After traveling for two weeks in April (first for work, then for a little getaway), I was starting to crave the comforts of home in the form of a bowl of pasta. I had some memorable meals while I was away (like decadent rainbow trout with chive butter sauce and an upside down rhubarb cornmeal cake at Mattei's Tavern in Los Olivos), but I was itching to return to the kitchen and make something myself.
The humble bean. It seems like they're all I've talked about for the past two months. (You might remember this, and this.) I obsessed over a bean, arugula and prosciutto salad last summer, and it's still one of my all time favorites. But this salad now holds a special place in my heart and my weekly menu because it's just so perfectly simple.
If time is important to you, make this salad. It takes ten minutes, start to finish, or even less if you're a quick herb chopper. Grill some thick, crusty bread, pour a glass of white wine, and dinner is served. This meal has been my saving grace during busy week nights that we go to the gym. Minutes after we walk in the door after a cardio session we're able to eat, and since this salad also gets better with time, it's also ideal to make ahead.
If you're reading this I can be found poolside at a lovely resort sipping a refreshing beverage and reading Julia Child's letters on my Kindle. Since Andrew and I are away this week celebrating our 5 year anniversary, I leave you with an easy way to use the carrots that I know are sitting in the back of your crisper.
Sometimes I'm not sure where the time has gone. When I was growing up, adults would tell me the years only go faster the older you get. It's hard to believe them when you're 14 and every day until your high school graduation feels terribly long. But now I understand. It started after graduating from college. Suddenly time seemed to start spiraling a bit more, and now my twenties are almost over.
My new favorite snack is oil-packed sardines smeared on grilled bread with a pinch of sea salt. If you already feel yourself developing an aversion, stay with me. This little fish is only fishy in the slightest, fresh from the sea way. It's a bit like tuna, just imagine the flavor being more succulent and buttery.
With a newly discovered ingredient, it was only a matter of time before it made a debut in a more substantial meal. As much as I love and adore pasta, it's been a while since I've posted a new recipe. The dark evenings made it difficult to take photographs, so, as often happens in winter, many dishes never make it to the blog. But now that the time has changed, light has finally returned!
I've learned a lot since I first started cooking, especially that it's possible to make just about everything from scratch. There are a few exceptions, of course, but my days of buying jarred mayonnaise and marinara sauce are far behind me. Granola bars are the final frontier. I've thought about making them for months, and finally got around to it when two of our very good friends moved away several weekends ago.
So many of you loved the white beans and kale recipe from the New York Times that I wanted to share another recent favorite. It's also a pantry-friendly meal you can throw together on a weeknight.
But first, a story. Sometimes food blogs can make home cooks seem invincible. Our food is so pretty, the recipe turned out perfectly, and the props tilt at just the right angles. We don't always share the flaws, but the truth is, I'm not a perfect cook and am just as prone to mistakes as anyone. In this case, I was multitasking by cooking two kinds of beans for two different recipes. It all began well. The little beans were boiling away and I took the opportunity to straighten some things around the house. Then I smelled the dreaded burn. I rushed to the stove and realized that both sets of beans had absorbed all their liquid and were proceeding to stick to the bottom of the pan and turn a lovely shade of black. The white beans I was preparing for a dip, thankfully, were mostly salvageable. But the chickpeas in spicy tomato sauce were a complete disaster. Andrew ate it without much complaint and declared them at least edible, but I was so upset I ate a bowl of cereal and called it a night.
If you're anything like me, this is exactly the kind of food you're starting to crave. The sun is out longer, the air is warmer, and I'm beginning to transition from braises and stews to the fresh, no-fuss cooking that tends to dominate spring and summer.
This dish reminded me that I should really think about lunch more often. The main focus of my meal planning is for weeknight cooking which more often than not leaves us with leftovers to bring to work the next day. Weekend cooking is a little more free form. I do tend to plan a dish in advance, but I'm always open to changing my mind, or meeting friends for dinner at the last minute. It's those pesky weekend lunches that I almost never devote any time to. But it's time to change that.
I'm really not a fashionably late kind of person. I like to arrive two minutes early or right on time. I always account for traffic, and if I'm really early, I'll just sit and read a book in the car instead of overwhelming myself with the anxiety of running late. It's just who I am.
