is fleeting, and I consider the fruit sort of an emblem of transition. They arrive at the market in the last days of summer with matte, slightly shriveled skin, and a tender interior well suited to pair with honey or cheese. The days are not quite blustery, but no longer scorching hot. Fall is imminent, yet restrained. We are waiting for the inevitable, seasonal shift, which is the exact moment plump figs appear.

When it comes to matters of the seasons, and what to do about it, recipe-wise, I'm fond of thumbing through The Kitchen Diaries by Nigel Slater. The entry from October 26 is especially poignant. 

The last fat, yellow leaves fell off the fig tree this morning, leaving next year’s buds at the tip of each gray branch and forty green fruits that will never ripen.

You approach the tree with caution, each piece of stone around its base splattered with potentially lethal squashed figs, hoping for just one edible fruit. But there is no such thing, and the tree that promised so much in May has failed to deliver.
— Nigel Slater

The moral of this story is to find a few figs and eat them before they disappear, and in an effort to encourage you, three poetic offerings are below. Choose your favorite food haiku before September 16th!

Food Haiku Contest September 2016


Choose your favorite haiku from the list below.
Communication Preferences

"Gardening" by Leslie Contreras Schwartz + Italian Stuffed Tomatoes

Stuffed Tomatoes with Arborio Rice and Potatoes

My cookbooks have a new home. 

You see, summer snuck up on me for one rather monumental reason: we moved. The whole thing was somewhat unexpected, and the short story with the happy ending is we found a new place to call home and moved in record time (10 days to be exact). I'm tired just typing that. 

The unpacking, naturally, took a bit longer.

June was also the month spent reviewing the copyedits for my cookbook, so this season I've been all about simple cooking, and revisiting some old favorites. And because my cookbooks look all fresh and perky on the shelf, I've taken to pulling them down one by one, flipping through a section or two, and cooking my meals for the week from what I find inside. I'm so glad I've started doing this again. 

Italian Stuffed Tomatoes

The most recent cookbook I've lost myself in is Rachel Roddy's My Kitchen in Rome. This one I was eager about from the start. It seems like so long ago now that Rachel announced she was even writing a cookbook, and I couldn't wait to order my copy. Sadly, we had to wait even longer for the U.S. version to arrive, but it was worth the extra months.

My Kitchen in Rome is beautifully written, truly. My remarks here likely do not do it justice. You should know that if you find yourself on the couch one afternoon, you will be transported to Italy and your heart might ache just a little bit when you realize you are actually not there.

But that is where food does its magic work, because I've been calling myself a Roman for the past couple of weeks by spooning beans over bread and stuffing the first tomatoes from my farmers' market. I've also been reading some poetry. Not as much as I should be, but enough to stumble across this lovely little poem.



by Leslie Contreras Schwartz

There is too much work:
the turning of soil,
the watering, and pulling
the bright green weeds that choke
and curl the fruit. I want only
the joy, the taste of tomatoes
pouring down my lips,
the sun on my throat.
I like the soil under my nails
but I feel forsaken, tricked.
I watch the garden fester
and dry out, the tomatoes
small and weakening in
the cracked bed. It is like my daughter,
who one day draws picture after picture
of rainbows, bursting hearts, spells “love”
backwards, sideways, forward, then
for days lies on the couch blinking
at television or just talking to herself,
her sister. Too much work, this joy,
the colors of fruit, the frothy soil,
too much sun and magic. We all
need retreat, to rest, to feel
sometimes that it will come to us
by itself, a heavy plate that
says this is all yours.


from FUEGO by Leslie Contreras Schwartz © 2016; ISBN:  978-0-9965231-5-8;
Saint Julian Press. Reprinted with permission from the author.

I can't think of a more perfect poem for the summer, and for my own particular season in life. First, wanting only the joy. I'm certain we all want this, though we're well aware of how life works. There are joys, then disappointments, then more joys, then a rough day, then a splendid one. This is the way of it. But I love how profound the ache is here, as if the speaker is on the brink of just giving up entirely, being ruthlessly honest.

Next, at the very end, the lines about needing to retreat, rest, to "feel sometimes that it will come to us / by itself." As someone for whom self-care is of the upmost importance, I resonate with these lines so much. Even when the tomatoes are ripe, and our days are filled with "sun and magic," it can all feel like too much work. Even the joys. Some days, this is true, but the poem ends on a hopeful note, doesn't it?

A hope that whatever it is we need most will find us when it's time. It's certainly a message I need to hear today, and perhaps I'm not the only one.

Italian Stuffed Tomatoes with rice and potatoes

Adapted lightly from My Kitchen in Rome by Rachel Roddy

This makes a wonderful, leisurely lunch or light supper, but as Rachel is kind to remind home cooks, "good stuffed tomatoes do indeed come to those who wait." There is a fair amount of waiting with this dish. Waiting for the tomato shells to drain, waiting for things to bake, then waiting for the dish to rest and settle and cool down a bit. Do not begin this dish without knowing what's required, which, more than anything, is simply your time and a bit of care. I halved the recipe and used four tomatoes instead of eight, but you can certainly double this for a crowd or ample leftovers.