This time, though, I arrived incredibly late to the oat soda bread party, but at least I'm making an appearance. As best as I can understand it, it began with Heidi at 101 Cookbooks who gave us a recipe in her cookbook, Super Natural Cooking. Then, Jennie over at In Jennie's Kitchen put her spin on things, and Heidi posted the cookbook recipe on her website. I remember a flurry of tweets about it, wondering what all the fuss was.
This cake combines two of my favorite memories: Christmas morning and my wedding day. Poppy seed muffins (the non-lemon variety) were a staple on December 25th growing up, and almond was one of the three flavors of my wedding cake (more on that this spring). For me, this cake has a somewhat nostalgic quality that I instantly loved about it.
I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I ate several spoonfuls of the batter before spreading it into the pan. You know, for quality control purposes. I even toyed with the option of not baking the cake at all, but reasoned that since I had already come this far, I may as well see it through.
I read Martha Rose Shulman's Recipes for Health column every week in the New York Times. I'm not sure how she does it, but sometimes I feel as if she knows what I'm craving. In this case, a big pot of beans. Her recipe comes from a recent series on casseroles for frigid nights, and was the perfect accompaniment to red wine and a movie last month.
I wish I loved breakfast as much as some people do. Runny eggs, country bread, hash browns and prosciutto and tomato sandwiches all sound appealing, in theory. But when it comes to eating a hearty meal in the morning, it's just not for me. At least, not at this stage in my life. I'm leaving myself open to embracing breakfast in the future, but with a standard morning schedule that leaves little time for lingering, I'll stick with my cereal for now.
These aren't my grandmother's meatballs. If they were, their skin would be fried to a crisp golden brown in a sea of oil. Not that there's anything wrong with that, obviously, but since I wanted to lighten things up, just think of these as your favorite meatballs' healthier younger cousin.
Every Italian family has a secret meatball recipe using different combinations of ground meat, herbs, and cooking methods. Since these days I'm less interested in the tradition of it all but in trying to make my favorite comfort foods a bit healthier, here's to celebrating family favorites, guilt free.
HERBED TURKEY MEATBALLS
A generous amount of fresh herbs tints these meatballs green, and baking, rather than frying the meatballs, limits the use of oil and keeps them especially tender. Serve on top of whole-wheat spaghetti and fresh tomato sauce.
Makes about 20 meatballs
Ingredients
1 to 1 1/2 pounds ground turkey meat
1 large egg
1/2 cup parsley, lightly packed
5 large basil leaves
2 garlic cloves
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup dry breadcrumbs, plain or Italian style
Preparation
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
In a large bowl, add the egg the beat to loosen the yolk, then place the turkey on top. In a food processor, add the parsley, basil, garlic, Parmesan, salt and breadcrumbs; pulse until finely ground. Pour into the bowl with the turkey.
With clean hands, gently mix everything together until fully incorporated. The turkey will take on a pale shade of green. Roll into uniform balls and place on a foil lined baking sheet.
Bake for 12 minutes, or until cooked through.
For beef chili, you only need one good recipe to be reliable for game day, a rainy afternoon, or feeding a crowd with ease, and it's long been on my list of dishes to master. I haven't actually made a lot of chili before this one, but since Cook's Illustrated is known for meticulously testing their recipes, I knew it would be a good place to start.
It turns out that gelato drowned in espresso serves a wonderfully practical purpose in my kitchen. And we really should discuss the name for a moment. Affogato, "to drown," is a lovely idea. Espresso poured over chilled gelato pools at the bottom of your glass, only to be swirled onto your spoon with a dollop of freshly whipped cream. It's such a satisfying bite.
Now, to the espresso. I have this gift of a problem, really. Over the past two years, my husband has become a talented, live-in barista. We have the espresso machine, the burr grinder, and he's mastered the golden crema. All that's missing is latte art, his current project, which is really just bells and whistles. Our weekend mornings always begin with latte's (mine with a touch of vanilla) and a long conversation. It's a perfect coffee shop experience for two. That's the problem. For two.
Cooking has certainly changed throughout the years. My Great Depression-era great-grandmother managed to cook for 13 people everyday from her stocked cellar using only fresh ingredients, yet her eldest son's wife, my grandmother, sometimes added a can of Ragu to her pasta sauce. This, in a span of less than 50 years. So when you feature ingredients that have an even longer history, that have been providing nutrition to civilizations through peace and war and echo of another time, it's compelling to be in this mindset when cooking with them today.