Serves 2

4 firm, large tomatoes
1 plump garlic clove, finely chopped
4 basil leaves, torn
5 tablespoons Arborio rice
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus some extra for the potatoes
Freshly ground black pepper
1 pound Yukon potatoes, peeled

Cut the tops off the tomatoes and set them aside. One by one, hold the tomatoes over a bowl and scoop out their insides by gently scraping the interior with a spoon. Let the flesh, seeds, and juice fall into a bowl. Sprinkle a bit of salt in the cavity of each tomato, then place them cut-side down on a clean tea towel or paper towel-lined cutting board so excess liquid can drain.

Blend the tomato flesh, seeds, and juice in a blender; pout into a large bowl. To the tomato liquid, add the garlic, and basil. Next, add the rice and olive oil. Season generously with salt and pepper; stir. Leave to sit at least 45 minutes.

Cut the potatoes into 1-inch long matchsticks. Pout the potatoes into a bowl, pour a little oil over them, and sprinkle lightly with salt. Toss with your hands until well coated.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Place the hollowed-out tomatoes in a lightly greased baking dish. Spoon the rice inside until they are three-quarters full, then put the tops back on. (Sadly, I completely forgot to do this!) Scatter the potatoes around the tomatoes and bake for 1 to 1 1/4 hours, or until the tomatoes are soft and beginning to shrivel. The rice should be plump and tender, and the potatoes soft and golden. Allow to sit for 30 minutes before eating. Pour yourself a glass of white wine while you wait.

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August Food Haiku Winner + Heirloom Tartine with Garlic Creme Fraiche

There are many ways to use a tomato. All summer long I eat them in pasta, toss them on pizza, make soup and even squish them whole between my teeth. Almost always, the simplest preparation is the best one, especially in these hot summer months. (The simplest recipe of all might be to grate a tomato over grilled bread, something I read in Saveur many years ago.) 

Now, I happen to live in a town that knows a thing or two about toast. Avocado toast, in particular, might as well be a prerequisite for brunch menu's in Los Angeles. It's everywhere, and I love it. Sqirl has a particularly good one. On the bottom is a thick slathering of creme fraiche spiked with garlic, which is where I got the idea. I actually licked my fingers the first time I had it. And when you find something that striking, It's especially nice to make in your own kitchen, especially if the restaurant is clear across town, and you can't just drive 45 minutes in one direction to get garlic creme fraiche whenever you very well want to.

So. On top of this slightly spicy and effortlessly creamy spread are slices of ripe heirloom tomatoes sprinkled with pepper and flaky salt. That's it. It's all you need, really. And this month's winning food haiku pairs so nicely.

Sarah's poem perfectly captures the allure of an August tomato, and the voters agreed. My favorite phrase is "grew sunlight." It's such a lovely description, don't you think?

Eat This Poem August Haiku Winner


This is one of those summer-on-a-plate types of things. Juicy, plump tomatoes, bread, and a bit of this assertive spread. I can eat it all afternoon. 

Serves 2

1/4 cup creme fraiche
1 plump garlic clove, grated (about 1/2 teaspoon)
Kosher salt
Freshly cracked pepper
2 slices rustic bread, cut 1/2-inch thick
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 large heirloom tomato, sliced
Flaky salt, for finishing

Stir the creme fraiche, garlic, a pinch of salt, and a few grinds of black pepper. Heat a grill pan over medium heat and drizzle the bread slices with oil, spreading it around with your hands, covering both sides. Grill the bread for 2 to 3 minutes per side, or until sufficiently golden. Slather a layer of creme fraiche over the hot bread, and as it begins to melt and the scent of garlic plumes, cover with a few tomato slices. Finish with a pinch of flaky salt and serve.

Haiku Contest Finalists | August 2016

Usually the cherry tomatoes arrive first, followed by plump heirlooms, and later in the season, I carry home pounds of tender Roma's for fresh tomato sauce. (I even buy 25 pound boxes from a nearby farm over Labor Day weekend, which you can read about here.

August is easily one of my favorite months to cook and eat in, and the three haiku's below are perfect accompaniments to the season. Vote for your favorite before Monday, August 15th! 

August Food Haiku Finalists from Eat This Poem

Submit Your Vote

Something to rely on

Beans and Rice
As life goes on, time isn’t the largest thing to think of,
it’s the smallest.
Growing, going
in drought or monsoon, mold or blight —
what is the rice if  not alive?
— from "Rice-Field Road at Dusk" by By Suji Kwock Kim

I've become one of those weekly recipe rotation people. You know, someone who makes the same thing over and over again.

The first reason for this is because I haven't been as diligent about meal planning ahead of time, so come Saturday morning I'm scrambling to fill in my notebook before heading to the farmers' market. In those moments it's easier to flip back and see what I've made in weeks past rather than open a cookbook.

Also, there is predictability of it. When I'm busy during the day and don't want to spend an hour prepping in the kitchen, it's useful to be familiar with the dish or the method, so come dinner time I don't have to rely on a recipe.