Just look at all that butter. I could have opted to share a more reserved photo, like the finished tart, or all the lemons turned sideways on the counter (see below), but I wanted to cut straight to the heart of what makes this tart so incredible. It's butter, my friends, and lots of it.
One of the cookbook's that came under the tree this year was Dorie Greenspan's Baking: From my home to yours, and I can't believe it took me this long to get my hands on it. I read through it quickly, marking all the treats I wanted to make with translucent red post-it notes, but the first dessert that leaped off the page at me was this French lemon tart.
Meyer lemons are in season during the winter, and although the recipe doesn't specify a type of lemon, I used Meyer's and couldn't have been happier. To experience the best contrast in textures, Dorie suggests adding the filling to a room temperature tart shell just before serving. I did this, and can see why it would be recommended, but it's also important for me to share that I had a slice the following day, after it had been in the fridge for 24 hours, and it was still mighty delicious. Further to this point, one of Andrew's friends came over four days later and finished off the last piece for us, giving rave reviews to both the filling and crust.
THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY FRENCH LEMON CREAM TART
If the name of this tart doesn't peak your interest, consider the butter. In her cookbook, Dorie explains that while the filling shares the same ingredients with lemon curd, its preparation makes thins extra velvety yet incredibly light. In a curd, all the ingredients are cooked together, but for this special filling, butter is added in the blender and emulsifies, creating the light texture you'll soon be very smitten with.
1 cup sugar
Grated zest of 3 lemons
4 large eggs
3/4 cup fresh lemon juice
2 sticks plus 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon-size pieces, at room temperature
1 9-inch tart shell (link to recipe follows)
Special equipment: an instant-read thermometer, a strainer, and a blender
Put the sugar and zest in a large heatproof bowl that can be set over a pan of simmering water. Off the heat, rub the sugar and zest together between your fingers until fragrant. Whisk in the eggs, followed by the lemon juice.
Set the bowl over the pan and start stirring with a whisk as soon as the mixture feels tepid to the touch. Cook the lemon cream until it reaches 180 degrees F. As you whisk--you must whisk consistently to keep the eggs from scrambling--you'll notice that the cream will start out light and foamy, then the bubbles will get bigger, and then, as it gets closer to 180 degrees F, it will start to thicken and the whisk will leave tracks.
As soon as it reaches 180 degrees F, remove the cream from the heat and strain it into the container of the blender. Discard the zest. Let the cream stand, stirring occasionally, until it cools to 140 degrees, about 10 minutes.
Turn the blender on high and, with the machine running, add the butter about 5 pieces at a time. Scrape down the sides of the container as needed as you incorporate the butter. Once the butter is in, keep the machine going. To achieve the perfect light and airy texture, you must continue to blend the cream for an additional 3 minutes.
Pour the cream into a container, press a piece of plastic wrap against the surface to create and airtight seal and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight. (The cream will keep in the fridge for 4 days.)
When you are ready to assemble the tart, whisk the cream to loosen it and spoon it into the tart shell. Serve the tart, or refrigerate until needed.
SWEET TART DOUGH
To make the Sweet Tart Dough, see Dorie's recipe on her website.
Many amazing meals come from the simplest of ingredients. Mirepoix, the French name for a combination of onions, carrots and celery, is the foundation of this soup, and along with some garlic, lentils, and potatoes to thicken everything up, the ingredient list doesn't include anything extraordinary. I love that about soup.
This was the last meal I cooked before heading back to work in the new year. It was a rainy Sunday, and Andrew and I spent the day watching movies, taking down Christmas decorations and grazing on what was left from our New Year's Eve dinner.
I don't make a habit out of dining in chain restaurants, but I do indulge in my occasional guilty pleasures, including the Passion Fruit Mojito at Cheesecake Factory and rosemary bread at Macaroni Grill. The latter is something I've had a hard time resisting in the past. On the occasions I've had dinner there, I usually ordered only an appetizer since my main obsession was the bread that came to our table.
One of my New Year's Resolutions is to eat more fish, so it's fitting we begin one of the early posts of 2011 with a golden brown piece of halibut from Thomas Keller. Fish is something I love to eat but I typically fall into one of three categories: 1) I forget to buy it fresh when I go to the store; 2) I don't know how to cook it properly; 3) I don't want it smelling up my kitchen so I order it when we go out to dinner instead.