I actually meant to tell you about this recipe weeks ago. OK, months ago. I've been making it nearly every week since March, when I first read about it in blogger Amelia Morris's memoir Bon Appetempt. This was one of several middle-of-the-night-feeding books I'd read to pass the time while I pumped at 3 am.

It's the simplest of recipes, perfect for easy memorization and even easier mealtimes. And it's really become something to rely on. Beans and rice. I immediately know what I need (rice, beans, a can of coconut milk, cilantro, and avocado), how long it will take (just shy of 20 minutes), and the outcome (satisfaction). It also tastes fantastically good, especially thanks to the creamy coconut milk and hint of cumin.

Beans and Rice

When I'm not reading my kindle in the middle of the night, I'm usually scanning my Facebook feed or browsing the New York Times app, which makes me more and more nervous of late. It seems so many mornings I wake up to more devastating news, home or abroad, and occasionally I've considered ignoring the news altogether to simply avoid it the onslaught of fear and confusion that follows.

But there's only so much of that we can do. Besides, it doesn't actually protect us, the not knowing. It's still difficult, though, feeling simultaneously numb to news stories yet helpless to do anything. Simultaneously fearful about the world my son is growing up in yet optimistic about the future. I'm not the first mother to grapple with this, certainly. My parents questioned the world they brought me and my brother into, too. Every generation has its struggles, so at least there is some comfort, however slight.

So a recipe like this, or any recipe you cling to for ease and reliability, can be a small way to tame the chaos. It gives you something to control, something to manage when the world is unpredictable. 

Beans and Rice


In her memoir, Amelia shares this was one of the first meals she made without a recipe after a coworker from Panama described the dish. Truly, after you make it once or twice, you'll see how simple it is to remember all the ingredients and measurements. The original recipe calls for black beans, but I've gotten in the habit of using pinto, and finish it with tomatillo salsa, sour cream, avocado, and a mound of tortilla chips on the side.

Serves 2 generously

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
1 large garlic clove, minced
1 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 (13.5 ounce) can light coconut milk
1/4 cup water or vegetable stock
1 cup white basmati rice
1 (15-ounce) can pinto beans, drained and rinsed
1 teaspoon ground cumin
For serving: Tortilla chips, salsa, sour cream, sliced avocado chopped cilantro, lime wedges

Heat the oil in a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and saute for 4 to 5 minutes, until softened and the edges are beginning to brown a bit. Add the garlic and saute just until fragrant, 1 to 2 minutes more. Season with a pinch of salt and pepper. 

Add the coconut milk, water, rice, beans, and cumin; stir to combine. Once boiling, cover the pan and reduce the heat to a gentle simmer. Simmer 16 to 18 minutes, or until the rice is plump and the liquid has evaporated. Remove from heat and let rest for 10 minutes.

Scoop into bowls and adorn with toppings.

July Haiku Winner + Peach and Pistachio Crumble

Peach and Pistachio Crumble

Peaches arrived at my farmers' market in June and they came as they always do, like a flood. One Saturday there are maybe a few crates of peaches, and the next tables overflow with stone fruitsnectarines, three kinds of plums, and juicy apricots. Many times I stand paralyzed, unable to decide what to fill my bags with for the week, but on a recent visit I had already decided on peaches destined to bake and bubble underneath a tender crumb of oats, pistachios, and sugar.

Peach and Pistachio Crumble

I've been drinking tea from August Uncommon Tea this season, and one of its summer releases is called Dark Iris, a rich oolong with notes of peach, lime, and pistachio. I first sipped it while interviewing these fine folks for Issue 6 of Life & Thyme. They are my favorite kind of peoplepassionate, welcoming, and creative. We had the best morning tasting tea and talking about boiling temperatures, flavors, and the modern tea revolution.

When I chose peaches as the theme for July's food haiku contest, I knew I wanted to create a recipe inspired by the flavors of this irresistible tea. This dessert made its way to a dinner party a couple of weeks back and I came home with nothing left but a few dried scraps of crumble around the rim of the baking dish, so I'd say it went over well.

Peach and Pistachio Crumble
Peach and Pistachio Crumble

And let's get to the contest, shall we? Congratulations are in order for Helen McLaughlin, whose powerful haiku cuts straight to the heart, and won over Eat This Poem voters!

July 2016 Food Haiku Winner


I use this crumble topping interchangeably with stone fruit this time of year. It goes wonderfully well alongside apricots, plums, or nectarines. 

Serves 6 to 8

For the peaches
4 pounds peaches
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup granulated sugar

For the crumble
1 cup rolled oats
1 cup pistachios (divided and chopped)
1 cup whole-grain flour
2/3 cup brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Core and dice peaches into 1 to 2-inch pieces, then place them in a large bowl. Add the granulated sugar and lemon juice; stir to combine. Pour the filling into a large baking dish.

Pulse the oats, 1/2 cup of the pistachios, and flour in a high speed blender until finely ground; pour into a bowl. Add the sugar, salt, melted butter, and remaining 1/2 cup pistachios. Stir until moist clumps form. Scatter the topping over the plums and nudge it around with your fingers until well covered. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes, or until golden. Serve with ice cream or freshly whipped cream.

Peach and Pistachio Crumble
Peach and Pistachio Crumble